Percival Io
Missionary Man
“It’s too late.”
Galahad dropped to his knees in the grass. Had the dart hit him in the arm or leg, he might’ve been able to cut off the infected limb before it had a chance to spread. But it had hit his torso.
The flesh of his back was blackening, organic cells dying. His green skin took on a sickly grayish pallor. There was an antidote—but the odds of a starport clinic having the cure for a long-vanished pathogen were slim to none, and trying to synthesize it would take time. Time which Galahad did not have.
“Why did you do it?” Galahad asked, the darkness creeping over his face. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted this...”
“You could never be happy out here, Galahad," Percival said. "It’s for the best.”
Percival let the tiny dart gun he had used fall from his grasp, then rolled over to face Alicio. His marred face held an unreadable expression. He said nothing as the Senator shot his legs.
There was nothing to be said. He had killed his brother. Percival eyed the Count, wondering if he would pick up the dart gun and finish him off. He made no attempt to plead for his life, insult him, or gloat. There was no point. He was resigned to the entire affair, watching Galahad shudder and die and liquify on the manicured green lawn.
Galahad dropped to his knees in the grass. Had the dart hit him in the arm or leg, he might’ve been able to cut off the infected limb before it had a chance to spread. But it had hit his torso.
The flesh of his back was blackening, organic cells dying. His green skin took on a sickly grayish pallor. There was an antidote—but the odds of a starport clinic having the cure for a long-vanished pathogen were slim to none, and trying to synthesize it would take time. Time which Galahad did not have.
“Why did you do it?” Galahad asked, the darkness creeping over his face. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted this...”
“You could never be happy out here, Galahad," Percival said. "It’s for the best.”
Percival let the tiny dart gun he had used fall from his grasp, then rolled over to face Alicio. His marred face held an unreadable expression. He said nothing as the Senator shot his legs.
There was nothing to be said. He had killed his brother. Percival eyed the Count, wondering if he would pick up the dart gun and finish him off. He made no attempt to plead for his life, insult him, or gloat. There was no point. He was resigned to the entire affair, watching Galahad shudder and die and liquify on the manicured green lawn.