by Ashanti Luke
“How do you know?”
“Because one of our spies informed us of a plan of counter attack. The Whisper Nodes allowed us to communicate directly with spies we had planted on Earth. Espionage became our greatest weapon.”
“Which explains why the Archons now are so viscerally afraid of ‘espions’ from Earth.”
“Makes sense, they had sent a set of monitor drones within the Set system that communicated info from warships that had folded in past Asha in an attempt to catch us in a pincer. Mundi knew this info, but would not give me the resources to defend.”
“Why the reluctance? What’s the point in hoarding resources to build a city that will be destroyed if you don’t use them?”
“Because he was setting me up to take the fall. So in the center of Eurydice, I had construction units erect a stage with the debris from fallen Earth warships and frigates, and I divulged the intel on the attack to the public. I convinced them that we could win the war, but it would take a decisive attack, something more resolute than the cakewalking and pandering we had engaged in because of fear. I told them that the very stage I stood on was evidence that we could win.”
“So what happened?”
“A plan had already been in the works to send a team of saboteurs and spies to earth on an FTL ship disguised to look like a near-light ship they had sent to Asha before the war to confuse them long enough to stop them from countering the attack.”
“Wait, there was only one ship sent before they developed the faster-than-light ship you came on, so the only ship you could mimic was…”
“The Paracelsus. Above all else, that is why they detained you, and undoubtedly treated you poorly.”
“But they didn’t seem to want to hurt us.”
“Denali, I’m sure, knew of the more sensitive details of the Defiance, even though I’m sure his men were underclassified. He would have known that more likely than not, you were authentic, but I’m sure he knew something was off its axis.”
“Would he know our connection?”
Highly unlikely. He would have known about the Paracelsus, and the Mjolnir being disguised as it, and the appearance of it in Ashan orbit would have been exceedingly disturbing to him, but that would have been the end of it. Most ties to Earth had been destroyed or inveigled into severe classification levels.”
“Wait, if you’ve been locked in here for hundreds of years, how do you know about Denali? How did Paeryl and his men know about the Paracelsus when everything seems to have been obfuscated into oblivion?”
“I am an interactive neural processor remember. I’m tied into the units outside, the monitors, and the fly-eyes. Plus, there is a discrete comm-sat comb installed here that has absorbed transmissions to and from Eurydice and Druvidia since we first came here. What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your heat signature is elevated.”
“I just want to know why. Why?”
“Because here, even though things weren’t exactly stellar, I could see the Uni for what it really was. It was a canker, a festering sarcoma draining Earth and humanity of any pride or dignity that happened to emerge from the hardships it created. And as the eminence of their attack shrouded over us, and as our defenses were left crippled and inadequate, all I could think of was Genivere Lim.”
“Why her?”
“Because all through the rest of my Novitiateship, through Laureateship, all the way through the Arcology, I never beat her. Not once. She was always one step ahead. But it wouldn’t have been so bad if she had just been better, smarter, or stronger. She wasn’t, and she wasn’t appreciative. She just held her nose in the air, as if she deserved everything she had. Like she was entitled to it. Like the day she didn’t get anything she sought after, someone else must have screwed up. I realized that was, always had been, and always would be the Uni’s modus operandi, and I couldn’t just sit and watch as they dozed us over—and I most certainly wasn’t gonna take the goddamned blame for it. So I personally changed the programming in the Mjolnir, sent the spies and saboteurs on a ship to Mars, and destroyed the fold-relay units that could have conveyed warning of an approaching ship, and I did it. The one thing I knew would put the Uni back in its place.”
Cyrus was silent for a long while. Darius was about to speak, but then waited. Cyrus looked down at his own hands, shook his head solemnly, and then looked up at the image of his son. “This is my doing. I brought this upon the Uni.”
“My actions were my own,” Darius responded.
“Yes, but that notion, and everything else, all of your reasoning came from me. From these lips to your ears. I’m sorry, Dari. I…I don’t know what else to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. It is true you molded me into the man I am, but no mere words, ideas, or indoctrination could have given me what I felt here when I gave the command to the saboteurs in the Whisper Node, and when I pressed the button to launch that ship with my own hand.”
“Well, if there is nothing to say, at least there must be something I can do.”
“That is exactly why I left the Xerxes system here. Something Uncle Xander found in the Bereshit Scar triggered all of this. It is too dangerous for the Apostates to venture so deeply into the darkness, but not for you.”
Cyrus nodded and stood. He didn’t know what he would be looking for, or even if he would know what it was if he found it, but even if he had to walk there alone, he would look anyway. It was the least he could do to quell the storm that was building in his own heart from the moment he discovered his son, his own flesh and blood, had consigned the entire Earth to its ghastly fate.
• • • • •
“What do you think of these people?” Uzziah asked. He sat next to Tanner just outside the large iris built into the wall of what Milliken was sure was a crater. Milliken and the others were milling around inside, canvassing the equipment and rooms they were allowed into. Uzziah and Tanner sat on a mound of packed dirt, their shoes forgotten behind the iris at their backs.
“I mean that’s what you do right, observe people and their habits?” Uzziah scratched at his beard, irritated by the day cycle’s exertion as he and Tanner basked in the light that streamed through two peaks at the far edge of Milliken’s crater.
Tanner noticed the denizens of this crater had positioned their strangely open civilization in the wide wedge of light that stretched across the impression in the earth. “They love sun... and their freedom. And they are disturbingly agoraphilic.”
The people went about their menial tasks, but even though none approached them, few went for very long without casting long, uncomfortable looks in their direction.
“But why do they all congregate here? Where are their homes? Don’t they have better things to do than to mob up here?”
“Look closely for a moment.”
Uzziah watched them for a long moment. Some sat, some were standing. Men and women moved around in what looked like chaos, but the movements had a hive-like stability. There was a large round tablet in the center of the crater that they all seemed to avoid. Two of the older men had stood there while Uzziah and Tanner had been observing and had addressed different parts of the milling crowd. The areas of the crowd they had spoken to had stopped what they were doing and had given the older men their undivided attention until the two men had finished speaking. As he observed, an individual woman caught his eye. She was reading to four small children. It was her animation and intensity that drew Tanner’s eye to her. She held the book steady in her hand, but the rest of her body moved expressively, with an odd grace that only came with self-assurance. She stood erect, her stance sure as she pantomimed some notion that made the children jiggle with laughter. Then a man passed by them, watching his own feet as he walked. There was another man standing next to some unrecognizable effects, talking to a rather tall, particularly skinny woman. Her movements were less direct than the storyteller, but she too stood with her head raised, shoulders back, and as she acknowledged
the man who had stood about a meter away, awaiting attention, she excused herself with a motion that was zephyrical—as if the wind alone had carried her away.
Uzziah let his eyes pass over the crowd to the opposite edge of the clearing. The distance was great, but his eyes had been laser corrected to military specs, and he could make out forms that must have been a circle of women suckling their children, except most of the children seemed relatively advanced in age. Those younger and older in the group seemed to be at the wide end of the wedge of light, while the rigors of the group seemed to take place in the more shaded area at the tip of the wedge. And then he realized what looked like human bric-a-brac was only chaos to one who looked upon the scene darkly. There was reason within the throng. These people did indeed have better things to do at home, and they did them here because this was their home. “Oh.”
“Yeah. It’s like a longhouse community, only no need for shelter because it never rains and there are no predators.”
“Wouldn’t they burn or dry out or something?” As soon as he asked, Uzziah noticed that not one of them moved for very long without drinking from small wineskin-like pouches they all seemed to carry. Some took small breaks from their work to dip their pouches in thin channels that ran between them.
“They drink constantly, but other than the children feeding off their mothers, I haven’t seen anyone eat.”
“And in the entire time we’ve been here, I haven’t seen anyone urinate, defecate, or even excuse themselves to any secluded area. Extremely odd when you look at it. In a holostream, you would never notice, but here, after an hour or so of watching a couple hundred people, it’s a little off-setting.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“There’s something else that’s been tipping me off the level a little.”
“What’s that?”
“Your name.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t like rolling with anyone I can’t call by his given name; call it an idiosyncrasy.”
“The whole UCF thing tip you off?”
“I noticed it the moment I got to your name on the roster. Your dossier and your demeanor only verified it.”
“Something wrong with my demeanor?”
“Not at all. It’s been a pleasure and an honor, at least since you removed the chip from your shoulder...”
“Well, I’d say you knocked that well clear for me.” Uzziah chuckled.
“...it’s just that, Azariah and Uzziah, depending on what you’re talking about, could be interchangeable, and the Hebrew name of the Babylonian Abednego is a little too convenient for a Jew born in the Fringe.”
“Okay, I thought I was supposed to be the highly dubious spy. Now you’re scaring me.”
“That’s what I do. I observe people’s habits and I make connections. Besides, your dossier said you were a resident of Haifa, but after the Uprising of 2455, citizenship was only granted to Fringe refugees that had fled the war because Israel considered them exiles rather than expatriates. Most who fled, fled to the Caucasus. When the Uni was formed, and they quelled the uprising, the surge of Fringers trying to get into the Uni was barred, but Israel felt a need to honor some level of Law of Return and allowed exclusionary status to the families that could prove prior citizenship. Your dossier listed a tour in Karachay-Cherkessia, which was a Fringe state until 2485. The conflict there was classified until 2492, when the whole Prometheus scandal exposed the Uni’s activity in the Caucasus. Thing is, they would only have sent someone who could blend in, someone who had an excuse, and a valid one, to know Karachay, Circassian, and Abaza—all listed on your dossier—with no discernable accent. Admittedly, you could have been sabra, but your response when I brought it up pretty well galvanized the notion that you were not.”
“Damn, you really do have me on your gram. Just curious as to why you singled your focus on me.”
Tanner smiled, “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not special. Just wasn’t as quick of a read as everyone else.” Tanner reclined a little and gave Uzziah a brusque pat on the back. “But I’m glad you are who you are because I don’t know if we’d be here to talk about it if you weren’t.”
Uzziah allowed a smile to spread across his face, “You know, you’re right, not one of them has piss or shit in like two hours.”
“Not even excused themselves to some lav space or possible latrine—which doesn’t seem their style given their openness with everything else. And I was hoping one would so I could follow him, because now my adrenalin levels have normalized, I realize I need to go in a fierce way.” Tanner stood with poise, but definitely more clumsily than Uzziah was used to seeing of him.
“Azariah is my real Hebrew name, but my given name, at birth, is Bozkurt Asena. My mother’s first husband was one of the first killed in the Uprising, and my mother fled with her family to a refuge that was run by a group of Karaites in Karachay-Cherkessia. There she met my father, a Turkic proselyte who ran the refuge. He gave me my Turkic name. He named me Bozkurt because even though it had some negative connotations in the past, he wanted me to live my life so that what happened to my mother and the rest of my family would not happen to anyone within my arm’s reach again. He wanted me to live up to the original meaning of the name.”
Tanner nodded revealing a smile. “So you’re the Grey Wolf,” he continued to smile, “It fits.”
“I do prefer my Hebrew name though.”
• • • • •
Cyrus seemed as if he was melding into the contour of the barren valley floor. His statuesque form gave an impression of quiescent but unforgiving introspection silhouetted against the unmoving stream of light that passed between the two peaks that stood in vigilant defiance. The sun squeezed its clementine rays slowly into a cuneiform swath that enshrouded Cyrus’s contemplative form with an aura of quiet self-accusation.
Uzziah could not tell whether it was Cyrus’s stature, the eerie light, or both that made the mild quivering of his hands apparent.
Uzziah walked quietly behind him, shuffling his feet across the brushed dirt to signal his approach before he placed his hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. Cyrus looked up from his hands at Uzziah as he sat next to him, revealing an expression that could only have been fomented by the lingering touch of death. He had seen it before, and he knew it was never an easy jaundice to shake.
“You do it with your hands?” Uzziah asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know, if it’s easy to get over, something’s off the level.”
“Yeah.”
Time passed in a procession. It was as if the universe itself had answered the tolling of the bell, dragging behind it a somber humility, stretching the quiet between them until it broke. “You know, the first time I had to was from a hundred meters away. It was a guy about to throw a plasma grenade. He fell back into the building and the whole place burst into flames in the explosion. After it was over, I had to keep telling myself I had to. That if I hadn’t, he would have immolated my whole team. But for a long time I kept telling myself maybe there was another way. To this day, I wish I had done it with my hands. I don’t think it would have been an easier pill to swallow, but at least I would know.”
Another exaggerated still fell between them. It felt as if not even the air moved between them. Cyrus gasped, taking in the unmoving calm, “It’s not so much the one I caused. It’s the one I couldn’t stop. I can still feel it in me slowly growing inside. I killed a man. I watched the life seep from his body. But it wasn’t enough.”
Whether it was from the exertion of the day cycle or the weight of hands leaden with guilt, the weariness in Cyrus’s eyes brought Uzziah’s own fatigue crashing to the surface. “It never is, my friend. It never is.” He let his hand rest on Cyrus’s shoulder in hopes that it could somehow dispel at least a hint of the dread that coalesced between them, but he knew, all too well, that particular brand of dread only left when it damn well pleased, and once it found a home, it usually nested in pretty good.
> Cyrus stopped Uzziah before he could turn to leave. “I need to talk to all of you later.”
“About what was in the vault?”
Cyrus nodded.
“Just say the word.”
Cyrus extended his hand. It must have taken effort, but he hid the strain as best he could. “Thank you,” he said as their hands clasped. Uzziah gave a nod and then left. As he turned his back to the sun, he sensed that Cyrus was hiding something. Not because he was trying to dupe any of them, but because whatever it was, they would find out in due time, and on their own terms. And if that was a luxury they could not afford and Cyrus knew it, he would lay it out before he ever asked for anyone’s help.
• • • • •
Cyrus found Paeryl speaking with some of the Apostates just outside the entrance to the barracks. The men seemed to revere Paeryl, as if he wasn’t just a strategic leader, but also a counselor and mentor. As Cyrus approached, some of the men stared a little too long for comfort, but that was becoming commonplace. Paeryl greeted as Cyrus approached, and then dismissed his men. Cyrus had a more pressing question, but as the men walked away wordlessly, his curiosity got the best of him. “Paeryl, why is it none of the others will speak to us?”
“Because they have been ordered not to.”
“By who?”
“By me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because being courteous is good and right, but being tricked is not sunny. If you are what we believe you to be, it will not stay like this.”
“If you ordered everyone else not to talk, why do you?”
“As I said, to be courteous. Speech with someone is absolutely necessary. That level of communication may as well come from me. I have utmost faith in my ability to see through trickery, and if you deceive me, as sure as Set gives us life, I will hunt you down and kill you.” He smiled and patted Cyrus on the back as if he had just offered him a cocktail. Paeryl laughed to himself heartily, “Not even the Chthonic Miasma will save you from my retribution. Do not allow my jocularity to misguide you. If you bring harm to my self or my people, there will not exist a crag or cranny that can shelter you from my wrath. Be sunny on that fact for sure.”