Ethan hadn't had visitors for the better part of the week. He refused to see Finn, deciding that he wasn't going to do 'their' dirty work anymore. If what had happened wasn't enough for Finn to realize he was being courted then too bad for all of them. It just wasn't meant to be.
Coombs hadn't visited either, although that made sense. There wasn't anything left to say between them that wasn't going to make both more uncomfortable. He had no regrets there.
He was bummed that his special lady friend hadn't shown. She must have realized he wasn't going to join her in Regina by now and she surely would have checked the Newsnets and seen what was happening.
It was obvious to Ethan that she simply wasn't going to bother, maybe she wasn't that interested in the first place. Maybe he had just been projecting his hopes and wishes onto her. That's the worst part of facing your execution alone; there was no one to stop you from re-writing all your relationships.
In his mind he became worthless, no one cared, and soon he'd be dead so it didn't matter anymore. That was just as well really. Had there been anyone left behind they'd just be mourning him and he wasn't worth that.
So he stood in his cell brooding. At least this was what a prison cell was supposed to look like. Not like Europe with the cheery walls and bright lights. There was nothing sexy about this place. Everything in the room, from the padded bed to the industrial steel chair, from the ceiling to floor, was in the calm pastels and neutral colours obviously chosen by a committee of colourblind psychologists.
At least it had a real window, although it would've been nice to pop off one final coded burst. A good-bye, as it were. But then again, what did it matter? He sighed, and with the sigh came the realization again that he was actually ready to die.
Outside, other prisoners, the less about-to-die ones, were passing time with their two or four hour 'exercise breaks'. Ethan hadn't been given that luxury. What he'd done to the OWEN TELL amounted to an attempt to escape and his penalty was loss of privileges. It could've been worse; he could've been put in solitary for the final few days of his life, and that would've robbed him of even this view.
The door opened behind him. He grimaced. All he wanted now was to be left alone until it was time, why couldn't anyone realize that. "Go Away!" He grumbled as forcefully as he could without trying.
"I'm sorry, but it's time." The voice wasn't familiar. Ethan turned.
Before him stood a slight, wisp of a person, probably male but you could never be sure with some people; which was something Ethan hated about modern fashions.
The person stepped forward holding their hand out, but not offering to shake his. It was a "hip wave", the latest custom and another thing that Ethan found annoying.
"I'm your Facilitator." It said.
Facilitator! Ethan could barely contain his disgust as defiance crept into his being. These people couldn't even execute someone without trying to inject some sort of sensitivity to the proceedings. They were going to kill him! Why couldn't they at least have the backbone to act like killers? Holding his hand wasn't going to make it any nicer in the end, he'd still be dead.
He stood ramrod straight, his shoulders back and not a hint of fear in his eyes. He'd lived the last few years in the shadows, lost a good deal of his self-confidence by concealing himself. He'd even tried to weasel out of coming here. And for what?
MacPherson had been a menace to their security and Ethan was glad he'd killed him. And despite being cut-off from the outside he'd already heard of the Funding Re-Balance decision that General Baril ordered; and the full Peace Keeping Mission he's approved; and the Fleet Compromise, where each Battle Group agreed to release their Astral Carrier escorts so they could return to Earth and supplement the Buffalo Commons mission in exchange for a freeze on funding cuts for six months.
He knew he had done a great service to the Network. He knew he was a hero and that the future of the planet was safe because of him. At least that's how he had written it in head this last minute.
He shifted his weight while his Facilitator waited. His leg had fully healed, thanks to the advances in bone knitting accelerants they'd subjected him to, and Ethan decided he was going to march to his death with all the dignity becoming of a war hero.
"OK," he said, moving past the Facilitator and toward the door, "Let's get this over with."
His bravado lasted until they had secured the last strap on the bed, his death bed, around him and then he began screaming and begging until the last of the toxin drained into Major Ethan Frohman and he drifted off to an eternal slumber, thereby completing the last part of HIS EXECUTION ORDER.
