The Unearthing

by Karmazenuk, Steve; Williston, Christine

  “Not always,” James replied, “Sometimes, I just…wake up scared; terrified.”

  “And you said you’ve been self medicating with marijuana?”

  “Yeah; half-gram joints, usually with a beer.” Brace checked her console again, writing down more information, consulting the World Psychiatric Diagnostic Resource’s extensive Grid spar. There were a number of possible clinical conditions that James Johnson might have, but Doctor Brace suspected his death-terror and panic attacks were basic; a little therapy, a little medication, a little time…she felt she could help him.

  “Mister Johnson, I feel reasonably sure that I can help you,” She said. “Although it may take some time. We’ll start by alleviating your immediate symptoms. I’m not fond of you using marijuana as heavily as you have been. Cut it back to social smoking and don’t smoke a joint within two hours of taking the medication I’m prescribing. No alcohol with the meds either and don’t drive or operate heavy equipment while on these.”

  “What are you giving me?”

  “A fast-acting sublingual tranquilizer, called Sereling. It’s an older compound with a proven track record,” Brace replied, filling out the ‘scrip, “Take a whole pill under the tongue if you wake up with a panic attack. A half-dose should do if you feel your anxiety mounting while you’re awake. They’re non-habit forming and have few side effects. Your pharmacist will be able to give you specific information relating to your health profile.”

  “Is this it?” James asked, taking the prescription from her.

  “No,” Brace said. “We’ll also be meeting for ninety minutes every two weeks to talk. As your also experiencing a crisis of faith, you might want to speak with your parish Priest. You said you were Catholic?”

  “Yeah, but non-practicing.”

  “You might want to look at that, as well. If you’re still comfortable within the bounds of organized worship.”

  “I don’t know.” Brace smiled.

  “Well there you are,” She said. “Find out if Church still holds and interest for you. We’ll talk about that when I see you again in two weeks.” She and James logged an appointment time and then it was time for him to leave.

  ♦♦♦

  The tramcar shot from the darkened bulkheads of the inner hull into a transparent passage spanning the distance between inner hull and the gigantic edifices built into the superstructure of the outer hull of the Ship. Jude watched as the car approached a multi-tiered construct that crawled halfway up the side of the outer hull. But even as the impressive, impossible architecture demanded notice, all that mattered was killing Ashe. The grand scale of the building he was approaching would not be denied as it reached above and below for kilometres before evening off into a gargantuan black and gold plateau.

  This Ship was a majestic thing, an ancient thing; Jude had to acknowledge that it was far greater and far more enduring than the battle he was fighting at the moment, or the cause he was fighting for or even the nation whose flag he fought under. This behemoth had been here longer than the Human species had existed. Gabriel Ashe’s assassination would matter little to the Ship. Jude believed the Ship would probably be here longer than the Human species, anyway. The tram passed through the bulkheads of this outer rim structure. Jude was approaching a station. Gabriel Ashe was now only a few minutes ahead of him, and about to die.

  ♦♦♦

  “James?” The voice called. He sighed once, dismissively and went back to sinking deeper into the blissful oblivion he’d created for himself. James had decided to see how the pills worked in conjunction with smoking a joint. The effect was heavenly.

  “James, what’s going on?” James rolled open an eye, blinked and then dragged himself into a sitting position.

  “I guess the tranks hit me hard.” He said noncommittally, stretching his feet out on the floor in front of him. He’d been resting, zoned to shit, on the couch for a while.

  “How many of those things did you take?” Allison asked, perturbed.

  “Just one,” he lied. “But I’d smoked a joint first.”

  He’d chased two pills with one joint and a double rum and Coke about two hours before. James still felt mainly out of it.

  “You know you’re not supposed to mix that shit; it can be dangerous!” She said, alarmed. Allison paused, looking deeply into his eyes. “James…is there a problem?”

  “No,” he said. “What? You mean with drugs? I just started taking them; how can there be?”

  Her frown said she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “Come on,” He said, “I started taking the pills today. Is that enough time to get addicted?”

  “No,” she said, “But James, those pills are rough on you.”

  “It’s not like I’ll take them all the time,” He said, “I’m only supposed to take them when I have a panic attack. I just wanted to see how well they worked.” That seemed to placate her. She smiled uncertainly and kissed him. Then she wrinkled her nose and drew back.

  “You should take a shower. You smell like stale smoke and jays.” He smelled himself, curiously.

  “Yeah I guess I do,” he said.

  “Come on,” she said, “We have to get ready. They’re releasing Laura this afternoon and we have to pick her up.”

  “Shit,” James said, “I forgot.”

  “Come on. Go get ready.” She pulled him off the couch and pushed him in the direction of the bathroom. A few minutes later he had steaming water running for his shower and he was regarding himself in the mirror. Looking back at him he saw the face of the only person he knew would be with him until he died. He wanted another pill but knew it wouldn’t happen just yet. Not with Allison hovering around him. Maybe after they got Laura home. He stepped into the shower. A couple of minutes later the bathroom door opened and closed and he watched as Allison undressed, watching him as she touched herself slowly, languidly before joining him under the spray.

  “I wanted to welcome you home too,” she said, kissing him, “Going to see Doctor Brace must have been a hard thing to do.” The only comfort the world of sobriety held for James was Allison’s body. A shame she couldn’t keep him from feeling his own mortality even as he touched her and was touched by her.

  “Now you’re awake,” She said as she went down on her knees and on him.

  “Yeah,” he rasped, but for reasons other than what she thought: the Fear was a constant flutter in his stomach, all the more since the spray from the shower and the promise of impending sex had woken him fully from the drug stupor. James came after only a few minutes under her ministrations. Allison got back up, kissing him and he tasted his saltiness in her mouth. James tried to focus on her and on what she was doing for him, to him. He tried to be more involved in the process of soaping her up, of running his hands over her, touching her, caressing her, but it was still the cold of the grave that he felt inside. He was very aware that his now-pounding heart would one day be finally silenced as he kissed her passionately, backing her against the wall to enter her. Allison cried out and curled a leg around his waist, parting the way in for him. His eyes were closed in concentration and against the spray of the water. She opened her eyes to regard him as his movements started becoming fast, hard.

  “James!” she exclaimed. She hadn’t expected him to be a rough lover. It wasn’t unwelcome; rough could be fun. He grabbed her from behind, lifting her up.

  “Yeah,” She whispered against him. Even as loving her became the serious focus of his efforts, James was still very conscious that he was going to die one day; that he would cease to exist. He wanted to focus on Allison; on the feeling of her around him; how good she felt. He wanted to lose himself in the moment but couldn’t. His body was absorbed in the love play but his mind was trapped, thinking of death; of his death, of hers, of everyone and everything. He thrust into her harder, eliciting cries of pleasure from Allison. James was trying desperately to make the pleasure at his center stronger than the fear in his heart. Allison’s breath was coming short in
her chest, now. God, if he only knew what he was doing to her…she looked at him again. His eyes were tightly shut, his face flush…but there was something out of place on his features. She started to look harder at him, trying to see, but he moved a hand to her breast, brushing and then squeezing the nipple and thrust into her even harder. The sensation was too strong, too inviting. Her concentration broke, absorbed into what he was doing to her. As Allison wrapped her arms around his neck, crying out and hitching her other leg around his waist, James thought about what it would be like in those final few seconds of life as his existence slipped away, his awareness fading to an oblivion far more real, more permanent than the ones he experienced on a heavy dose of his medication. His body was responding to Allison’s, thrusting more urgently, eliciting cries and moans from them both, but still he thought about his death, his end; the fear that he might outlive Allison if they stayed together, the terror that he might not. Allison opened her eyes. He was driving into her a little too hard now. It was starting to hurt along with her escalating pleasure. She stared at him. There was no mistaking it. Something was wrong. There was some horror in his face, some urgent terror and as he continued to fuck her harder, the look on his face became more intense. She was scared and despite the way her pleasure was climbing, peaking, what was going on was frightening her now.

  “Slow down…” she gasped, “Slow down…” Allison didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to stop him, slow the rhythm so she could concentrate on James, on what was wrong. But he didn’t slow. Instead, the hand at her breast slid further down, zeroing in and the pleasure overtook her. She screamed as she came, the pleasure and the pain of his rough motions overlapping and then she felt the hot wash of his orgasm following hers, his own cry sounding. As his body experienced the little death, James’ mind was momentarily free of the shrouded thoughts of his real death. His knees buckled and Allison unwrapped her legs from his waist, pulling away from him to stand on her own unsteady feet. She leaned on his shoulders, her body quaking with the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm she’d just had. She stared at him, seriously regarding him.

  “James,” she said catching her breath, alarmed at her orgasm as much as at him and what just happened under the shower’s hot spray, “James, where were you just now?” She asked in a voice as shaky as her footing, “What the fuck was going on? What the hell was that?” She brushed his wet hair from his face, seeing something dark in his eyes beginning to fade.

  “James?” He looked at her face, looked at her eyes, seeing that she did care for him, that she was scared and had to look away. He was so wrapped up in himself; he should have been more aware that there was someone else involved. James started crying, then. Grief over his own death; guilt over his inconsideration towards Allison overwhelmed him. She drew his head to her shoulder, pressing against him, holding him.

  “I’m sorry,” He sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

  “What was going on?” she asked, “What was it? James…it’s okay.” And despite meaning it, what he said next still shocked her, still made feel her unclean, made it anything but okay:

  “I was trying…” he sobbed, “I was trying to fuck death away.”

  ♦♦♦

  When Jude arrived at the docking station, he’d actually seen Ashe cut through the open door at the far end. As the door from his own tram car cracked and slid open Jude charged after him. The hallway beyond was much like any other hallway in the Ship: golden, blue-banned and lit by orbs that turned the ceiling transparent, like obsidian. This hallway branched off in four different directions and had many closed doors lining the passage. No sign of Ashe, but this close behind the manic preacher that it wouldn’t matter. Jude slipped on his scope and activated the thermograph. The thermal representation of the floor clearly showed footstep heat traces; barely visible, but clear enough for Jude to pursue. Jude followed as far as he could, but soon enough the footsteps faded altogether. He scouted through the corridors looking for Ashe, listening for footfalls. There was no sign of his quarry and all the doors along the hallway were sealed. As Jude came to the far end of the corridor he found a bank of lifts. They opened readily. Jude was convinced that Ashe hadn’t been able to make it this far. Rounding another corridor, he chose a new branch in hopes that it would lead him to Ashe. Then he realized that he’d not put down a transmitter since pursuing Ashe down the tram tunnel.

  “Shit.” The hallways all looked so much alike and the alien text apparently posted as directional signs were all illegible. He was lost. Jude’s sense of direction was good but not so good that he could navigate by sense alone down here. Jude refused to surrender to panic. He calmed himself and began making a slow, steady route through the level he was on, hoping that he would eventually reach the tram. He hadn’t realized how large this level was, or how many different branching corridors the edifice had. Sooner or later he was sure that he’d make a circuit of the level, even if it was several kilometres large. He’d once marched a hundred klicks with no rations no water and no stims through dense jungle. The flat, air-conditioned corridors of the Ship were no match for that.

  Jude paused during his hike to take a sip of water from his pack; he pulled a mouthful up the straw and it was drained. He felt the water bag woven into his backpack collapse under vacuum. He had been lost in the Ship chasing Gabriel Ashe for two days, according to his chronometer. He still had a week’s supply of liquid rations to fall back on, but they weren’t good for hydration. A complex soup of proteins and nutrients designed to keep his body going for twenty-four hours at a time, there wasn’t enough liquid content in them to keep a body going that long. He guessed the dehydration would get bad by the second day; if Jude was lucky, he’d be able to push on another two days after that. Jude had already reserved one round of ammo; he had no hope of finding his way out of the bowels of the Ship; he was lost down here. When the time came, he’d take himself off the board. Jude only hoped he got to the bastard who’d killed him. He wanted the satisfaction of killing Gabriel Ashe, himself.

  He didn’t understand how Ashe had kept going, this long. The man didn’t have the training – or the stims and supplements that Jude had. Jude had nearly caught him twice and he had winged him the last time; he’d followed the blood trail for half a day. And yet, Gabriel Ashe had neither slowed nor faltered. Jude had been so close; close enough to know Ashe neither had food nor water with him. So how was he able to keep going, and how had he so successfully evaded Jude for so long?

  Jude tensed, bringing his weapon up. A door at the far end of the corridor suddenly dropped open. He approached cautiously. There was movement inside, but the chamber beyond was too dark for him to see properly from the outside. Jude lowered the display boom over his left eye, switching it to enhance the view within. A Human figure moved to the back of the room. Jude crouched and charged in. It never occurred to him that, as he had been following Gabriel Ashe, that he had been leading Jude somewhere. The door sealed shut behind him and Isaac Jude found too late that this was a trap. Gabriel Ashe was ready and waiting for him. There was no mistaking the device strapped around Ashe’s chest, or that it was already primed for detonation.

  FOURTEEN

  A NEW LIGHT

  The sunny day and cool, crisp air belied the sullen and sombre mood inside the walls of Vatican City. Rome had been the scene of one of The United Trinity Observants’ deadliest attacks. The Vatican Council on the Ship was not going well. The doubts James Johnson, in his existential crisis in Los Angeles had expressed to Allison McQuire were the same doubts Catholics around the world were expressing to their Clergymen and what some members of the Clergy themselves were expressing to their brethren. “Trust in God” could only take someone so far.

  Many people died during the Night of Blood attack in Rome. Many of those killed had sought shelter within the walls of Rome’s many churches, only to die within walls of failed sanctuary. Where was God in this madness? Why had this happened? Those and a thousand other questions plagued the man sitti
ng in the ancient chair overlooking a private garden in the middle of the Vatican. Pope Simon Peter sat in silence within the guarded walls of his inner sanctum. The only other person in the room was his oldest friend in the Church, his closest advisor, a friend from the Pontiff’s first days in the Seminary.

  “I’m afraid I may have brought the Church to ruin,” The Pope said, in the heavy silence. The events of the last few days had added new lines of worry and stress to the aging Black man’s wizened features.

  “No, that’s ridiculous!” Vincenzo Cardinal Carielli protested, “We are in a period of crisis right now but it’s hardly you that’s to blame.”

  “Vatican IV has raised more questions and found more doubt than it has answered,” The Pontiff said, “Had I not called for this council, things might be very different.” The Cardinal shook his head. His friend wanted to believe he had erred, that he had done wrong; the job of convincing him otherwise would be difficult.

  “How many people looked to you, to the Church for guidance after the Ship unearthed itself?” Carielli asked, “Had you not called for a council to deal with the issue of the Ship the leadership of the Church would have seemed vacant.”

  “But we are no closer to answering the questions of our faithful than we were when the Ship was unearthed. There is a crisis of Faith brewing because of the Ship and what it represents! Some even question whether or not life evolved on this world independently or not.”