Dusk (34 page)

By the time the world stopped shaking, the
second tank was positioned in front of them above the ave, its
cargo bay open. Strange figures inside beckoned for them to move
forward. “What are you waiting for, an epiphany?” echoed from loud
speakers in front of them. Jang rushed forward as the tank began
moving toward the open bulkhead. The quad guns above the tank fired
into the guardhouse next to the gate as soldiers attempted an
approach. Jang pulled the float inside just as the tank cleared the
first gate. “Are we winning?” erupted through the tank from
loudspeakers inside.

“Yes!” the men around them retorted, raising
their hands triumphantly in the air. Cyrus recognized them
instantly—Apostates.

As the cheering died down, the ground rumbled
again, and Cyrus began climbing from the back of the float
confused, hurt, and unsure if he was any better off than he had
been yesterday. “Yes we are!” a wizened man reported into the
remote mic in his palm as he emerged from the band of men to help
Cyrus from the float. He tucked the microphone away in his clothing
and extended his right hand. “I believe this is how you greet each
other, yes?” His handshake was awkward but firm. “You are Doctor
Cyrus Chamberlain. I am Paeryl of Nine.”

Cyrus was at once stayed, “How do… I mean…
why?”

The old man in front of him looked confused
by his reaction.

“Why us? Why now?” was all Cyrus could
manage.

“Wait, he doesn’t know,” the older man
paused, looked at the men behind him, and then rubbed his chin.
“But how could he know?”

He grabbed Cyrus by his right shoulder and
almost grabbed his hurt shoulder with his other hand, but he
noticed at the last second how Cyrus was holding himself. “The
Knight of Swords, our patriarch,” he paused histrionically but with
a genuine smile of reverence, “he is your son…” There was a look of
contentment in the aged man’s eyes. It was the look of
gratification a man has after returning from a long journey. “…and
he left something for you.”

• • • • •

The scene was bleak, desolate. The level of
squalor was abject, and upon first inspection, both sympathy and
disgust welled up in Cyrus like a fount. But as they moved through
the arid valley that couldn’t even be called a village, and as the
denizens themselves left their tasks behind to come see the haggard
procession, Cyrus saw something else. The naked children and
tattered, scanty clothing of the people looked like those from the
holoscans of Fringe communities waiting to be admitted into the
Uni. The first thing Cyrus noted that set them apart, however, was
their demeanor; they did not possess the disease-wracked grimaces
of the destitute Fringers. They did not shamble as they moved to
the carved path that served as an ave through the center of the
valley. They were remarkably alert, energetic even, and they
seemed... content.

The scientists had traveled for what seemed
like hours in darkness, only the dim red light from the cargo bay
for illumination. Cyrus had laid back in one of the more
comfortable nooks in the float and had dozed. He had wanted to
avoid it. He still didn’t know if he could trust these odd people,
whoever they were. But as isolated as the people seemed to have
been from the city, they knew more about him on first sight than
Denali and his men had learned over weeks. The men had stayed in
the front compartment of the tank, and Paeryl had suggested
strongly that Cyrus and his colleagues remain in the cargo bay.
Three men would come to the back for about ten minutes, and then
would alternate with other men in the front. They were not
inhospitable, nor did they act like they were guarding them, but
they were adamant that the scientists, particularly Uzziah and
Milliken, remain in the back. When the louvers on the sides of the
tank had finally opened, they were moving through a mountain pass.
The mountains were barren and softly hued and the walls of the pass
were steep and craggy. And then they had passed through a group of
men that seemed to be guarding the pass and into the clearing on
the other side—their Domicile as Paeryl had called it.

Now, the light from the sun low on the
horizon, pallid as it filtered through the mountain tops, cast a
green glow on the exposed skin of the villagers. They all seemed
ecstatic, almost exultant, as they bustled to get a glimpse of the
passengers within the assault-lev as it passed.

Tanner leaned over to Cyrus just as he
noticed another major difference between this place and the images
they had seen of the Fringe. “There are no structures here.”

Before Cyrus could respond, Jang chimed in,
“This is a very different scene than the holocast rendered. They
don’t seem like terrorists and miscreants.”

The men in the assault craft laughed and
joked with each other on the other side of the cargo bay door.
Cyrus could make out the words, but the meaning was unclear. One of
the men watching them left the other two and sat on the floor of
the cargo bay between the window and the scientists. He was bald,
was thin but muscular, and seemed slightly taller than the other
men. He folded his legs, sat on the floor of the cargo bay, and
just looked at Cyrus as if a holocast was playing on top of his
head. Cyrus looked around, pretending not to notice, but after a
few minutes, he could not quell the crawling beneath his skin.
Cyrus faced the bald man, who smiled a wide, toothy grin, looked at
Tanner for a moment, and then turned his eyes back to Cyrus.

Cyrus returned the smile, but it felt like it
slipped across his face.

“Look at them,” Cyrus heard Tanner speak
softly into his ear, “They seem to have little concept of
privacy.”

They moved closer to the opposite side of the
valley as Milliken limped around from window to window holding a
med-patch on his head. “What are you building?” Torvald asked him
as he hobbled past the third time.

“I don’t think this is a valley,” he winced
as he craned his neck into a position that, judging from his
expression, must have brought more pain than expected. “I think
it’s a crater.”

Then they moved into the only crafted
structure they had seen since they had left Eurydice. It was both
odd and mildly disturbing how comforting the sight of concrete and
steel was to Cyrus as they entered the construct. The lev set down
smoothly and the men all emerged from the door behind Paeryl.
“Shall we proceed?” Paeryl asked, spreading his arms in an inviting
manner. “There is much before us.” The man was calm, but obviously
excited.

The other men opened the cargo door, and
Torvald leaned between Cyrus and Tanner as they waited. “You notice
this Paeryl guy is the only one who has spoken to us?”

“I don’t think the others are allowed to,”
Tanner said as quietly as possible. They were beckoned to leave the
lev, and they found themselves in a large garage. There were
various types of vehicles, but none with any kind of markings that
would indicate they belonged to a specific group—especially not the
Apostates.

They were led into a hallway, and as they
reached its end, Paeryl pulled Cyrus into a side room. “You must
remove your footing,” he said matter-of-factly.

At first Cyrus was bewildered, and then, as
Paeryl’s eyes lowered and he removed his own shoes, Cyrus
understood. Cyrus nodded to the others and removed his shoes and
socks. As each of them bared their feet, they were led through the
doors at the head of the hall. They all entered, Paeryl, and then
Cyrus and the scientists, with only a few of Paeryl’s men behind
them. The rest remained outside even though they had also removed
their shoes.

Inside was a room that could easily have
existed on the Paracelsus. Computers, holographic imagers, and
holomonitors were spread throughout the room. There were
workstations that looked familiar, and other devices that did not.
There were doors like the ones they had just entered that lead to
other parts of the complex, but they were being led to a raised
platform about fifty meters directly across from the entrance. “We
have been the stewards of this facility for ages, and the Riddle of
the Gate has perplexed us sinceforth. Our Doctrine tells us that
you can unlock this door that shall reveal our fate.”

Paeryl seemed like a quaint old man, and to
his men, a revered leader, but his rhetoric was a little creepy.
Cyrus never liked undue supplication, especially when it was
directed toward him. And even if what Paeryl said was true, even if
Dari had somehow been the progenitor of this odd band of rebels,
Cyrus had absolutely no idea what they thought he, as a father, six
hundred years too late, could possess that could enlighten them. At
the center of the room, Paeryl raised his hand in a gesture, and
the rest of his men stopped where they stood. “Go,” he said to
Cyrus, “It is for you.”

Milliken moved to follow, but Tanner and
Uzziah both stopped him. The scientists stood with Paeryl’s men as
Cyrus moved unsteadily across the last several meters to the
ominous circular gateway. At the end of the room, he walked up the
stairs to the platform. As soon as his naked feet touched the
platform, a holoprojector spread letters across the air in front of
the metal iris that had barred egress into the deepest section of
the complex for hundreds of years.

Cyrus stood, awestruck by the amber letters
that spread across the space in front of him. “When you find
yourself where even fools fear to tread, who will rush in to save
you?”

Cyrus could understand why they had been
baffled. Not sure exactly why he had been brought here, it had
taken he, himself, a moment to process the answer, and there was no
earthly or Ashan reason why these people should know a detail from
a story he had made up too many years ago. His fingers were
unsteady as he pantomimed the letters ‘a,’ ‘r,’ ‘y,’ ‘a,’ and
‘l’.

The large iris before them dilated, revealing
what looked much like an Earth living room and also revealing what
at first seemed to be a reflection. Then, as his depth shifted,
Cyrus realized that, despite the same beard, the same long, coarse
hair, the same posture, the eyes were very different, and they were
unmistakable.

Cyrus looked upon his own son. He opened his
mouth in an attempt to speak, but words had become both useless and
impossible. Then, the weight of revelation proved too much. His
legs could no longer support the burden. Whelmed to his knees by
the sight of the man standing before him, the room seemed to turn
in on itself. And there, as he reached out to his son for the first
time in too many years, Cyrus wept.

• • • • •

—
Did Dr. Postlethwaite comm-sat you
today?

—
No, why? Does this have anything to do with that
holodeck game?

—
Yeah. Well, yeah and no.

—
Explain.

—
Terry told the Disciplinarian that I threatened
to pop him one, and the Disciplinarian referred me to Dr.
Postlethwaite’s office. So we get to his office, and he starts
railing me, like I shot the Chancellor or something. And Terry’s
sitting there all smug and smiling like an overstuffed rat. And Dr.
Postlethwaite just keeps at me about my attitude and Miss Hasabe’s
eval and being combative and how I’m now becoming violent, and I
couldn’t take it anymore.

—
So what happened?

—
I popped Terry right in his fat, cheese-puff
grin.

—
What? In the office?

—
Yeah, right in the middle of some blah-blah
about me bringing down the character of the whole class.

—
Why?

—
Cuz, I’m not gonna sit there and take the blame
and just soak in it when I didn’t do anything. I told Miss Hasabe
there was gonna be a problem, but she and Disciplinarian Khoury and
Dr. Postlethwaite didn’t wanna listen. I’m sorry Dada, I’ll be the
bad guy, but I ain’t gonna be their escape goat.

—
Scape goat.

—
Whatever. It ain’t me.

—
So how am I supposed to handle this?

—
I dunno, Dada. You do what you gotta do, but I’m
not apologizing.

—
Well, I’m glad you told me before they
called.

—
I don’t think they’re gonna call, cuz they
didn’t listen and they know they messed up. Dr. Postlethwaite
didn’t know what to do after I slugged Terry. Terry started crying
and he just sent us back to class. Maybe he knows if they had
listened to me, none of it would have happened, and so he’s scared
to call you.

—
I’m sure that’s not too far from the
truth.

—
So am I punished?

—
Well, what do you think your punishment should
be?

—
I don’t think I should get punished at all. This
whole monkey hunt is punishment enough. But if they had listened to
me when I told them, it never would have come down to this.