REAP 23

by J J Perry

  “Yes.”

  “I should thank you, but I won’t. You did it for Maricia, and she rewards you with favors.”

  Raul rolled his eyes again. His ocular muscles had been getting a workout for the last hour. He increased the resistance and his effort. He raised his voice over the din. “I enjoy working out with you, Cy, but, really, can’t you think of anything but sex?”

  Cyrus scowled at him for a moment, put his head down and pedaled hard. There was nothing but noise for a minute or two. Cyrus muttered, “Savanna is mine. She belongs to me. She cannot refuse me.”

  The spinning gears made it hard to hear. He took a sip from a plastic bottle and looked over at Cyrus, pedaling frenetically. “Are you talking to me, Cy?”

  “No.”

  “Did you say ‘she belongs to me’?”

  “We were joined.” He clasped his hands together as he pedaled.

  “That’s not ownership, my friend.” Raul drank to his own insight.

  “It was. It should be.” He accelerated again on the bicycle. “And shall be.”

  Raul pondered that response. “Are you religious, Cy?”

  Cyrus stopped spinning. Raul followed suit. The pitch of the machines made a slow glissando. Cyrus climbed off and challenged Raul. “I am not. Why do you say that?”

  “The tone of your remarks.” He capitulated, putting his hands in the air to avoid the physical confrontation Cyrus seemed to offer. He stifled a series of comments about chauvinism and respect as Cyrus backed away and shrugged.

  “Belief is a basic human nature that I denied myself.” He stopped as if in midsentence. A gap yawned.

  “You were born into a religion. I know that from your history.”

  “My mother took me away from the desert and the ascetic life when I was five.”

  Raul finished the last swallow. “And now you’re back in.” He pointed around the room. “Not much pleasure in this joint.”

  “That’s the most insightful thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  Raul ignored the backhanded insult. “Are you and Savanna not getting along?”

  Cyrus put his hands on his hips, cocked his head, and looked back at him, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “That doesn’t ring true.”

  That was met with a tense silence until Cyrus spoke. “You should leave.”

  Raul walked out of the room to the stairs and stopped. He wondered if he should go back and talk more to his troubled friend. As he debated internally in indecision, he heard Cyrus speak aloud into the vacant room. “It does not matter. Nothing matters. We will all be dust within a week. Allahu Akbar.”

  Raul ascended silently to quarters. Maricia was not there. He activated the locator and found her in CAC. He trudged up the stairs and encountered Lucinda as she was leaving Science. “Surprise,” he said flatly.

  “You look tired.”

  “Big workout, but that is not the entire explanation. Where are you headed?”

  “Upstairs. Mar and Savanna are in CAC. We were going to have a ladies’ night out, get drunk, dance, be naughty, that kind of stuff.”

  “I need to talk to Savanna. Maybe to all of you.”

  “Come with me,” she said. He was spent but struggled up another two flights, Lucinda in the lead. As the door opened, they heard soft voices. In a couple of steps, they saw the two women engaged in interrupted conversation, their eyes turned toward the entry where they entered. “Hello, ladies,” Lucinda said. “I found a straggler and brought him up.”

  “Hi, sweetie,” Maricia said.

  “Are you guys up here plotting something?” Raul asked.

  “Conspiring every minute of every day,” said Maricia. “That’s how we women are. You know that, Raul.”

  “We have seventeen embryos,” Savanna said. “Three more, and we’ll be done.”

  “So you’re talking about reproduction.”

  “We leave the incessant sexual preoccupation to the men,” Maricia quipped.

  “Funny you should say that,” he said. “I just now walked away from Cyrus because he is obsessed and can talk of nothing more. It was aggravating.”

  “That’s not so strange,” Savanna said.

  “The psychological stresses of this journey were badly understated at the outset,” said Maricia. “I feel bad for him.”

  “He was making little statements that seemed to have an antiquated religiosity about them.”

  “For example?” Lucinda asked.

  “He referred to women as property, that their obligation is to obey their husband and to cater to his needs, ignoring their own. He’s pretty down, said nothing matters.”

  “He’s been depressed, more than anyone else, I think.”

  “I overheard something else. Do you know what ‘akbar’ means?”

  “What did he say?”

  “We’d all be dust within a week. Something Akbar.”

  Savanna stood in alarm. “This is frightening.” She went to a terminal and, in a few seconds, turned, her face pale. “It’s part of an ancient phrase used by fighters as they go into battle,”—she paused—“or on a suicide mission.”

  “Holy shit!” Lucinda said. “We need to find out what he’s thinking.”

  “Or what he’s done,” Savanna said. She turned back to the terminal and pounded out instructions. “I need to talk with him.”

  Maricia tapped on her communicator. “One of the med-bots should be here right away.”

  “Are you safe with him?” Lucinda asked.

  “You should have Ivanna with you,” Maricia said as she gently grabbed Savanna’s forearm. “The med-bots are good at psychiatric assessments and protection.”

  “Maybe he’ll hump her instead.” Raul chuckled. “Maybe he already has.”

  “He hasn’t,” Savanna mumbled. “I check every day. I’ll have one of the bots close and alerted.”

  “Good idea.” Maricia grimly smiled. “I was going to suggest that Lucinda talk to him instead, but she has had more than her share of confrontation.”

  “Copy that,” Lucinda agreed.

  “You and Raul should try and figure out if he has created any mischief while I confront him. Where is he?”

  “Second floor,” Raul stated.

  “I’ll stay close,” Maricia said. “Looks like Lola will be joining us, not Ivanna. Just as well.”

  Savanna clip-clopped down as she considered how to open the conversation and where to take it. They had not had an intimate conversation or moment alone since his duplicity with Suresh. She had lost all trust in him. All of their interactions had been as crew members or as commander and crewmate, not as husband and wife.

  A moment later, she and Lola were on the second floor. Maricia had given Einstein instructions but stayed on the floor above, watching the scene through the med-bot’s eyes. However, the bot stayed in the hall as Savanna went silently into the Recreation bay.

  The top of Cyrus’s head was barely visible bobbing from front to back. As she moved to improve her view, he was rocking back and forth, seated cross-legged on the floor. He was whispering. He then rocked forward and placed both hands and his forehead on the floor. He stayed in this posture for several seconds then raised and lowered his upper body, his arms still extended in an attitude of worship. Savanna observed in stunned disbelief. Never had she seen anything like this in person. It was like a news or educational video clip. But this was no backwater Mideastern village. It was so out of place as to be surreal. She took a few steps back and reached the entrance. She gave a soft, intentional cough and then called, “Cyrus?”

  Cyrus stood abruptly and glared in her direction, his fists clenched. He turned away.

  “I saw you were down here alone. We haven’t talked in a while,” she offered.

  “You give orders. I
comply.”

  “How are you doing, Cy?”

  “Capable, Commander.”

  “Look at me. I would prefer this conversation be on a personal, not professional basis, between Savanna and Cyrus.”

  He faced her and stepped closer, bristling with anger. “A wife is not the boss. She serves.”

  “I’m sorry that you lost the command, Cy. I don’t want it. It’s unfortunate that the rules-based algorithm placed the burden on—on your wife. That makes it especially difficult.”

  He snorted contempt but said nothing.

  “Is that why you’re so angry?”

  “Am I angry?”

  “You’re hostile and defensive.”

  “On the contrary, I am blessed and shall be exalted. Why should I care about your opinion?” He turned away, walked to one of the exercise bikes, and wiped it down. She didn’t move.

  “It matters to me because I care for you. Talk to me.”

  “Is that not pointless?”

  “It is when you answer every question with a question in some lame emotional escape and evasion. We have been over this in the past, Cy.” There was a bite in her tone.

  He stood and approached her. Saying nothing, he reached out and teased a lock of her black, straight hair from the top of her ear so that it fell along the side of her face. He moved his finger along her high cheekbone down to the angle of her jaw and then across her cheek to her closed lips. He tilted his head a few degrees and moved his eyes from her mouth to her chest where they lingered. After rubbing her lips back and forth, he moved his hand to the back of her neck, exerting pressure, trying to draw her close. She resisted. “Submit to me,” he said without feeling.

  “I want you to talk,” she countered.

  “It’s your duty to love me,” he said as he pulled harder.

  “Intimacy cannot exist without trust.” She put her hand forward on his chest to resist being drawn in. The pressure eased. His left hand came up and covered hers and, moving slowly, caressed it. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Cy.” She moved her hand from his chest to his chin and raised it, pulling his eyes into hers.

  “If you will pleasure me.”

  “Not like this.”

  “Perform your marital obligation. Then we can talk.”

  “This is ineffective foreplay, Cyrus.” As she spoke, she forcefully pushed him away. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it.

  “You have no right to refuse me,” he snarled.

  Savanna was in pain but would not show it. He had pulled her close, his foul breath mixed in his unwashed odor. “Let go of my arm.” His grip tightened, and he drew her closer. Her free hand touched her communicator in a brief code.

  “Serve me as my wife.”

  “So artful, subtle, and persuasive, dear.” She grimaced as she spoke.

  His grip tightened, and his right arm reached around her neck as the door opened. Lola announced, “Excuse me. May I be of assistance to either of you?” She walked like flowing silk toward them.

  His grip relaxed. “I was trying to seduce my wife. You should go.”

  “Commander, would you prefer that I leave?”

  “No.”

  “Then you may participate,” Cyrus said. “Let’s go to our cabin.” With that, he pulled Savanna toward the stairs. Lola blocked the exit.

  “My rules do not allow for group sexual activity, sir,” Lola explained.

  “I’ll have plenty of that soon enough,” Cyrus said. “But for now, you can watch as long as your clothes are off,” he replied.

  “What the hell? Cyrus, this is ridiculous. Let go of my arm.”

  “Do not harm Commander De Clercq.” She put a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. He strained to put his face an inch away from Savanna’s.

  “To get what you want as commander, you need to give me what you owe me as my wife. Say yes, and your arm is free.”

  “If I say no?”

  “We’ll have sex whether you agree to it or not.”

  “I believe there’s another option.” As Savanna spoke, she twisted her captive wrist, loosening his grip, and immediately hammered her free forearm down on Cyrus’s arm that held her, breaking free. In a fraction of a second she took a small turning step and, twisting almost full circle, swung her freed elbow viciously, barely clipping Cyrus’s nose. His head jerked, and in utter surprise, he drew a finger under his nose showing blood. He went to strike, his fist painfully blocked by Lola’s hand. He boiled, nostrils flared, eyes ablaze.

  Savanna looked him in the eye without judgment. After a period of silence, he stepped back. Lola stepped away as well with a lovely, pleasant smile, so non-apropos for the palpable tension filling the small space. “Cy, let it go, whatever it is, and return to reason.”

  “What I am doing is reasonable. You are my wife. You belong to me. I have rights as your husband.”

  “Forcing me is barbaric.”

  His eyes darted back and forth between the two beautiful women as the look of anger morphed into conciliation, and he spoke. “I disagree, but I understand your warped sociology.”

  One floor up, Maricia did her best to watch the scene, but Raul had come in and nuzzled her ear. “Not now, please,” she said.

  “Is Savanna making any progress? Whoa, is that blood?”

  “Yeah. Good thing Lola’s there.”

  “What happened?” Raul pulled his arms away and sat down to watch.

  “We are very different, you and I,” Cyrus said as he rubbed his bruised hand.

  “Made more apparent in this high-tech existential hell, a psychological black hole that sucks sanity from some of us into some singularity where it disappears forever. Unless you make an effort to pull out of the spiral that pulled in Suresh, your fate will be the same.”

  “We all die.”

  “Why are you so damn angry?”

  Cyrus moved away from Lola as he pondered a response. “Maybe it’s because I think you guys don’t recognize basic human rights. Maybe because I should rightfully be the commander. Maybe because I have been denied my status as husband.”

  “So use Lola.”

  Lola smiled at him as her programming dictated.

  “I can’t bring myself to use a machine especially when I have a wife.”

  “Had. I’m done.”

  “I hope I can change your mind about that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I have something you want. You have something I want. It’s time to negotiate.”

  “What is it you were doing when I came in, sitting, rocking back and forth, mumbling?”

  “It was a prayer.”

  “I’ve never known you to pray.”

  “Life has changed both of us.”

  “What do you pray for?”

  “That’s part of what I have that you want.” He smiled.

  “What have you done, Cyrus Paria?”

  “Liberated my soul. Perhaps yours as well.”

  “That indicates suicide,” Lola said. “Alarm! Danger!”

  A soft, penetrating pinging sounded on all levels of the ship. Cyrus reacted by pulling a black steel object from a pocket, touching a button that produced a click and a shining four-inch blade. He grasped Savanna and placed the knife at her throat. “Move, and I’ll kill her,” he said to Lola.

  She lifted both arms above her head and said, “This is not a wise course of action.”

  The hand holding the weapon was crushed, and Cyrus’s head jerked back. The steel clattered to the floor as Cyrus went limp, Ivanna’s hand around his neck, shooting a current that stunned his spinal cord. His jaw clenched in tetany, eyes like buttons, round and seeing nothing. Ivanna had entered silently during the alarm, just as Cyrus had grabbed Savanna and, by so doing, placed the doorway to his rear. She laid him gently on the floor.

 
Savanna felt warmth flowing down the front of her chest, but Lola was instantly attending to her, cauterizing the superficial laceration. Seconds later, Maricia burst into the room, Raul in pursuit. “Savanna,” she cried.

  “Not a serious injury,” Lola declared.

  7.4

  “Spoon, coffee, please,” Lucinda called out. She and Savanna sat alone in the mess hall half an hour later. “That’s a bit more than a scratch, Sav. A bit deeper, and he would have hit a big vessel.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “What do you think Cyrus has been up to?”

  “I have a couple of ideas, the worst of which occurred to me when I saw you.”

  “I can bring out the worst in people.”

  “Do you want a contest?” Savanna sipped the hot, dark beverage from a fired mug, one of the few noncomposite items on the ship. She inhaled the steam through her nostrils in a deep breath, held it in for five seconds, and then let out a long, slow sigh.

  “His statement about dust was disturbing,” Lucinda said.

  “I’m worried about his course correction, the one to avoid the comet.”

  “You didn’t double-check it?”

  “Not very carefully. I had no reason to suspect he would do anything wrong. Self-preservation, you know.”

  Lucinda reached over and grasped the top of Savanna’s muscular shoulder. “Damn! We need to check it out now.” They both stood and headed toward the door. “I hope you’re wrong. Because, if you’re not, it is going to be ugly.”

  “A correction now might be too late.”

  “Doing nothing isn’t in my psyche profile.” Lucinda stood up with her fresh coffee. “Or yours. Let’s get up to CAC where we can check this out faster.”

  “You are leaving without breakfast, hon. Is my cooking that bad?” Spoon wheeled in behind them.

  “I just came for coffee. I’ll be back for foie gras later.”

  “Phooey! Such graw-titude.”

  “We’re in a hurry, Spoon. Trying to save your life.”

  “Oh me, oh my. I wasn’t sure if I had a life,” it said in an overdone Southern United States accent as they waited for the lift. “So noble, so brave. My heart swells in pride.” One of its arms clanked loudly as it hit its front panel. “Ah am so proud of you, the both of you, for your dedication and sacrifi—”