Celebrations were held throughout the planet. Everybody was relieved to be alive and thought that it was a good way to honor the dead. The Emperor’s Ambassador quickly returned to take control once news of the alien defeat filtered out.
Timothy was awarded the Emperor Cross. At first, he felt proud but he barely made it through the lavish ceremony, which lasted for three days and three nights, and wanted to tell the Ambassador what he really thought of him. But he could not, he was still there on behalf of the Emperor, despite his cowardice. In the official story, the one that would be sent throughout the quadrant he had been by Timothy’s side all of the time. The meals were extravagant, the alcohol flowed freely and there was much love-making.
Timothy found himself retreating to his room though, unable to fully partake. Each day, he felt worse and retreated for a little bit more. The first day had been mostly fine but then the problems really started. He knew that he should be rejoicing but found himself thinking of all the deaths under his command. He could see the faces of fear, panic, and bewilderment of the dead staring at him in his sleep, waking him in cold sweats.
This was not what was to be expected. For he was a wheelchair warrior, born to kill. Why was he so soft? Was it the force of chaos within him?
All he knew was that he must hide his frailties.
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