Dusk (37 page)

“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.”

He gave Cyrus another brusque pat on the back
that rattled his aching shoulder. Paeryl smiled widely as his words
still hang in the air, which to Cyrus, was more disturbing than any
scowl or grimace.

But Cyrus appreciated all this. As oddly as
it had been presented, everything had been laid out on the table,
and as Cyrus had no idea what would even constitute crossing
Paeryl, he felt he had everything laid out as well—except for one
thing.

“I have something else to ask of you, so I’ll
just get right to it. I need to borrow one of your levs to check
out something in the Miasma. Something that pertains to my son and
my best friend. I assume because of the Eos, going into the Miasma
would be too dangerous for you, especially since the trip will be
about fifteen hours each way in a midspeed lev. So, I need you to
teach us how to pilot whichever lev we can borrow.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever caused the war
six hundred years ago also killed my best friend, indirectly caused
my son a life of exile, and lies somewhere in the Bereshit
Scar.”

“Well, you can have your lev, and I will
train you myself, but keep in mind, too much dalliance and what
rations we do have will run out, and Set, merciful as he is to
those that have received the Eos, can be most savage to the
uninitiated.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to have my
colleagues examine your Eos—under your supervision of course.”

“Not a problem. But if you wish to accept the
Eos, you must be initiated in the Cave.”

“My men and I will observe any of your
customs within our ability while we are in your hospitality.” Cyrus
bowed his head slightly and Paeryl put his hand on his
shoulder.

“That is most excellent to hear. You shall
have your training, your reconnaissance, and the use of any lev of
your choosing. Just be sure to let me know as soon as we are
winning again.”

Cyrus did not fully understand Paeryl’s
words, but even through his strange, histrionic manner, his
inflection was clear. The Chthonic Miasma, the cold dark shadow
that shambled across the planet like a scourge, would soon
overwhelm the crater that they called home. Their respite from this
generation-long darkness had been taken by the Archons, and it
would not be long before those same assailants descended on this
place. The walls were closing in on them from both sides, and the
only possible recourse lay in finding what had twisted the universe
so far off its intended course. Cyrus was sure some sort of clue
rested somewhere within the crater created by the comet that had
changed the fate of this planet itself, but he had his doubts as to
whether or not that clue would shed a deeper understanding on his,
and Paeryl’s, situation. But these people had helped him at a point
where he himself was not sure of what could have saved him. So he
owed it to them, and to Dari, to find out whatever he could to
help.

• • • • •

—
You okay, Dari? You’ve been acting strange for
the last few days now.

—
Yeah...

—
Is it because mom’s been gone?

—
Nah, it’s not that. I’m used to her work trips
now. It’s just...

—
Is it trouble?

—
Nah, it’s just I don’t know what to get you for
your birthday. Tomorrow’s August already, your birthday’s only four
days away, and I wanted to get you something stellar cuz it’s gonna
be the last one we have together for a while. But I don’t know what
to get you.

—
That’s it? You shouldn’t worry about that Dari.
I already have everything I need.

—
I still wanna do something.

—
Well, you know, just having you and mom here and
maybe doing something as a family would be nice.

—
Is mommy gonna be here?

—
Well, she doesn’t know yet. We’ll see.

—
Oh... I got a question, Dada.

—
Okay, have at it.

—
Were you born at the same podcenter as
me?

—
No, they closed the place I was born. I was born
when they still held extra-uterine births in hospitals.

—
Do you know what time they opened your
pod?

—
17:38, August 4th, 2462.

—
Ha, so you really were born at night.

—
Yeah, but not last night.

—
I like it when you say that, even though I’m
usually in trouble when you do.

—
Do me a favor, Dari.

—
Okay.

—
Don’t worry so much about what to do for my
birthday. Best thing you could do for me is take care of your mom
while I’m gone.