by Ty Beltramo
There was a general murmur of assent among the Engineers. Melia spoke again. “And how will the experiment be conducted?”
“Those details have not been finalized as yet,” Aeson said.
“In other words, ‘it’s a secret,’” I whispered.
Aeson went on. “But, as custom dictates, we will call another Gathering before we embark on this enterprise.”
“In other words, ‘I’m lying. We’ve already started,’” I whispered.
“I see Melanthios is not here. It is his domain. What is his judgment?” asked the European-styled Engineer close behind Melia.
“The development is in his domain’s best interest, as I’m sure everyone can see. But we have not yet come to an agreement with him concerning the details,” Aeson said.
“In other words, he either hates it or is suspicious of Aeson’s motives,” I whispered to Diomedes.
“Why so?” asked Diomedes. Diomedes wasn’t the kind to ask questions he didn’t already know the answers to, but sometimes he could be naïve.
“Because Aeson is full of it. Because Aeson is committed to evolution through competition, not collaboration. He’s Chaos, after all. The only collaboration he likes is the gang-up-on-the-weak type of collaboration. And, unless by ‘North America’ he really means ‘Canada,’ such an experiment would be very difficult. The United States has lots of inertia and mass. The UK would have been a better choice if he wanted quick validation. Something’s afoot.”
“But I assume you will support his proposal, nonetheless.”
“Of course I will,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I suppose the ancient virtues of honesty, honor, and integrity might be considered reasons.”
“Those aren’t reasons, Diomedes. They’re overhead.”
“I thought as much,” Diomedes said with a trace of disapproval. The senior Engineer was as pure and forthright as he was on the day of his creation.
“I fear for Aeson, then. For I have come to understand that no one can make such a mess as you, when you put your mind to it.”
“It’s a gift,” I said.
“Tell me, Elson, what has Aeson done to you to warrant such persistent attention? You seem to be nearly obsessed with him at times. If you were simply after those faithful to Chaos, there are several who excel more in that regard. I would gladly supply a list of names, in fact. But why Aeson?”
I thought about it. Aeson’s affiliation with Chaos didn’t bother me. I had no problem with evolution through stirring the pot. No. It wasn’t that. It was difficult to describe, but I had this sense that he was very bad. I couldn’t remember. Whatever it was, it was very long ago. Aeson had done something over the top a long time ago, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I don’t know what it is, really. But every time I hear about him doing something the little voice inside my head screams that he’s crossing the line. Then I get this urge to mess with him,” I said. I looked at Aeson. He was so oily. “Can’t prove it. But I think he’s worse than the others. More dangerous.”
“An interesting assessment. I think that you do not merely have a problem with his power, but your inner being rebels at the idea of authority. You are a rebel of the first order.”
Diomedes was of Law, and Law didn’t like rebels. Collaboration (i.e., compliance) was their game. I wasn’t of either Law or Chaos, which was why few ever spoke to me. Diomedes must have a hidden liberal streak, I thought.
“I don’t like Engineers messing with things they shouldn’t. You know me--I love to screw with balance, wherever I find it. But he tips things too far.”
“Hmm. I don’t think you understand the full implication of your words, Elson.”
“Ha. Like you’ve never said that before.”
“No no. I don’t mean you are not intelligent. Far from it. I simply believe you are feeling and declaring truths that are profound beyond your present capacity to grasp them.” Diomedes paused for a moment before he spoke again. “Can I give you some advice, my friend?”
“Sure.”
“Never forget--never--that Aeson is a master of the game of chess. His actions are deliberate, well planned, and often done to mislead, if for no other reason. His plans are rarely what they seem, nor are they without layers of contingency.”
“Sounds like you’ve studied him,” I said. “What do you think of this scheme of his?”
Diomedes put a gentle hand on my shoulder. His smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I also play chess, Elson.” He squeezed my shoulder and turned away.
After a few more minutes of harmless questions and answers from the guests, Aeson called for support. The support of the Gathering was not required, in the strict sense. But tradition is clear that we work together in the Endeavor. Appearances must be maintained, I guess.
Each Engineer approached the dais to bestow or withhold his blessing. Engineer after Engineer expressed their support of Aeson.
When it was my turn, I approached the dais and bowed, slightly.
“Sounds just dandy, Aeson. Call me if you need any help,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Elson. But thanks for your support.”
He looked behind me, at Diomedes, who was last. I had been dismissed.
As Diomedes approached the dais, instead of simply speaking his support, he stepped up onto the dais and faced Aeson. As he did so, he too became somewhat translucent and began to emanate an aura of deep blue and gold. He spoke simply, but clearly.
“Aeson, I oppose you and your company. May you falter at every step. May you gather enemies from unknown places, and the slightest thorn grow to become a stake through your heart. May your allies become feeble and scatter. In the name of all who shepherd humanity, I oppose what you intend to do.”
Aeson’s aura dimmed. He stammered. For a curse to come from such a senior Engineer meant trouble. It did seem kind of harsh, even to me. Diomedes was even-tempered and thoughtful. This was way out there for him.
Everyone watched to see how Aeson would snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. He quickly recovered.
“Diomedes, your judgment is honored as you are an Engineer of renown. May I ask your reasoning?”
“I have spoken. That is all I will say.”
Now that’s entertainment.
CHAPTER TWO
I sat in the dirt with my back resting comfortably against a pile of fine sand. Lights from town trickled across the mounds and cone-shaped piles of the gravel pit, revealing a black horizon jagged with irregular, unnatural shapes. The clean air and stretch of sand could have been those of an Egypt four thousand years gone. Stillness blanketed my mind; all was quiet in the pit.
The emptiness of a small quarry pooled at my feet. The sides were lined with vertical scars from drilling equipment. Oxford, Michigan was the gravel capital of the world. Ice Age glaciers ground mountains of granite into pebbles, leaving them here for men to unearth and refashion into roads and buildings. But all was quiet now. The men left not long after the glaciers, in the grand scheme of things.
The nearby town, lying just beyond the hills, was made of the same stuff from the pits. But the miners had abandoned the quarry at my feet soon after they started. Less than fifty feet down their equipment struck solid stone—stone so old and hard that it turned back their drills and dynamite. Its white-veined black dome still lay exposed.
I watched the stone patiently. The rock at the bottom of the quarry was only the tip of the thing. Its core stretched deep into the earth. I had no idea exactly how far, but I knew it was near the mantle. And it was old.
Engineers gain understanding from one another. Their lore was guarded. Each Discipline was a guild, mastering its own craft and building skills to be passed from member to member.
I had no Discipline. I had to learn by spying or seeking out other teachers.
There were others in this world that could teach me; others who were often ignored by Engi
neers. This rock was one of their places. I waited.
Late into the night, the sand began to tingle against my back. It seemed to hum, or maybe sing. It was a subtle change. The stillness deepened as a hush spread out across the gravel pit. Silvery wisps of smoke traced the white veins of the rock. An elemental was passing through. I had no idea what its purpose might be, but it really didn’t matter. Tonight was about observation. Class was in session.
I couldn’t abandon the matter that made up my body without giving away my presence. Instead, I extended my senses to the rock, descending past the building blocks of the rock’s atoms. An elemental wasn’t a thing of energy or matter. I studied them often over the years, hoping to understand how they interacted with the world. Engineers manipulated ambient energy—as much as they could store—and people to accomplish their evolutionary objectives. Elementals intertwined space, time, energy, and matter to form the universe itself. That skill struck me as useful.
I watched the elemental as it wove through the rock, performing some duty I assumed only one of its kind could understand.
Hair-thin tendrils of silver spread out from a tangled center as it wove its way along the quartz veins. Wispy fingers darted among small pockets of crystals, then to lumps of ore. It wasn’t following any pattern I could fathom.
I decided to gamble. I paced it for a few seconds as it approached a cluster of green copper deposits. I focused my senses on the essence of the copper, hoping to be right there when the elemental did whatever it might do.
As it approached the ore it paused for a fraction of a second. Then, before I could react, it darted into the deposit and out again. It retreated slightly, then did what I could only say was a small circular dance before moving along its original course.
Did that thing just make fun of me?
Being disrespected was something I was used to. But that elemental didn’t even know me. I felt profoundly insulted.
“Hey. . . thing,” I projected at it, assuming normal lines of communication between immaterial beings would work. “You could at least say ‘excuse me’ or something.”
I inspected the copper the elemental had touched. It was changed, but only slightly. A small cloud of sub-atomic fireflies buzzed and drifted into the ether. I looked closer and saw what was happening. Some of the copper had been converted to its energy equivalent, which the elemental had used for some obscure purpose. It had used a tiny puff (was the only way to describe it) of the ether to gently unravel the matter, which then reverted to its primordial state.
I’d always considered matter a fabric of frozen energy, but now I could see how that weave could be undone and the energy “thawed.” Interesting.
I pulled my senses back and breathed deeply. The clear night air of the pseudo-desert felt good in my fake lungs. “I mean, we’re practically neighbors,” I said aloud. The night echoed my words back at me. It sounded hurt.
The attempt at communication hadn’t been a complete failure. I learned they can detect me when I’m close.
There’s very little information about elementals out in the open. Engineers act like they don’t even exist. It stood to reason that their ability to terraform the planet would make elementals excellent allies. Why would the orthodox Engineers be so tight-lipped concerning elementals? Most likely the fact that the Doctrines—supposedly ordained by the Preceptors—made no mention of them had something to do with it. And it was exactly that kind of omission that made me believe the party line was just that—a line. I was suspicious by nature and paranoid by choice. So when an entire race acts like another entire race doesn’t exist, I look for the conspiracy. And if everything we knew was nothing more than a line, where was the truth? If your only source of authoritative information had an agenda, who could you trust? No one.
Man, did I hate Engineers. And Preceptors.
I leaned back and watched the stars revolve slowly around the North Star. The sky spun as it had for eons. It was all too big. The orthodox Engineers had a neat set of Doctrines that tied a nice bow on the whole world. They had an answer for everything. It all fit together very well, in their systematic way of thinking. But that just made it more suspect.
I laughed at the stars. Orthodox Engineers. The only unorthodox Engineer I knew was me. I was the only one asking the hard questions. They couldn’t even see them through their haze of doctrinal interpretation. Was it possible that I alone had insight? I laughed again.
I was confused and isolated, ignorant and alone. But I knew it. Those fools didn’t even guess that their traditional orthodoxy, whether it be of Law or Chaos, might be a house of cards built on a Frito floating in the midst of an uncaring ocean.
Well, that was their problem. I had at least four friends, and truth was out there somewhere. That wasn’t nothing.
I stood up and brushed the sand from my jeans. The sky to the south, above the small town next door, was turning crimson with the dawn. “Red in the morning . . . “ I mumbled. “Fantastic.”
I didn’t look back at the black rock as I walked through the Egyptian-like desert, toward town.
CHAPTER THREE
Oxford is about fifty miles north of Detroit, placed right in the middle of several large gravel pits. It’s my kind of town.
I sat in a coffee shop at the corner of Dennison and Washington, considering, over a Grande Double Espresso, how I would spend the next few weeks.
Many Engineers forgo the manifestation of human flesh and bone as a normal way of living. I love my flesh and bone, especially when it is infused with a Grande Double Espresso.
My great powers of discernment, which fail less than half the time, told me that whatever Aeson was up to, it would be harmful to North America. And while I don’t run the place, it’s home. I didn’t like Aeson, his methods, or his buddies. I really didn’t like them messing with my town. Screwing with Aeson and his plans was an ancient hobby of mine. This time, it would be personal.
Unfortunately, my network of friends is small and not up to the challenge of getting ahead of Aeson. So I’d have to figure out how to delay him. Social movements could be hard to stop, once started. I’d have to see Melanthios and try to stir up more opposition there. That shouldn’t be too hard. I guessed from his absence at the Gathering that he was already inclined to resist Aeson’s ideas. I’d also have to find Aeson’s primary operatives among the people of this great nation and arrange a messy end. That wouldn’t be too hard. Hunting down and killing human operatives is relatively easy, once you get used to the idea--which I had.
My favorite table sat alongside the storefront on Washington Street. I watched the morning commuters as they passed. The buildings were from the late nineteenth century, but in good repair. The town was healthy. I realized that Oxford came close to Aeson’s ideal community. It was small, surrounded by farmland and open fields, and most of what a person needed was within walking distance of the center of town. If you lived in the original neighborhood, you really didn’t need to drive anywhere. Crime was practically nonexistent. The fact is, I liked Oxford because it manifested the very qualities Aeson extolled at his Gathering.
I pulled a ball of napkins from my pocket and picked it apart. Three napkins had Aeson’s name written at the top. The others I wadded up and pushed back into my jeans. My files on Aeson weren’t extensive, but they spoke to me. A well-written napkin can make the most marvelous mischief.
“Hello, Elson,” said a familiar voice next to my table.
I turned to see a black-robed figure, his face shrouded in the shadow of a large hood. The robe looked as if it had been made in the fourteenth century.
The figure moved to sit opposite me and pulled back his hood. There I was, staring Death in the face.
I hate it when he does that.
“Hello, Death. It’s nice to see you. Which I say only because I know you can’t kill me.” He smiled a smile that I didn’t like one bit--lots of bone-grey teeth and a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes. “What brings you to the great village of
Oxford? Killing one of my neighbors today, are you?”
Death wasn’t an Engineer. He was something else. I didn’t know what. His power and scope of responsibility were enormous, as was his sense of humor. Which was good, I suppose. That job could get to you. But your worldview can be irreparably damaged when Death plays a practical joke on you. I don’t recommend the experience.
“Elson, Elson. I have lots of things to do besides my day job. I’m getting into all kinds of new things.”
“Really, then why do you still wear that getup? It’s been, like, five-hundred years now.”
“Style. It’s all about style. You’ve got to have style, as they say.” He leaned back in his chair and loosened his robe. “And it scares the hell out of people. What are you drinking?”
“Espresso. Want one?” I asked.
“Sure. Make it a double,” he said.
I signaled Jill, behind the counter. She nodded. Jill always took care of me. She was young and still optimistic about the world. But underneath that perky exterior, I sensed strength--wisdom. Don’t ask me how I could tell. Maybe it was the way she moved around the store, going about her simple duties like a Shaolin priest. Maybe it was the way her smile was more motherly than girlish. Maybe it was the way her eyes caught yours and wouldn’t let them go. I don’t know what it was. But she radiated goodness and peace. Part of me wondered if I’d frequent the coffee shop with such commitment if she weren’t a part of it.
In a few moments a steaming cup of java was delivered to Death himself. She stared at his black robe and raised an eyebrow.
“He’s from Sweden,” I said.
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. Death gave her a nod and a wink. One day I’d have to share his real identity with her. She’d laugh.
“I came because I need a favor,” Death said.
Now, I’m not the brightest lighter at the concert, but there are some things that even the village idiot can’t miss. Death doesn’t need favors. He doesn’t need anything. Well, maybe he needed a new wardrobe and some time off. The little voice inside that murmurs things—nasty things that get me into real trouble—was telling me to step carefully. I ignored it.