‘It’s over,’ he says as he dusts the sand off the outside of his Leaks. He bends, shakes the sand out of his hair.
You still didn’t tell me which Goddess you were praying to.
He removes his Leak, steps off the motocart. Halo is sitting in her meditative position on the back, her veil over her head, her blinders on beneath it, her entire body covered in sand. ‘Does it matter?’ he asks as he begins dusting her off.
Only one can hear you, and you don’t need to pray to me.
‘You’re getting cocky in your old age.’ He bats his hand against her shoulder to clean off the dust, just hard enough to get her attention. Sure, she could mind-fry him, or whatever it is she does, but he gets the same feeling he’s had since rescuing her last night – she needs him much more than he needs her.
Old age? I’m only eighteen. You’re much older than me.
Movement out of the corner of Sterling’s eye catches his attention. A double column of dust-laden Learners trudges on their way; silent save for the rattle and clank of the leg irons that shackle them in formation. The cycle of reeducation and reentry to society isn’t easy to break. Once to reeducation was enough for him, should be enough for anyone.
The Learners’ uniform is a roughly woven, knee-length tabard and a pointed, uncomfortable cap. Their exposed arms and legs are thin to the point of emaciation, and many sport scars and tattoos. Very few in the Canyon have the luxury of excess body fat; the Learners have almost none because they are routinely fed not-quite-enough as part of their penance and reeducation process. The constant marching is also part of the process; it keeps them busy and tired, and serves as a visible deterrent and reminder for the population at large.
One of the first things a Learner learns is to not expend any more energy than necessary, so they don’t so much march as wearily shuffle, heads down and hands clasped before them. They’re escorted by a pair of OL Officers who march three paces behind the end of the column, with clubbing sticks in their hands and grim expressions plastered on their faces. They also carry officially sanctioned, purpose made and finely manufactured OL issue shivs sheathed at their belts.
One of the Learners grunts, stumbles, and catches himself on the man in front of him. From seemingly out of nowhere, a trio of metalzips materialize and buzz around the exhausted man. The Learner next to him catches him under the arm and holds him up, but he’s not in any better condition.
To stop is to die; if a Learner goes down and the escort can’t kick him back to his feet, they’ll cut his throat and the column will have to carry his corpse until they return to the OL compound at dusk for roll call. Better, far better to keep moving. The two men stagger to keep up as the column shuffles off.
Both of those men will die tonight.
Startled by her voice in his head, Sterling turns to find Halo with her hand over her eyes.
‘I could have told you that without listening to their thoughts.’
I didn’t listen to their thoughts. I listened to yours.
.5.
Slow down.
Sterling slows along the outer rim of the Northern settlement. He’s been to this area before, many times.
That flesh dealer, there.
A well-fed man with greasy matted hair, a shiv scar from ear to nostril and beard tails past his belly sits comfortably on a medium-sized prefab barrel in front of the flesh room Sterling has visited more times than he cares to admit
‘You’re joking,’ he snorts in amusement, as he slows the motocart to a stop. The flesh dealer, Rocklick by name, looks pleased and at ease as he smiles benignly at Sterling’s approach. This is not the surly, money-grubbing, vulgar flesh dealer Sterling has dealt with in the past; that Rocklick has never looked friendly in his life. Not once.
‘Rocklick,’ he says, stepping off the motocart.
‘Ah, Sterling, my very good friend. Here are the supplies you requested.’
‘A barrel of delixer?’ he asks, looking the container over.
We’ll need this for what we are about to do.
‘Is this the good stuff?’ Sterling asks Rocklick.
‘It is,’ he says, his eyes locked on something in the distance. He breathes slowly, as if he’s sleeping. ‘Triple distilled; the purest in the North.’
Load it onto the cart.
‘Yeah, I figured that much, but why do we need all this delixer? If you want to drink, you should have said something back at my place. I keep a stash, you know. Let’s use my less-than-good stash and let me go ahead and keep this stuff.’
That’s not what it’s for.
Sterling smiles faintly. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’ He crouches and wraps his arms around the prefab barrel; it sloshes most enticingly as he lifts it, and his mouth waters as he puts the barrel in beside Halo. He’s just about to return to the driver’s seat when Rocklick approaches him with a bag full of supplies.
‘Here are the other things you need,’ he says as he hands Sterling the bag. A quick glance inside reveals R Boxes, water packets and a small sealed box of friction ignited chemical fire sticks.
‘I see what’s going on here.’ He drops the bag next to the barrel of delixer. ‘Boom.’
Yet you go along with it.
‘I have a feeling,’ Sterling says as he starts the motocart, ‘that I really don’t have a choice.’
We all have choices.
‘And some are ours and some are others. Where to now, Goddess?’
Sterling feels something light brush over his shoulder. He’s just about to turn when he notices Halo’s finger extend into his peripheral vision.
‘You could have just told me,’ he grumbles as he starts the motocart. ‘And turn back around; it’s not safe to ride on a motocart like that.’
***
The Book states that the Canyon is the last hope for humankind, that humanity’s relentless pursuit of the next answer gave rise to the War of the Untold and the extinction event which few survived; that to be one of the surviving few is a very mixed blessing. All those now living are Deathborn; in one’s previous life, one failed to follow the teachings of the Book and the words of the Goddess, and the soul is doomed to be reborn. And yet there is hope: live well, follow the Book, obey the Goddess and one can break the Repeater’s cycle of death and rebirth.
Amongst the Lowers, there is a cult that believes that the seat of the soul is behind the forehead. They cite the passage in the Book which reads: The soul of the Devout sits atop a pile of flesh and dwells behind the eyes as affirmation. To aid in the soul’s release, they flap back the skin and tissue in the center of the forehead, and with many prayers to the Goddess and a short length of saw-toothed metal tube the diameter of a large man’s thumb, very carefully remove a disk of skull to expose the brain. The flap of skin and tissue is stitched back into place and bandaged until it heals over. The disk of skull is threaded on a necklace, and worn for all to see as a token of their piety. Once the bone grows back, the procedure must be repeated. Long time cult members may have four or five disks of skull on their necklace.
In the North, they are known as Forehead Drillers, and may be easily recognized by their skull disk necklace and circular depression in their forehead.
Just moments ago, Sterling had been steering the motocart on a lane paved with lava rock when he felt the overwhelming urge to stop in front of a particularly small home. The door opens while the motocart is still in motion, and a pair of Lowers with eyes closed walk out to meet them. Halo dismounts, and the couple freeze in place.
These two people are Forehead Drillers. Husband and wife, the man’s forehead bears a none-too-clean bandage and his necklace sports a second, fresh disk of skull. Both of them still have their eyes shut and their hands clasped in front of them.
The poor misguided fools.
Halo approaches the woman, and with the lightest of touches traces the depression in the woman’s forehead with her fingertip. The woman flinches, but her eyes remained closed.
&nbs
p; ‘They are the most devout among the Lowers,’ Sterling says. ‘Do they forehead drill in the South? I didn’t see anyone with the wounds… ’
They do, and they are equally foolish.
She steps to the man, and though she barely makes contact with the bandage over his wound he too flinches but keeps his eyes shut.
‘Why did you call them out here?’ Sterling asks.
The woman sinks to her knees and sits on her heels, but keeps her eyes closed and her hands clasped in front of her. Lift her up.
‘Why?’
Whatever happened to ‘no questions asked’?
Sterling snorts. ‘You know,’ he says as he lifts the woman, ‘you should watch how you talk to people. Sometimes you come off as bossy and rude.’
I don’t talk to people. I talk to you.
‘Yeah, well, whatever. You know what I mean. If you don’t, take a quick look in my mind and check out what I’m thinking right now.’
You need to relieve your bladder.
‘No, I don’t,’ Sterling says, as the dull internal pressure of an excess of liquid suddenly impinges itself upon his consciousness. ‘Dammit, you.’
Pick the woman up and take her inside. Place her on the floor.
Sterling does as he’s instructed, grumbling along the way. He kicks open the door of the small home, and the pungent miasma of spoiled R Bars, bodies too long unwashed, clothing too infrequently changed, and a thunder mug incompletely covered and not recently emptied takes his breath away and twists his stomach. He stops breathing, deposits the woman on the floor, and exits as expeditiously as possible.
Once outside, he’s less than thrilled to discover that the odor clings to his hair and clothing. He steps behind the home out of public view and pisses against the wall. He reckons that it certainly won’t make the place smell any worse and may, in fact, actually improve the aroma.
Stop whining. You’ve been in worse.
Halo and the Forehead Driller are aboard the motocart. His eyes are still closed, and she sits next to him, unbothered by his stench.
Continue north. The servers are still some way.
‘What’s with the eyes?’ Sterling asks. ‘Why are you keeping his eyes shut?’
It’s something I wanted to try out.
‘Any reason?’
An ability untested loses its vitality.
***
Following Halo’s instruction, Sterling drives them in a direction he’s never explored before. He’s been to the northwestern portion of the North which is noted for the tremendous slabs of rock that are all flat planes and right angles but that’s about the extent of his travels. The Rectangle Rocks are a popular place for Northerners to get married, and it’s where Sterling married Lily and very likely where his sister will marry in the future. Some say the rocks are leftover remnants of an earlier version of the Great Demarcator; others claim that Timera, the most famous Northern Goddess of antiquity, created the unnaturally smooth and massively rectilinear slabs as a permanent reminder of her power.
They encounter fewer and fewer households as they continue northeast. Occasionally, they pass a home around which the occupants have collected motocarts in varying degrees of completeness; parts and pieces of prefab slabs, shipping pallets and storage containers; discarded clothing; empty R Boxes and water jugs in astonishing quantities; and heaps and mounds of sunbaked, malodorous debris that defy convenient categorization.
To a greater or lesser degree, all of the Canyon is harsh, arid and uninviting; here it seems to be even more so, with only the occasional cactus or Joshua tree to disturb the monotonous desertscape. As always, the Canyon escarpment looms in the distance, and the sun is damn hot, too – hanging in the sky like a burning orb of judgement, weighing and evaluating the actions of the insignificant mortals and their puny endeavors.
Bear to the right here.
Sterling acknowledges with a grunt and says, ‘You still haven’t told me the reason we picked up the Forehead Driller.’
He is the maintenance technician for the Northern Servers. He will gain us access.
‘All I can see is the Canyon wall. There’s nothing else.’
There is something else. Just keep driving.
He devotes considerable care and attention to the driving. The terrain is increasingly wild and hazardous, and they haven’t seen any signs of life or habitation for the last fifteen or twenty vestas. A breakdown here would strand them, and could potentially kill them. At least he has enough delixer to take the sting out his death, if that is indeed their fate.
There.
He pulls up and looks. It’s the Canyon wall, just like every other section of Canyon wall he’s ever seen with nothing to differentiate it or call attention to it.
Watch and learn.
With eyes still closed, the Forehead Driller dismounts from the moto and steps into the shadow. He picks up a random rock and raps it against the wall three times, once, four times, and one final time. He licks his right thumb and presses it against the wall.
Sterling jumps when a section of Canyon wall half again as tall as a man and wide enough to admit two motocarts side-by-side noiselessly drops into the ground. It’s so quiet that Sterling can hear the man’s footsteps as he walks inside.
Quickly – drive inside and park.
HUNTER
.1.
BREAK OUT.
Move like wind and wind like time until the Canyon, the Stayed, the Devout, Uppers and Lowers, the Vultured Few, Learners, OL Officers, critters and sinners all merge into one.
(Who’s the one under the sun liberating until his thoughts don’t come and the faceless cease and the pressure bleeds and the blotto moon signals all is done? Life is irrelevant for the revenant.)
‘Halo!’
I am here, Hunter. The Church of the South is a cage for the Devout.
(Blasph!)
Imagine all the people, imagine all the lies, imagine all the weak souls counting days until they die.
The eastern caves.
‘Last time, I went west,’ I remind her, the Goddess, the One Who Can Hear.
You did.
‘And I didn’t find you didn’t… save you.’
Smash rock fist, hand to head.
(IT’S YOUR FAULT, HUNTER!)
It’s not your fault, ignore that voice.
‘The voice?’
(So many.)
--Ignore that inner voice that tells you what is right and wrong. Lies and blasph are paper birds. They fly but they can only go so far.
‘Father Miscavige?’
--RETURN TO ME, HUNTER! DO NOT LEAVE THE CHURCH!
Out of the Hole where the guilty go and the sun don’t shine and the lives are mine. Out of the Hole through the hallways left foot right foot moving discreet, the sound of my feet water on sand, the voice of the land of deathborn children. No shiv in hand; the clubbing stick stripped from the guard that I’ve half devoured hangs from my hand.
Keep your eyes closed, I’ll prove my power, I’ll guide you.
I stop and place my hands at my sides. Standing fully erect with my eyes shut, I await instruction.
‘I am yours, Goddess, lead me.’
Take two steps forward.
I do so.
Good, you’ll be good at this. I want you to keep your eyes closed the entire time, until you get to the eastern caves. I will guide you, you must trust me.
‘I do, Halo, I do, with my life full.’
I will see with you, see through you, see for you.
‘Anything, Goddess.’
(Careful, she could be false. Blasph has been on her lips like filthy fingers on lover’s tits.)
‘Quiet, you,’ I hiss.
Ignore that voice, Hunter, it is the voice of the faceless.
‘It is strong.’
So am I.
‘I feel your strength, Goddess; I feel your wisdom coursing through my veins.’
You are strong as well.
‘I am weak in your n
ame and being.’
You are the strongest man in the Canyon, dear Hunter.
‘I am… something else entirely.’
We all must recognize this someday.
One glance down at the blood on my arms and the clubbing stick gripped tightly in my fist reminds me of this. I am an animal, filth, the dirtiest of dirties.
--You are my filth. You disappoint me. RETURN HOME NOW! RETURN TO THE HOLE!
(Turn down the silence.)
Violence lays ahead, Hunter. Follow my guidance and do not stray. I will lead you to safety, lead you to me.
‘My eyes are closed; I am yours, Halo.’
.2.
Many of the Devout live simple lives, praying and waiting for their rapture day and raising their children to free themselves from the circle of death. All of us sinners, all of us born of filth, Death’s wish is to entrap us, to rebirth us into a new shell of shit in the unforgiving Canyon we all reluctantly share. Control of one’s fate is obtained through knowledge of the Book, through the wisdom of the Goddess – the protector of the Book – and adherence to its principles. Facelessness is avoidable, a symptom of the disease of iniquity. We’ve all been guilty, we’ve all had our dirties.
(You have so many.)
‘I know,’ I say, my eyes still closed.
Concentrating on Halo’s voice isn’t easy in my current state. The Book says that the mind is a lizard running rampant from one side of the Canyon to the other in search of distraction through fleshrooms and gambling, greed and the spread of evil seeds. The Book says to quell the mind through devotion, through work and obedience to order.
Calm your mind, Hunter, and come to me. First to the east, where you can sleep the day away. You can cross to the North through the next war at the War Zone. I’ll guide you; you must have faith in my word. Do not open your eyes.
‘Thank you, Goddess; I won’t.’
Now, walk down the hallway until I tell you to turn.
I do as I’m told, like a good member of the Devout, a faithful servant.
The Zero Patient Trilogy (Book Two): (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series) Page 4