The Heights of Perdition

by C. S. Johnson

  She tentatively reached for him. “Exton,” she murmured, “I know you wanted me to love you at your worst. And I do. I love you.”

  Her words hit him with more force than her kick, sending startling pain through his whole body. He clutched at his chest as Aerie’s eyes met his.

  “Can’t you do the same for me?” she asked.

  Those eyes! The lighting in the hanger made the amber sparkle with golden dust, sparking like a light in a safe harbor; the tenderness inside beckoned to him.

  Before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her. Exton grabbed her and kissed her, pressing into her with punishing kisses, hard and hot in a heady mix.

  Aerie gripped onto him, meeting his pain with her passion. He could feel her tremble against him, even as she pushed into him; he could taste of the scent of her as it enveloped him, wrapping around his mind until he ceased to think at all.

  He broke away from her, leaving her breathless. “Say it again,” he demanded.

  Her breath was uneven and her eyes were clouded with passion, but her resolve was unmistakable. “I love you.”

  Exton silently cursed himself and his weakness; he caught her close, in a rigid, impersonal grasp, and dragged her along with him to a small alcove where his room was located. He barely managed to open the door as she began to fight back.

  “What are you doing?” Aerie asked. “Where are we going? Come on, Exton, tell me!”

  He said nothing, silencing her questions with another kiss. She melted against him as he held her against tightly the wall.

  He tore his mouth away from her and pushed her.

  “Hey,” Aerie grumbled as she fell back onto the floor of the room.

  “Stay here,” Exton ordered, his voice dark and dangerous as he slammed the door shut.

  As Aerie banged on the door from the other side, he locked it securely and slumped against it.

  What have I done? Exton could only wonder how more complicated he’d made his life by keeping her on the Perdition.

  He closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands, grimacing while Aerie called out for him.

  Exton thought bitterly of the night when Emery had come looking for him, wanting a dance for her wedding. He believed back then that revenge was a serious business, and there was no room in his life for a silly thing like love.

  He had been right.

  Exhaustion, uncertainty, and emotional turmoil swept over him.

  ♦25♦

  After several minutes of hitting and kicking the door, and then a few attempts at charging the door, Aerie finally gave up on getting out.

  She knew it was pointless, as surely as she knew the moment Exton left. The comfort of his presence vanished, along with the occasional, ragged breath. It took him several moments, but when he did go, the rhythm of his steps, the same as they had been the day she met him, echoed softly down the hall.

  Aerie sighed. “At least he didn’t put me on an emergency pod.”

  But, she admitted silently, she wasn’t sure where she was, let alone whether or not it was a better place to be.

  And she had no idea of how long she would be in there, either.

  It was dark in the room, with a few floor lights giving off a soft beam. She fumbled around, finally finding the switch and flicking it on.

  “Wow. This place is a mess,” Aerie said as she saw the room.

  Clothes, papers, and collections of things that looked like either tools or toys nearly covered the desk. There were some tool kits shoved under his table, and the kitchenette was full of empty and half-empty cups.

  She was startled to see stacks of old books scattered about on different surfaces—chairs, the counter, and the bookshelf; there were even a couple sticking out from under the bed. Curious, she picked one up: The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien.

  “This is the strangest book I’ve ever seen,” she murmured, flipping through some of the pages. There were no military ranks or strategies, no recognizable names, and nothing about the URS at all.

  She carefully placed it on the edge of the bed before she did another double-take.

  A bed.

  She was in someone’s room.

  Frowning, Aerie recalled what Exton had told her before. His room was on Level Ten, along with the escape pods and the hangar full of ships.

  His room.

  Aerie suddenly faltered as the realization struck, and she nearly tripped over a wrinkled jacket. Her steps became more careful as she headed for the kitchenette space.

  She picked up one of the cups; at the smell of old coffee coming from it, she almost laughed. “No wonder he complains about not sleeping well,” she muttered. “There have to be at least thirty cups here.”

  Aerie glanced around the room. “Well,” she said, “I can see why he told Olga to forget about cleaning it up.”

  Thinking of Olga sent a wave of pain through Aerie. She missed the older woman who’d taken her under her wing.

  Caring for others is primary; cleaning is secondary.

  A new determination set in as Aerie recalled her mentor’s words. She tightened the band around her hair, carefully took off her uniform jacket, and got to work.

  ♦♦♦♦

  The room was dark without the brightness of the Suncatcher, but it was nothing compared to the darkness inside his heart.

  The ridges of the tree trunk were rough against his back, but Exton had another type of pain on his mind as he sat beneath the tree.

  Slouching forward, he was unable to recall what exactly had possessed him to come to the Memory Tree.

  Madness, most likely, he thought as he silently groaned to himself.

  Where else could he go? The Captain’s Lounge was home to memories of his time spent with Aerie, memories that made the small room seem even smaller, and its view rendered dull and uninteresting.

  Everything was much less interesting when he had Aerie to consider. Between his desire for revenge and his feelings for her, he wondered if he would be able to think of anything else while she was still with him on the Perdition.

  His fists clenched; he was upset at the sudden urge of temptation to use Aerie against the URS.

  “Why, God?” he nearly shouted. “Why give me someone I want but I would never be sure of?”

  “That’s probably the exact reason,” a voice said from behind him.

  Exton groaned. “Not now, Dennis!” He jumped to his feel and swiveled around to see the Reverend looking down at him with pity and compassion.

  The old man had never made Exton more angry. “This is none of your business!”

  “I’m making it my business,” Reverend Thorne said. “I won’t sit by while you are in pain. Your father wanted me to look after you. And he would come back to haunt me if I didn’t say something now.”

  “If he does come, tell him to come and talk to me directly,” Exton snapped. “I don’t like the idea of you as an intercessor.”

  The Reverend gave him a kind smile. “Exton, you have been despondent since your father’s death. You tried revenge, but upon finding out that MENACE is a façade from the URS, you have used your anger to leverage our safety and the world’s survival. Not too many people know how close you and the URS were to being allies.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Exton grumbled.

  “No, you’d rather lick your wounded pride and hide behind your pain,” Reverend Thorne accused.

  “How would you feel if you couldn’t trust someone you loved?” Exton rounded on him.

  “Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

  “She lied to me.” Exton grimaced as he gave in to the Reverend’s challenge, angry he’d been pushed into giving away the truth. But his grief lightened, ever so slightly, that he couldn’t make himself stop. “She wasn’t who she said she was.”

  “Aerie?” Reverend Thorne asked. “You found out she is St. Cloud’s daughter?”

  Exton reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “You
knew she was St. Cloud’s daughter?”

  “Of course. I haven’t seen her in many years, but her mother was a member of the Ecclesia. When I heard her name, I had a feeling it was her. When I saw her with you outside the sanctuary one day, I knew for certain it was her; she is unmistakably Merra’s daughter.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?!” Exton roared.

  “We are called to protect, Exton.” He shrugged. “I think it was a good thing, to protect her from the poison of your vengeance as much as it was to protect you from her.”

  “You didn’t protect me.”

  “I tried to protect you from her,” the Reverend said. “Back in the beginning, when she first came here, remember?”

  “You should have told me the truth!”

  “And what would you have done if you knew who she was in the beginning?”

  “I don’t know, but I sure wouldn’t have fallen in love with her,” Exton shot back. He felt his inside crumble again. He placed his face in his hands as he relived his first moments with Aerie.

  Watching her struggle to fight him for killing her tree.

  Sleeping peacefully in the med ward.

  Watching her eyes alternate between wonder and wariness.

  “There is a bigger picture here, Exton. You need to step back and see it. Yes, she is St. Cloud’s daughter,” the Reverend said, interrupting his thoughts. “But she is also Merra’s daughter. That makes her one of ours. If you had known who she was, what would you have done with her?”

  Exton thought about that moment—the moment he first saw her, tucked into the tree like a fairy sprite.

  “I would have returned her,” Exton finally responded. Because I wouldn’t have been able to bear the sight of her.

  “And that’s the problem,” he continued. “I don’t want her to leave now, but it’s too painful to see her.” It’s too tempting to hurt her, to ruin her. To take her and keep her for the rest of my life.

  Reverend Thorne nodded. “No one escapes suffering in this life, Exton; for even our Lord suffered. You have managed to stave off the pain of your father’s death all these years with revenge.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

  “I know we are at an impasse,” Reverend Thorne said, “as the Perdition is keeping the URS from doing more substantial damage to the world. But I do not think you need to keep punishing yourself for your father’s death.”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about this with you.”

  “I’m just pointing out that you needn’t suffer as much as you think you should.”

  “You know nothing of my suffering,” Exton shouted, before turning on his heel and marching away.

  “If that’s really how you feel,” Reverend Thorne called out, “maybe you should just marry her, so she can make you suffer for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m not talking about this with you anymore, Dennis,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

  “Settle your mind with prayer,” the Reverend called out to him. “Don’t dismiss your heart.”

  Exton refused to acknowledge he had heard him, but he found it impossible to ignore the Reverend’s words.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Aerie tried to smile as she observed her work. The countertops were clear, the bed was made, and all the clothes were picked up and tucked away. I won’t be able to wash them, she thought as she finished putting the last of the uniform shirts carefully in his closet, but it was hard for her to completely regret it. As strong as it was, Exton’s scent comforted her.

  Even though he likely hates me now, Aerie thought.

  “But not enough to get rid of me,” she reminded herself, trying to push past her sadness. Crippling despair didn’t seem to be very helpful, she thought.

  Her fingers tingled from rubbing off stains, and her knees were sore from kneeling as she cleared out the items from under the bed.

  “Oh well,” she murmured. “At least I have something to do to pass the time that is constructive.”

  More than once, she had been tempted to put down her work and pick up one of the many books Exton had collected. But she was reluctant to do so, for fear of messing them up more than they already were. Several books were stained, folded over, and well-lived in. There were heat stains on some, making her wonder if he had been reading after hours while living at the university, or even at his home in the URS.

  She ran her fingers over the binding on the latest one she’d found. “Fahrenheit 451,” she read aloud. Why does that title seem familiar?

  She pulled out the book and recognized the cover. She thought of the collection of books the General kept in his small room. She’d only ever seen it a few times, when she was younger.

  Aerie suddenly remembered her mother sitting in a chair once, reading it. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother look up at her and then shut the book forcefully and slide it out of view as she reached out for her youngest daughter.

  “Mom read this,” Aerie realized. She flipped through the first couple of pages, surprised to find it wasn’t a book about military tactics or the environment.

  Have I never seen a novel before? Aerie wondered. She flipped through the last pages and sighed.

  A page fell out a second later, making her jolt. That’s just what I need right now—another reason for Exton to hate me.

  She hurried to pick it up, and then faltered at the sight of it.

  It wasn’t a page that had fallen out; it was a picture.

  One of those old photographs, she realized, recognizing the old digital camera filter. She picked it up and pulled it closer to the bedside lamp.

  Looking at it, she was able to see it was a picture of Exton and some people. I would recognize him anywhere, Aerie thought wistfully, but the photograph almost managed to prove her wrong.

  He was clearly younger in the picture, and happier, too; his eyes were still clear; even while they were more innocent, they were no less shrewd.

  The lines of his face were rounder, less sharp than they were now, Aerie noticed. She traced the wide smile on his face, not surprised to see the small dimple on his left cheek.

  She stared at his picture for a long time, before she recalled she still had more to clean up.

  Aerie briefly glanced at the other two figures in the picture. One was wearing a priestly frock, and the woman was wearing a crimson dress. She started to place the picture on Exton’s bedside table when she gasped, nearly dropping the photograph, as she suddenly recognized the woman.

  It was her mother. Beautiful, elusive, and bubbly, Merra St. Cloud was clearly enjoying herself in the picture as she looked off to the edge of the photo.

  Aerie frowned. What was her mother looking at?

  She examined the photo more clearly and noticed part of it was folded over, cutting off the picture. She unfolded it to see her father standing there, a large, red “X” drawn over his face.

  “That’s not a surprise,” Aerie said. She folded the picture back into place, deciding that, even if her mother was looking at her father with an adoring look, it was better to leave him out of it.

  She turned it over, looking for a date, something to give her an idea of when it had been taken.

  Instead, there was a small message:

  To Exton, my most accomplished student in many ways.

  St. Cloud.

  Aerie put the picture down on the table, confused. Her father had taught Exton?

  She stood up, starting to lecture herself on getting caught up in her daydreams, before she stopped. Aerie turned around and grabbed the picture, and then tucked it carefully into the hidden pocket in her own uniform jacket.

  Aerie knew it was wrong to steal, but she didn’t think it was wrong to take something away from Exton that clearly reminded him of his pain. It wasn’t like she had any reminder of her mother.

  And, Aerie rationalized further, the picture did technically have both of her parents. Surely that made her a better owner than Exton.

  She
put the picture away, but she still felt awed by the expression her mother wore, by the happiness she exuded as she glanced at Aerie’s father.

  Mom must have really loved the General.

  Aerie went back to work cleaning, finding comfort knowing if someone as wonderful as her mother could love someone as terrible as her father, there might be hope that Exton could love her one day, too.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Hours passed before Exton finally decided he should go and see her.

  The pressing quality of the night shift finally hit a point where he couldn’t stand it; whether it was more depressive or oppressive, he couldn’t say.

  But he knew he wanted the light again.

  He wanted to be with her. Aerie, for better or worse, carried sunshine in her soul and cast back the shadows residing in his heart.

  But there is an appointed time for even daybreak, he told himself as he wandered through the ship, off-duty but still running through the checkoffs at different levels.

  Most of the crew, shaken by attack the previous night, went about their business as usual; he was polite, succinct, and focused while he interacted with them—nothing out of the ordinary—though it felt like his body had become a puppet of sorts, and routine was acting as his puppet master.

  He passed the elevator on Level Nine and paused.

  Man was given free will, he knew. Beliefs mattered. Truth mattered. Choices mattered, actions had consequences.

  So why is it so hard to know which ones were the right ones?

  His finger hovered over the “down” button.

  “Exton!”

  He jerked around, awkwardly shuffling his feet to keep his balance. “Tyler,” he grumbled. “What is it?”

  “Emery wants you to come back up to the Bridge.”

  “Why?” He scratched his head, exasperated. “Is my grieving time over?”

  Tyler held up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry, Exton. General St. Cloud is back on the line.”

  “I turned it off.”

  “Emery told me the console had been damaged. When she attempted to repair it, the reception resumed. He was waiting on the other end.”