Incarnate- Essence

by Thomas Harper

  “You’re just lying to him, right?” she asked.

  He said nothing, looking back to me and finished his beer. He signaled to the fridge again. I glanced at Marlene, seeing her head raised from the pillow, unswollen eye open wide, pulling a dreadlock from her face. I started for the fridge.

  “You’re a grown woman now, Marlene,” Randy said, “and you’ve done a lot for the movement. I think you can handle the truth.”

  “You’re full of shit,” she said, slowly getting into a sitting position.

  I looked about the fridge for a moment and then reached in and grabbed the bottle of vodka and started back toward Randy.

  “No,” he said, “I’m telling you the truth now.”

  “But you’re saying you’ve been lying to me all my life?” she asked, sitting up on the couch now, “how would that be better?”

  “You were told what you needed to know,” Randy said, still not looking at her. He seemed pleased when he saw me hold the bottle of liquor out to him. “Just like I was for so many years.”

  “You’re just saying this so he doesn’t know the truth,” Marlene said, looking at me, “he’s a non-believer. He couldn’t understand.”

  “I’m not,” Randy said, unscrewing the cap, “I don’t think you realize who – or what – you’re looking at right now.”

  “A terrorist,” she said, “a tranny terrorist.”

  “Maybe now,” Randy said, taking a moment to down a swig of vodka. He coughed once and said, “But if anyone has claim to being a god, it’s him.”

  “Shut up,” she whispered, ignoring any pain she might be feeling and getting to her feet. “Just shut up.”

  “Listen to what he has to say, Marlene.”

  “I said shut up!” Marlene hollered, “Have…have you been working with them the whole time? Have you betrayed God?”

  “I’ve only ever been working for you,” he said, finally looking over to his daughter, “since the beginning, it’s all been for you, and nothing else.”

  “Please stop talking!” she howled, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Why are you hurting me like this?”

  “I’ve only ever wanted to make the world a better place for you,” he said, “I don’t think you realize how much I love you.”

  Marlene looked like she was about to explode. “I hate you,” she hissed, walking to the door and stepping out into the rain, slamming it behind her.

  Randy said nothing, taking a slow drag off his cigarette, holding the open bottle of vodka in his lap as thunder rumbled in the distance. He sat, staring down near my feet for some time, only the sound of waves slapping the walls and rain clattering on the ceiling to accompany us.

  “I’ve sold the world out for my own personal fulfillment,” Randy said, “I’ve brought Marlene up to believe in all this, because I wanted her to have something to believe in. I didn’t want her to turn out like me. Bitter and angry at everything all the time. But I’ve raised her to believe in a lie more than in her own self. And this is all it got me,” he put the liquor bottle to his lips, sucking it down in large gulps, almost finishing it before pulling it way and throwing the bottle angrily to the floor.

  He sat quiet for some time, head nodding forward, eyes starting to close like he might pass out. The storm outside was swelling, but had yet to reach anything near its potential severity. Randy’s house subtly rocked in the surf, soft creaks audible over the howlding wind and tapping rain.

  I finally broke the quiet. “If you’re looking for pity or forgiveness, you won’t be getting it from me.”

  “Can ialeast get ano’er beer frem you?” he slurred, eyes slowly opening.

  I walked back to his fridge and grabbed two of them. He took one and I opened the other, taking a sip from it. The cheap, watered down swill of an alcoholic. But there was something that looked calmed in his eyes as I drank from it.

  “Who did you report to in the Anonymous Knights?” I asked.

  “Thrr isn’t rilly any sigle leader ‘r hierarry,” Randy said, a shaky hand bringing his cigarette to his lips, “some pipple gain notery among tha mooment fer doin’ lotta work and nogettin’ caught. I’ve din well at gettin’ pipple like ma girl to do tha work whiles I dole out bits uh religious wissom in return. That’s gain me a bitta gud stannin’, so’s people more likey ta share wiss me.”

  “Share with you?”

  Randy swallowed, “ya nee some waya stahp Shirou’s vurrus. So ta kee yer mesh newerrs runneh.”

  I kept my eyes on him, but said nothing.

  “Thrr waysa stoppeh, ‘r fissa prollem once ackivated, but ain’t no magic bult,” he explained, “Tha main ishoo mose syssems gah issa viruses adappability. It cans reppeh-repilcate rapilly, creata smaw allerations inna code so’s at leese one uvva repilates ken get pass secury syssem. There issa inocul, and incle…a meh-sin thah stahps uh vurrus from rellicating. Mase it iffinitely ear ta pervenna casastrophic cresh.”

  “And you’ve had this shared with you?”

  Randy sighed, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again, shaking like it weight a hundred pounds, and holding it in his lips. He lifted his hand and unsteadily pointed at a bit of tech sitting amongst everything else on the floor. I bent down and picked it up, something else catching my eye. There was a server beneath the table of monitors. The same kind of server I had seen at NexBioGen and at the trafficker’s house. But it was taken apart.

  I looked back to Randy, his glazed eyes staring lazily at the pistol sticking out of my pants.

  “Thrr more’n juss wuh virrus now,” Randy said, “allamore. May offem luss thrr casastrophic cresh funchion. Uh’ers mev gain new funchions. Uh type tha AKs use issa verry sepific wuh. It gotsa ativation ‘n relication cote thah fiwissin kina narruh cofines, buh hassa wie rage deteshion safeguards.”

  “And this will only work on versions with those narrow confines?”

  Randy nodded, taking another drink of beer, the foamy liquid trickling out the corners of his mouth. “So ya gawn kill me now’n or wha?”

  I reached back, taking the pistol out, looking at it front of me. “I have a feeling that would be to both our benefit, wouldn’t it?”

  “I made uh bigga nuff messa thengs awready, eh?” Randy asked, “I thin Marreene woua leaf me for tha faith.”

  Laura’s words came to mind. The things I experienced in your mind…even death was not as dark.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” I said, “I’ve killed many people in all of my lives, but I’m not going to murder you here. That’s not who I…that’s not who I want to be.”

  “All I ken tell ya is thah I dun havvit immee ta do ‘is nahmmeh,” Randy said, “anmah iwn daugh’er’ll cursse me wheh she fines out wha I geh you. Yer uh one wizza gun, so I gess thins’re inner hanns, eh?”

  “I don’t have any illusions that this whole conversation wasn’t been monitored by your people,” I said, “they must mistrust each other as much as they mistrust us.”

  “Then ah awready a dehman,” Randy said, the cigarette dropping from his lips onto his lap.

  I looked at the pistol again, and then tossed it into Randy’s lap. He looked at it a moment, finished off his beer, and then gingerly picked the weapon up. I set my beer down near him, only a few mouthfuls missing from it. Randy said nothing, his eyes fixed on the pistol as I started toward the door.

  “I dun ass fuhgivess,” Randy called after me, “juss thayoo unnersand.”

  Before I could say anything, I heard the gunshot. I looked over my shoulder, seeing his head slumped to the side, blood trickling onto his shoulder and splattered over the back of the easy chair. I turned back around and started out the door.

  Outside I passed by Randy’s daughter, sitting with her back against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, sobbing. The floating deck was bobbing up and down as she glanced at me, tears in her eyes evident even in the rain. She said nothing, only watching as I climbed back into the canoe and started paddling away. As the house faded from view in the gray r
ainfall, I never saw her move from that spot.

  “Where the fuck’s the prisoner?” Sachi shouted through the rain as I traipsed back across the wavering path toward the building. Sachi and her people were gathered outside, their contacts already all gone.

  “She’s dead,” I shouted just before thunder crashed overhead, “and so is the leader we came here to see.”

  “Where?” Sachi asked, walking toward me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, “what does matter is that I was able to get this,” I held the tech up, wrapped in a plastic bag.

  “What is it?” Sachi asked, squinting at it through the haze of rain.

  “Somewhat of an inoculation against the version of Shirou’s virus the AKs are using,” I said.

  “So just what the fuck happened?” Sachi asked, pushing away a strand of rain soaked hair blowing in her face.

  “I’ll explain later,” I said as both of us started walking back toward everyone else, “sorry I lost the prisoner. I know your contacts wanted her back.”

  Sachi let out a sarcastic laugh, “I wouldn’t have brought her back to them, anyway. We’re already going to have to haul ass if we want to stay ahead of this storm.”

  It didn’t take much motivating to get everyone moving. We had to make a mad dash over the floating walkway, a couple people falling off at a few points from the swaying path, others having to help pull them back on. The rain and wind got so loud that it became hard to hear people even through our earpieces.

  By the time we got back on the dry road, it was already dark as night out, rain coming down hard, wind blowing in sheets. A migraine began to spread through my head as we piled into the cars sitting near the dock. I looked back to the floating path again, wondering if I’d see Marlene running toward us, but it remained empty.

  We accelerated down the highway non-stop, going as fast as possible, water already coming up over the road in spots. It was still raining by the time we got out of Florida, but it looked like we were going to be able to avoid the worst of the hurricane. I barely noticed, my migraine coming on full swing, sending me hurtling into delirious dreams.

  Chapter 47

  401 B.C.E.

  Quiet fell over the restless camp as darkness gripped the sky above the Corduene mountains. Biting flies buzzed over the Hellenes. The sound of hands slapping against flesh to stave off the pests sounded over the murmurs and moans of the wounded. Small fires kept the cold at bay, as if building larger ones would draw the Carduchians closer. Only the beasts of burden seemed to sleep well as cold triumphed over the day’s heat.

  My stomach growled, hunger barely sated by food taken from the mountain villages. The one intact javelin from my arsenal lay beside me next to my torn pelte shield. Kleon lay close to my other side, my Phrygian cap soaked with the blood seeping from his arrow wound. The fellow Thracian peltast breathed heavily, too weak too swat at the flies landing on his sunbaked skin. I did my best to keep the insects away from him, but my own energy was too depleted to make much of a difference.

  “Phaedrus,” the young man wheezed, body trembling from pain and effort.

  I looked to him, “you should conserve your energy.”

  He let out a pained laugh, “I never would have thought dying would be so tiring.”

  “You’ve been wounded worse,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he replied, voice wavering, “but fighting the Lacedaemonians didn’t leave me stranded in a Persian mountain pass without aid.”

  “No,” I said, “it left you shitting in front of an entire Athenian hoplite regiment.”

  Kleon’s laughter quickly turned to coughing.

  I looked around at the mountains jutting up all around us, the crags darkened by brush and small trees. More and more fires were being lit in a distant circle around us. The Carduchians. They had not taken kindly to our march through their mountain territory. Although no friends of the Persians themselves, I didn’t blame them for being bitter about our approach. I certainly would have felt the same way if ten thousand men at arms came marching into my villages. But it was our only hope of getting across the Tigris and finding our way to the sea. Finding a way back home.

  The Carduchians had been surprised by our arrival, which thankfully meant they weren’t able to put up a strong resistance. But that was little comfort to Kleon, my companion since fighting against, and ultimately losing to, the Peloponnesian League, led by the fearsome Lacedaemonians.

  “Phaedrus,” Kleon said.

  “Yes?”

  “You had a child before the war, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I never got to see the child, though. My wife gave birth while I was on campaign and they both died of disease before the war ended.”

  He lay quiet again, seeming to contemplate this.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you come over here? To Persia?”

  “I never had a wife,” Kleon said, coughing once, “I joined the fight against the Lacedaemonians for…for glory, I suppose.”

  “Was it?”

  “Glorious?” he asked, “at times.”

  “Why come all the way over here after the war, though?”

  He took a moment to ponder this before saying, “I had nothing to return to after the war. No prospects.”

  “All you’ve known is the war,” I said.

  “Yes,” he replied, coughing for a few moments before continuing, “the thought of doing anything else…”

  “Was frightening,” I finished.

  “Yes,” he said, “can I ask why you’re here?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  We both sat quiet for a while. The image of my wife the last time I had seen her passed through my mind, but I could barely remember her. All that came to mind was her light, tightly curled hair. Neither of us had felt much affection for each other, although we got on just fine. She had taken a lover. I remember her pleading with me when I found out that it was the young man I had also been sleeping with on occasion. She had seemed even more shocked, even upset, when I wasn’t angry at either of them. I never found out if she was pregnant with my child or the child of her young lover. I had hoped, for her sake, that it wasn’t mine, since children born of my seed were always-

  “You said you’ve died before,” Kleon said.

  “I have.”

  “What was it like?”

  I paused for some time, thinking on it. It was difficult to explain. I still sometimes puzzled over the experiences that other people had of dying. Until only about six hundred years before, I sometimes wondered if there were many different worlds. I had seen so many different peoples, many of them looking and behaving much different than the others. Their skin colors and customs and art were so different. And they all talked of different places where they would go upon dying. Perhaps to worlds I had yet to see.

  But I knew that all of my own lifetimes had been in this one world. The constellations of stars, the moon, the seasons…they were all of the same world. Just parts of the world far enough away that they rarely ran into each other.

  It was possible the others hadn’t figured this out yet. They were still under the misconception that when they were reborn, they were on a different world. In the last few hundred years, I began to grow suspicious that others were not reborn at all. Or at least not anywhere that I have ever been or will be. This made it difficult to explain my experience to others, just as it was difficult for me to believe in theirs.

  “It lasts for only a moment,” I said, “shorter than sleep. And there are no dreams. At least I don’t think there are. Being reborn can…feel like a dream. The way it happens in fragmented sensations.”

  “But you face it like a warrior,” he said.

  I smiled at him and nodded.

  “I worry…that I won’t…” a tear streamed down his temple, “I should have died before coming to this desert.”

  “Would you have rather died shitting yourself?�
��

  Kleon smiled, tears still streaming from his eyes. Waving the flies away from him, I watched for some time as he breathed laboriously, staring blankly up at the clear night sky. The dark firmament was awash with the milky white streak that becomes visible over every place I’ve lived. A chorus of chirping and buzzing drowned out the frightened whispers of the sleepless men around me.

  Even if Kleon didn’t die in the night, he would only serve to slow me down. To slow everyone down. That was no way for a warrior to face death. In situations like this, evading enemies from every direction while retreating for familiar grounds, a certain pragmatism had to take precedence over sentimentalism.

  “I’ll send you to your next life,” I whispered, “to your next world.”

  The injured soldier continued breathing heavily, unable to hear me stirring through his growing delirium. I reached over and quietly picked up my remaining javelin, getting onto my hands and knees and looking down at Kleon, his lips dry and cracked, face shiny with sweat.

  His eyes moved to focus on me, and then glanced down at the weapon in my hand before looking back to me. I nodded. He returned the gesture. I leaned down to kiss him on the forehead before slowly sliding the blade of my javelin into his side just below the arm. His eyes squeezed closed, inhaling in pain as I pushed the sharp edge further into his flesh. His back arched up for a moment before his body went limp, head lolling, turning away from me.

  I removed the javelin, crawling back away from the dead peltast, and sat back. The javelin dropped from my blood-soaked hand. There was nothing left to do but sit and look up at the night sky.

  Rocks crashed into the narrow, winding path, Carduchians pushing boulders down on us from the mountain. I ducked, shards flinging in every direction. I followed the charge of the rearguard toward the retreating enemy. Slings were hurled toward us from Carduchians down on the path. Stones bounced off of my goatskin shield. The man in front of me was struck in the groin, sending him reeling to the rocky path. I leapt over him, continuing to charge.