The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 27 - Family History

  “Ridley,” said Ben, when they were alone and walking toward the hotel, “why do you and some others call me Benzira?”

  “‘Benzira’ is an ancient Nisirtu name with certain mystical connotations. Lilian used it in lieu of Benjamin when notifying the other Houses of your status as her husband-to-be, presumably because it was the closest thing we have to Ben. Ben and Benjamin are Ardoon names and Nisirtu consider them demeaning. I realize it doesn’t bother you, but most Nisirtu you interact with will instinctively address you by a respectable Nisirtu name rather than ‘insult’ you by addressing you by your Ardoon name. Even I struggle with this.”

  “But isn’t Lilian an Ardoon name?”

  “In fact, your wife’s name is Lilitu. She only uses Lilian when interacting with Ardoon. Fiela will sometimes call herself Felicity, if you’re wondering.”

  “What should I call Lilian, then?”

  “She is quite comfortable with Lilian. The Stratton surname is a fabrication. Her short name is really Lilitu of Sargon.”

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled. “I never thought I’d find myself married to a woman whose name I didn’t know.”

  “I’m certain you never foresaw any of what has happened in the past week.”

  “True. But still, I should know more about my so-called wife.”

  “Wives,” Ridley corrected him. “A serretu is a wife.”

  “I really didn’t think I’d find myself married to women whose names I didn’t know. I’m pretty sure I merit my own reality show.”

  “You know what matters. You know that Lilian believes the other Houses wronged her and her father. She considers herself her father’s rightful heir and considers the prevailing King of the Fifth Kingdom a puppet of the Seven, which I happen to agree with. She plans on outlasting her father’s foes and to fill the void they leave behind.”

  Ben said, “She must have been very young, though, when her father was usurped. Does she even remember him, really?”

  “She has some bona-fide memories, yes, and others that are highly idealized mental reconstructions based on fragments of actual events. Lilian has always worshipped her father. It’s understandable. Anax Sargon - King Sargon, that is - was a force to be reckoned with. He was a good-looking man with a remarkable presence. He was also incredibly smart and talented. He loved music and played several instruments.”

  “As does Lilian.”

  “Yes, of course. She learned to play in order to please him and proved to be a prodigy with the violin. She played for visitors to King Sargon’s court when she was seven years old. Remembering her intensity at such a tender age still gives me chills. But the truth is, King Sargon was not a particularly good father or husband. He wasn’t abusive or anything of that nature. Merely indifferent. Children were for him a byproduct of sexual intercourse. His wife, a kind but undemanding woman of noble lineage, died giving birth to a stillborn son who would have been his only rightful heir. After that he had a string of mistresses, mostly the daughters of lesser nobles of various Houses.”

  Ben checked behind him before saying in a low tone, “Ridley, Fiela told me yesterday that Lilian has something of a…reputation. It is hard for me to fathom that the woman I know, cool, collected, and refined, could have ever done the kinds of things she is accused of.”

  The scribe let out a troubled breath. “It is wrong that Lilian’s past should haunt her so. We all make mistakes when we are young and Lilian had more reasons and more capacity for mistakes than most. In her teens and early twenties she was, to be frank, promiscuous. Wildly promiscuous. She orchestrated sexual orgies in her home on weekly basis. It was a thing of infamy.”

  Ben shivered. He hadn’t expected confirmation in that level of detail. “How long did this behavior go on?”

  “Years, I’m afraid. I think she was, in a way, looking for a man to replace her father, but no man could live up to that imaginary standard. She isolated herself from those of us who loved her and embraced those who only sought to use her. Lilian also experimented with a variety of drugs and disappeared for months at a time. It was a bleak period. She was bitter, you understand, not only because of her father’s overthrow and her status as a bastard child, but also because she was exiled from court. Lilian has a proud soul.

  “Fortunately, by the time of the Maqtu rebellion, she had matured and realized that her actions were counterproductive. Only then did she reach out to me again. The rebellion gave her new hope. She regrets her past actions but cannot undo them.”

  Ben meditated on that. “She certainly seems in control of herself, now.”

  Ridley nodded. “Oh yes, she is now a force to be reckoned with. The coming cataclysm has made her focus laser sharp.”

  The two men strolled into the Great Hall.

  Ben said, “About the ‘collapse’ - what’s the timeline?”

  “Two, maybe three days, before events reach critical mass. As any glance at a newspaper or television would convince you, it has already started.”

  “Nothing can be done to stop it?”

  “No. If it would put your conscience at ease, you are free to notify the local authorities of what is coming. Telephone or text the newspapers. Blog or put up a website. Tweet. Call the President. Whatever you like.”

  The linguist said wryly, “I’ve obviously considered all of the above but you know as well as I that any of those actions are futile. Even if other Nisirtu didn’t work against me, which I’m sure they would, what could I hope to achieve? I can’t expect anyone to believe that a secret society that traces its roots back to ancient Mesopotamia is scripting the end of the world. Even if I stole some scripts and posted them on the Internet, it would be days before anyone in a position of power would take notice. Even then, they’d assume I was a spy or a charlatan. Given a few months of brutal interviews at the CIA it’s possible that I might make inroads, but probably not. I’m sure the Nisirtu would have me killed within hours.

  “Besides, the crops are already dying. Cage’s disease is already a pandemic. The markets are already crashing and wars are already erupting. I could never undo what is already in motion. It’s hopeless.”

  Ridley nodded again. “Quite right. The end is inevitable now.”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t see how any of us can survive the type of calamity you and Lilian have described. For one thing, Lilian, Fiela and I might contract Cage’s disease.”

  “No, nephew. Cage’s is a creation of the Seven Houses. It was designed to bypass the Nisirtu. You were immunized by Lilian’s physician the night he tended to the gash in your cheek.”

  The other man, surprised, felt an odd, guilt-laden wave of relief wash over him. Sure, billions of others would die, but he would be just fine, thank you very much. “Why don’t you, or the Maqtu, immunize the entire population, then?”

  “Ardoon immunizations must be individually tailored after a protracted study of a person’s DNA. A single study requires weeks. It would take decades to immunize a fraction of the population and we have but days. Besides, to do so would be treason, and the Seven would simply deploy a different strain.”

  “How did you get my DNA?”

  “We liberated a bit from the Department of Defense.”

  Ben felt like thwacking himself on the forehead. He should have thought of that. All members of the U.S. military were required to contribute blood for DNA samples. The military used the DNA it had on file to identify remains when an attack left so little of a serviceperson’s body that no other form of identification was possible.

  He said, “Okay, so Cage’s isn’t an issue. There’s still the external threat. I assume you are providing us this hotel as a refuge but if there are no stores or markets, how would we get food, medicine, clothing?”

  “Have you forgotten the cave? There you have rations sufficient to feed four hundred people for two years. Also, there are several productive wells on the property, over fifty fruit trees, a
good lake for fishing, ample wildlife, and a reasonable amount of land to farm.”

  “Two years?”

  “Yes, that’s one of the perks of having a cave for a basement and unlimited resources. The stored food won’t provide the most diverse menu but it should suffice. There is also a wine cellar with several hundred bottles of some good years, cases of various liquors, tobacco products, medical supplies, books, movies, clothing, shoes, and so forth. There is also a stable of some fine horses two miles down the road managed by one of your fetches. Lilian is quite the equestrian and I’m sure she’d be happy to teach you to ride if you don’t know how to already.”

  Ben considered this before saying, “People will kill for food and medicine. Armed hoards could show up on our doorstep and take everything from us.”

  The scribe shook his head. “This location will be exceptionally difficult to reach once engines stop working, especially when winter hits. You probably won’t be bothered for several months. Not by Ardoon.”

  “Yeah, but after that?”

  “After that you’ll probably need an army.”

  Ben tried not to laugh. “Where will I get an army?”

  Ridley shrugged. “Right now all the Houses of the Nisirtu are jockeying for position. After the apocalypse all of the Ardoon armies that the Families today control will be decimated. The Houses must then leverage their limited resources for maximum gain. Control of the Peth-Allati is paramount. You might think that a few thousand Peth are inconsequential on a global scale. However, if you use your insight and resources to make each of those Peth a local commander or Governor you have the foundation for an empire. Once that foundation is in place you can send your spies abroad, and once you have your spies in place, you can put your scribes to work.”

  “I have no Peth legions,” replied the other man. “Or spies. Or scribes.”

  Ridley placed his chin in one hand. “I suspect there will soon by many of each looking for work. You need only stand your ground while the other Houses tear each other to pieces. The Families think they will remain unified and govern the world together after the collapse, but that is a romantic fiction. They struggle to do that even in the best of times. After the collapse there will be another civil war. Even now the Seven Houses are secretly plotting against one another.”

  “And us,” Ben ventured.

  The scribe nodded. “Very much so.”