GUD Magazine Issue 3 :: Autumn 2008

by GUD Magazine Authors

"You mean Cuauhtemoc? Why would you think he's Huitzilopochtli?"

  "Have you ever noticed that he doesn't age?"

  Totyoalli shrugged. “Good genetics."

  "He doesn't get old because he's a god,” Zaniyo declared and when Totyoalli chuckled, she laughed and said, “My father wouldn't like you. He'd say you're an affront to the gods with your disbelief."

  "If Tezcatlipoca chose me as his Teotl Ixiptla, I must not be too offensive."

  "No, the gods don't make such mistakes,” she said, then kissed him. When she finished, he felt as if he'd drunk a whole bottle of octli, and his toes were numb. “I must fly home tonight, but will you write to me?"

  "Every day, if you wish,” he whispered.

  * * * *

  Totyoalli wrote to Zaniyo not quite every day, but enough to irritate her father, who didn't approve of this attention, even from the man destined to marry his daughter. But soon enough she moved into her dorm at the Royal Academy and they spent every spare moment together, eating lunch in the cafeteria and helping each other with homework. On the short days, at the airfield, Zaniyo showed Totyoalli the controls of the single-engine planes, and by the beginning of the Hollow Days, she'd gotten him flying short distances. They took the zero-gravity simulation classes together and trained in the mock spacecraft, each doing their best to one-up the other.

  Their playful flirting soon developed into Zaniyo staying over at Totyoalli's apartment for days at a time. Eventually, she moved in.

  * * * *

  In the spring of his twenty-third year, Totyoalli went on a routine two-week lunar mission, to the base orbiting Coyolxauhqui's Head. Zaniyo went up three months later and when she returned, they got married, six years ahead of schedule.

  They applied for positions on the expedition to Quetzalcoatl, but mission control turned them down for lack of experience, encouraging them to reapply in four years.

  "But by the time it leaves, we'll both be twenty-eight,” Zaniyo protested to the mission coordinator. “Each mission lasts five years; the government won't let us go if we can't be back in time for the Toxcatl. This is our one chance."

  "You need more experience,” he said. “If you'd done more missions to the lunar base—"

  "We've taken every mission they offered us,” Totyoalli said. “We just graduated last year. How can you expect us to have flown more than a mission apiece yet?"

  "I wish I could make exceptions, but I'm afraid the rules are explicit. We require a three-mission minimum.” The commander sighed. “I'm sorry."

  Totyoalli wouldn't concede defeat. As soon as the next mission call came up, he signed them on, and they spent two weeks in orbit fixing a spy satellite. Back home on Earth, they enrolled in a series of deep-space crisis-training courses so they could take longer missions. The following summer, they went to the lunar colony for a two-year assignment. Totyoalli maintained the water recyclers in the geodesic dome while Zaniyo piloted biweekly supply transports to and from the orbital station.

  When the applicant pool for the Quetzalcoatl expedition reopened, Totyoalli again added their names, but didn't tell Zaniyo. She found out when their commanding officer delivered the rejection notices and his condolences.

  "I've accepted the fate the gods have handed me. Why can't you do the same and stop dwelling on dreams that we're never going to live to see?” She refused to speak to him for nearly three days.

  * * * *

  Six months later, during an orbital mission, he watched Europe pass silently above his shuttle bunk and wondered whether he and Zaniyo could flee there and seek political refuge. But Zaniyo would never agree to go, nor could he leave her behind. She's right. Accept your fate and stop ignoring it.

  So he took out the Toxcatl book Zaniyo always packed in his bag when he went away and finally started reading. He practiced the reed flute he would play during the ceremony, but he stumbled over the notes; his breath caught in his chest when he thought of being stripped naked and cut open on the altar like a frog being dissected.

  * * * *

  Totyoalli returned home the day before his twenty-eighth birthday, and in the morning, after Zaniyo left for work, he drove to the palace to request an audience with Cuauhtemoc, to beg the Emperor to spare his life.

  While waiting for a jaguar knight to escort him inside, he paced the courtyard, mulling over what he'd say. If he hadn't known Cuauhtemoc personally, he'd never have considered asking him this. Trying to weasel out of one's spiritual responsibilities was considered as dishonorable now as fleeing a battlefield had been back in the early days of the empire. If he were smart, he'd leave now and never tell anyone how he'd nearly dishonored his entire family.

  But before he could settle on what to say or whether to leave, the jaguar knight returned and told him the Revered Speaker would see him. I'd be dishonoring myself not to fight for what I believe, he decided as they approached the Emperor's study.

  Cuauhtemoc greeted Totyoalli with a firm embrace. “So good to see you again, Totyoalli. I trust your mission went well...."

  Totyoalli nodded and accepted a cup of octli when Cuauhtemoc poured some. When the Emperor asked for details of the trip, he gave them, stuttering over nearly every word, and by the time he'd finished, he was sweating and the alcohol had soured his stomach.

  Cuauhtemoc, now sitting behind his desk, scrutinized Totyoalli for a moment. “You seem nervous. Is something wrong?"

  Just speak your mind, Totyoalli thought. He set his glass on the table at the end of the couch, then sat with his hands clasped, making himself hold Cuauhtemoc's gaze. “I don't wish to die, My Lord ... especially for something I don't believe in."

  Cuauhtemoc raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  "My father always told me there was no greater honor than to serve the gods like this, but I've never seen anything to suggest that the gods even exist, let alone that they care what we do one way or another. I've been to Omeyocan, where all our religious texts say they live, and yes, there are fabulous wonders out there in space, but no gods demanding blood in exchange for our passing through...."

  "Certainly you've seen the prelaunch sacrifices?” Cuauhtemoc replied.

  "I have,” Totyoalli admitted, searching for hints that he should stop pushing his argument and shut up. But Cuauhtemoc's gaze was steady and neutral, so he continued, “It's not my intention to offend you, Your Grace, or to criticize our sacred ways, but they contradict everything science has taught me, everything I believe. Don't the gods deserve the blood of someone who actually reveres them rather than someone who questions their very purpose in our lives?"

  Cuauhtemoc chuckled. “The gods hardly care about such trivial details as dedication and spiritual loyalty; they care about blood, and lots of it. But I understand your point. A growing number of people believe like you do.” He refilled his glass and, after a slow sip, he said, “They sneak off into the night and hide, preferring to live their lives as outlaws rather than face death on the Eagle Stone. Just a few months ago, a young man killed a priest and a jaguar knight when they came to collect him. And a bunch of usually law-abiding citizens helped him escape the city afterwards. No, you're not the only one questioning the validity of forcing people to the sacrifice.

  "But until now, no one has ever come directly to me and stated their dissatisfaction. You do realize that by doing so, you're committing treason against the gods, and I could lock you away in prison until the day of your Toxcatl?"

  Totyoalli nodded, feeling numb.

  "The jaguar knights who watch over the prisoners aren't known for their kindness. A year with them and you'd beg me to kill you. You'd be better off just running away like the others."

  "But that won't get me the mission to Quetzalcoatl,” Totyoalli said. “And frankly, I think I'd prefer death to throwing away everything I've worked for to go on the run. I belong in space or I don't belong in this world at all."

  Cuauhtemoc's face relaxed into a proud smile. “You never cease to surprise me, Totyoalli. From the
moment I first met you, I knew you were special. Do you remember what you asked me that day, when we walked in the garden and I asked you how you felt about being the Night Wind?” When Totyoalli shrugged, he said, “You asked me if I was a god."

  "I was just a stupid child,” Totyoalli said, shifting uneasily in his seat.

  Cuauhtemoc peered at him for a moment before saying, “There's something I want to share with you, something I've rarely told anyone else; then you can tell me whether your question was really stupid or not.” He went to the glass and mahogany showcase behind his desk and took out a human skull, mildly yellowed with time. “Do you have any idea whose skull this is?"

  Totyoalli shook his head.

  "Hernán Cortés',” the Emperor replied as he set it carefully into Totyoalli's hands. “I cut it off his neck when he and his men attempted to take the beach at Chalchihuecan."

  "You did?” Totyoalli said, not sure he'd heard right.

  Cuauhtemoc nodded. “I still remember the smell of the gunpowder, the shouting of the warriors. That night we celebrated our victory with song and dances around a huge bonfire on the beach; our victory against history. He would have destroyed everything we were, everything we had created, and we'd have vanished into time, virtually forgotten except as bloodthirsty, freakish monstrosities.

  "But look what we've become: we're the most powerful nation on Earth, we've placed colonies on the moon and we're traveling to other planets—"

  "Are you saying you are a god?” Totyoalli interrupted.

  "That all depends on how you define a god. You're an engineer. Certainly you learned something about nanotechnology in those classes you took?"

  "A little bit, though it's all still completely theoretical.... “Realizing what Cuauhtemoc's question suggested, Totyoalli set the skull on the table next to his glass before he could drop it. “You're ... you're a computer?"

  "Artificial intelligence,” the Emperor corrected. “At least that's what they called it where I came from."

  "And where's that?"

  "Somewhere that doesn't exist anymore,” Cuauhtemoc replied. “They sent me into the past, in the body of a snake, and I bit one of the nephews of then-Emperor Motecuhzoma the Younger, which transferred my nanites into this body."

  "But why?"

  "To prevent the Spanish conquering us. The council elected me Revered Speaker after Motecuhzoma died in a freak palace fire, and, well, it's been a long seven hundred and thirty-three years, but I'm still the Emperor."

  "And the nanites kept you young all that time,” Totyoalli said, studying Cuauhtemoc with new fascination. “Zaniyo was right ... well, not about you being a god, but about you not aging."

  "I'd rather people think of me as a god,” Cuauhtemoc replied. “People are less suspicious of gods. But you don't believe in gods; you're a scientist.” Cuauhtemoc put the skull back on its glass stand in the cabinet, but then took out a flint dagger. “There's something I want to give you. Two things, actually."

  "You don't have to give—"

  "You could have gone into hiding like the others,” Cuauhtemoc said. “But instead you risked everything and came directly to me. I admire integrity, and that's why I'm releasing you from your obligations. You're no longer the Night Wind. Go to Quetzalcoatl and take Zaniyo with you, because I'm releasing her too. Go study our most Precious Twin and bring home knowledge that will benefit us far more than your blood ever would."

  For a moment, Totyoalli didn't know what to say. Excitement and joy washed over him like cool water relieving sun-blistered skin, but then he said, “Can you do that?"

  "I am the Emperor,” Cuauhtemoc said as he sat on the windowsill and turned the knife over and over in his hand. “Besides, there's always the alternate."

  "Alternate?"

  "Every Teotl Ixiptla has several. Misfortunes happen."

  "But I can't send this other man off to die for me. It wouldn't be right—"

  "Your alternate is very pious,” Cuauhtemoc said. “A priest, in fact. He'll not only go to his death willingly, but with joy in his heart. By your own rationale, it's what the gods deserve."

  Totyoalli sat in shocked silence for a moment before finally saying, “How can I ever thank you for your mercy, Your Grace?"

  "Please, no more formalities,” Cuauhtemoc replied. “I would rather think of us as friends, and there's still one final thing I want to give you.” He closed his fist around the stone blade and dragged the knife through, wincing. When he opened his hand, he coated the blade with blood. He then held it out to Totyoalli.

  After a brief hesitation, Totyoalli took the knife. Cuauhtemoc wrapped his hand in a length of cloth he took from one of his desk drawers and said, “In my many years, I've had a lot of sons, all of them mortal and quite foolish in their ambitions, and often not as dedicated to integrity as the sons of an emperor should be. That's why I stopped fathering children two hundred years ago. But my lack of a reliable heir has always weighed heavily on my mind. I haven't needed one yet, but even I could fall victim to an injury so severe that my nanites can't fix it, and then what will become of our empire? Will it fall to the priests, who will ban all scientific research because it might instill doubt about the gods? Or maybe the military would take over? Can you imagine what this world would be like run by jaguar knights? No, it must be someone I trust, someone with integrity. Like you."

  Totyoalli nearly dropped the knife. “But I know nothing about running a government!"

  "Minor details,” Cuauhtemoc said, waving him off. “You'll have plenty of time to learn.” He studied the bloodied rag for a moment, then said, “I've always thought of you as a son, Totyoalli—the son I'd always wished I'd had—and that's why I offer you this gift. I won't make you accept it, but if you wish to, merely mix the blood with your own. The shadow of death will never again darken your thoughts."

  * * * *

  Totyoalli didn't tell Zaniyo about his conversation with Cuauhtemoc; instead, he told her the priests had seen omens pointing to the gods wanting them to go to Quetzalcoatl. This, accompanied by a letter from the Revered Speaker himself, she accepted with little protest.

  He never showed her the knife, either. He kept it in a lockbox at the bottom of his footlocker.

  After a month at the lunar space station helping prep the cargo convoy, Zaniyo and Totyoalli finally boarded the ships for the three-month journey to Quetzalcoatl. When they arrived, they circled the planet for a day before meeting up with the ring-shaped space station in a polar orbit. That same night, Totyoalli stood at the tiny window in their quarters, gazing out at the turbulent yellow planet and silently thanking Cuauhtemoc for doing so much to get him there.

  For the first several months, Totyoalli worked with the crews retrofitting the space station with the newly-delivered materials, but after that he worked on systems maintenance and collaborated on plans for upgrading the station designs. Zaniyo piloted shuttles, taking workers and supplies back and forth between the research satellites deployed around the planet. Fish, beans, maize, and squash lived in the self-sustaining bio dome, producing enough surplus to feed the convoys on their trips back to the One World. The station had a temple, but health and safety issues forbade bloodletting and allowed only fish and vegetables as sacrifices. Most of the crew preferred symbolic offerings of fine paper butterflies and snakes, which were easily reabsorbed into the bio-system and honored the god Quetzalcoatl, who most believed allowed them to orbit and study His sacred world only by the grace of His divine mercy. Zaniyo offered Him silent prayers every night.

  For months, Totyoalli didn't think about the knife or Cuauhtemoc's offer of immortality, but on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, he opened the lockbox for the first time since placing the blade inside. He lay on his bunk, holding it by the handle and poking the dried blood on the blade with his finger. It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it might be; it gave like a sponge under his prodding.

  All it takes is a small cut, he thought, tapping the pad of his index fing
er with the tip of the blade. But what about Zaniyo? Cuauhtemoc hadn't given him permission to share this immortal gift with her or anyone else, but Totyoalli couldn't imagine watching her grow old and die while he remained young. Or their children. Or their grandchildren.

  Was this why the Emperor had offered it to him? Not so much out of fear of the end of the empire he had created, but because he'd grown tired of watching friends and loved ones come and go with the bundles of years while he went on and on with no one to share that eternity?

  I owe him so much, Totyoalli thought, pressing the blade a little harder, but still not enough to cut the skin. It's the least I can do for him.

  But hearing the door slide open in the other room, Totyoalli quickly stashed the knife away in the box and buried it under his clothes in the footlocker.

  "We have no octli to celebrate with,” Zaniyo said as she walked into their bedroom carrying a bottle and some small cups. “But there's this papaya juice.” She sat on the bottom bunk next to him and poured him a drink. “To the mercy of the gods,” she said, and they both drank their cups empty. “I made you one of those fish tamales you adore so much.” She held the foil-wrapped food out to him with a smile.

  The tamales smelled fabulous, but the enticing aroma couldn't overpower the longing he felt as he kissed her. He could decide about Cuauhtemoc's gift tomorrow, after he and Zaniyo had celebrated life.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Totyoalli joined his engineering partner Etl at storage area sixteen to fix a window fractured by debris. The air in the storage area had slowly leaked out through the three-inch crack. “Real poor quality control on that piece,” Etl noted as Totyoalli examined the damage. “I'm going to report this glass manufacturer to mission control, and we'll see if they ever get a contract again."

  Totyoalli just replied, “Let's hurry. I'm having lunch with my wife in an hour.” And hopefully Zaniyo wanted a little more than just fish and tortillas.

  Totyoalli packed his tools and supplies into his belt pouch and headed for the airlock. He double-checked his pressure settings, then activated his magnetic boots. Before stepping out of the open airlock, he hooked his tether to the rings outside the door. This section had no protective outer plating yet, so he placed his feet carefully so as not to knock open any ducts or conduits.