He glanced self-consciously to where Kalico Aguila was finishing the last of the energy bar and looking all the better for it. She was chuckling as she watched him squirm.
“Got it,” he muttered. “So, how do I do this?”
“How about we both step around behind the trees. I’ll glance around, make sure there’re no slugs, no sidewinder, no gotcha vine or skewer, and that everything’s copacetic. Then, while you attend to the realities of biology, I’ll stand a couple of feet away and admire the surroundings. Take in a little bit of nature.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not even slightly.”
He took a deep breath. Laughed at himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he squatted and attended to business, he glanced uncertainly at Talina. True to her word, she stood, rifle at port arms, her attention fixed on the surrounding forest.
After he’d finished, he stepped over, told her, “Thank you. Guess I’ve still got a whole lot to learn.”
“Different world here.” She gave him a wink. “Kylee’s right. You’ve got the makings.”
As he followed Talina back to the others he asked, “The makings? Of a disaster? Of a meal for a sidewinder?”
“Of a survivor,” she told him. Then leaned close. “Thanks for giving that bar to Kalico. That might just get her through the day.”
“Yeah. She’s looking about all in.”
“What about you?”
He made a face as he shifted his rifle on his sore shoulder. “Telling it straight? I feel like I’ve been pulled sideways through a singularity. Everything hurts.”
“We can’t take the easy trail up north. It’ll be guarded. Too easy for them to roll rocks down on top of us, if nothing else. Assuming Kylee and Flute can find a way, we’ve got a hell of climb ahead of us.”
“I know.”
Talina stopped in front of Kalico, looked down. “You need to use the facilities?”
“No. I’m okay. Not enough water in me to run through.”
Talina reached down, pulled Kalico to her feet. “You and Dek, you’re the weak links. I need you two to keep an eye on each other. Help each other. Once we’re up to the top, we’ll get food and water one way or another. But we have to make it. All of us. Working together.”
Kalico gave the woman a crooked grin. “You know, once upon a time, I was going to put you against a wall and shoot you.”
Talina grinned back. “And if you had, where would you be today?”
Kalico reached out to slap palms with Talina as the security officer started toward the slope.
“Just got to get to the top,” Dek told himself. “There’ll be food and water up there.”
“Yeah, that’s the goal. Won’t be too tough, just a little climb.”
Kylee appeared from between the trees, trotting on her long legs. The girl’s blonde hair was tied in a ponytail that bounced with each stride.
“Found a way up,” she called to Talina. “Your instincts were good. Flute’s up at the top, hunkered down and guarding the trail. There’s some biteya and tooth flower to keep clear of, and I saw a sidewinder.”
“All right, people,” Talina called. “Let’s get a little exercise. Muldare? You’ve got the six.”
Dek tried to reshoulder his Holland & Holland, only to find the bruise was just as bad on his other shoulder.
Gut it out.
Three little words that he was really coming to hate.
Nevertheless he took his place, following Talina as she led the way through the scrubby aquajade and chabacho. Compared to what he’d seen back in the deep forest, these were really scrawny specimens. And he was just as happy to be able to look up and see patches of open sky on occasion.
Then they began the climb in earnest. In the beginning it meant scrambling from one toppled boulder to the next. Reaching back, giving a hand to the person following.
Within minutes, Dek was panting, a faint sheen of perspiration slicking his cheeks, neck, and chest. Water he couldn’t afford to lose. The temperature had to be in the midthirties, and the humidity left his sweat to pool.
“You were going to shoot Talina Perez?” Dek asked Kalico as Talina extended her lead on the cracked rock, climbing hot on Kylee’s heels.
Kalico was already panting as she made her way around a toppled boulder and stared anxiously at the heights above. “You gotta remember, we didn’t have a clue about Donovan. During those two years in transition on Turalon I had convinced myself the colony was in rebellion, that they’d seized the missing ships. Turned themselves into a bunch of pirates.”
“I see.” Dek reached down. Took Kalico’s hand, and pulled her up, every muscle in his body complaining.
“No, you don’t. Pirates are easy. You just shoot them. We ran into something worse: libertarians. I mean how do you deal with a bunch of lunatics who take it as an article of faith that they can govern themselves?”
“So what happened?” Dek shifted the rifle, anxious lest it might slip off his shoulder, hit the rocks, and mar the lustrous finish on the expensive wood with its beautiful inlay.
Kalico scrambled up next to him, anxiety in her eyes as she realized the magnitude of the climb she was about to attempt. “I put Talina, Shig, and Yvette on trial. When the locals figured out where it was going, Talina stopped the riot just before the Donovanians murdered us. I gave them Port Authority. Figured it was the easiest way to cut my losses.”
He found toe-holds, got a grip, and forced himself to climb the next little bit. Turned, and again helped Kalico. Below them, Muldare—looking thirsty and hot herself—kept staring back the way they’d come, ensuring that nothing was following behind. She had her rifle slung, was somehow managing to climb in spite of her inflamed arm.
“So how’d you end up at Corporate Mine?”
Kalico staggered, almost lost her balance. Dek pulled her close. Kept her from falling.
“Thanks. Missed my step there.” She wiped a sleeve over her forehead, smeared the smear more. “Freelander showed up. You’ve heard the story about that. What you haven’t heard is that I saw myself in the temple of bones. Heard myself say, ‘If you go back, you will die.’”
She chuckled, voice rasping with thirst. “Strange shit happens on that ship. Thing is: I said that, all right. More than a year in the future. Used those exact words with that pus fucker Benteen.”
“Why didn’t you space back on Turalon? From what I hear, they had a fortune on board. You’d have been a hero.”
She blinked, wavered. “Freelander scared the shit out of me. All those lost ships. Vanished. I couldn’t . . . couldn’t . . .”
“Yeah, I guess I’d have done the same.” He made sure she wouldn’t fall, tackled the next climb, and reached back. Fought a slight dizzy spell. Had he ever been this thirsty before?
Come on, Dek. You can do this.
Somehow, he got Kalico up the next steep section.
“Why the hell am I telling you this?” she wondered under her breath. “You called me ‘Miko’s cerulean cunt’ the last time I saw you. Asked Miko if I moaned while I was sucking his cock.”
“It was outside the Boardroom, wasn’t it?” He snorted derisively. “Wasn’t even drunk that time. Just full of hatred.”
“Of me?”
“God, no. Well . . . maybe a little. There you were, the most beautiful and capable woman in Solar System, with your perfect body pressed up against Miko’s. I was so damn jealous.” He blinked. Looked up at the next section. Saw the tooth flower off to the side that Talina pointed to.
“Mostly,” he told her, “I was full of hatred for myself. For all of my failures, for all the frustrations that I blamed on everyone else.”
He pointed. “Now, watch out for that toothy thing. We’ve got to climb wide.”
She squinted, fixed on the tooth flower. �
��So, what are you now?”
“I don’t have the first flipping clue. As a Taglioni, I should have hated myself the most while I was cleaning toilets on Ashanti. That’s about as far as anyone in my family could fall. And yet, there I was, in the dark, scrubbing up other people’s piss and excrement. Fixing the plumbing when the shit of menials plugged it up and stirring the septic in the hydroponics. And I was proud of myself for the first time in my life.”
She was giving him that half-glazed look of disbelief. Her once-perfect lips were cracked, her smudged face fatigued and drawn. Nevertheless, she let him cup his hands for her foot, boost her up onto the next ledge. The effort took all of his energy, and he came close to dropping her.
“You ever get back to Transluna,” she told him, “I wouldn’t confide that to Miko. He’ll rub your nose in it. Figure some way of humiliating you to the point that you’d rather be dead.”
Dek licked dry lips. Tried to conjure spit . . . and failed. He could feel the building headache. Thirst, he decided, was the most agonizing of suffering. “Supervisor, there’s nothing for me back in that hive of serpents and spiders.”
The trembling in his muscles was evident as he levered himself up onto the narrow flat beside Kalico.
“Just going to farm? Maybe go live with Chaco Briggs?” she asked.
“Both good choices. But I think I want more. Shig says I’m more of a rajasic by nature. Means I’m predisposed to the hedonistic and active, the spice of life. According to Shig, while I was on Ashanti I managed to find harmony with the tamas in my soul. Sattva, he said, would probably elude me in this lifetime.” A beat. “Sometimes I wonder if Shig delights in screwing with my head.”
She laughed dryly as she tackled the next cracked section of rock. “I think the universe put Shig here because it’s the only place left that he fits.”
“What about you? If you could be guaranteed of getting back?”
She reached down, took his hand. Not that she had a lot left to pull with. Actually made it harder for Dek to clamber his way up.
She was panting, flipped her filth-matted hair out of her face as she told him, “Success on Donovan was supposed to be my catapult. Was going to shoot me right into a seat on the Board. Sure, I’d already won the golden plum: I’d fought my way into the position of Supervisor in charge of Transluna. That’s always been a springboard. Only one place to go after that. And once I was on the Board, it would have been a matter of time before I was in the Chairman’s seat.”
“You still could, you know,” Dek told her softly, seeing the longing in her eyes.
As quickly it was gone. “All I want at this moment is a tall glass of water and a meal. Not to mention anything that would kill this damned headache. Starting to feel like my skull is split.” She paused, blinked. “Like I want to be sick. Slightly dizzy.”
“Yeah.” His entire body was hot. He’d have given anything for a canteen. Cool, wonderful, water.
The skepticism was back. As if it had finally occurred to her just who she’d been talking to. “So, really, why’d you give me that energy bar this morning? What was your goal in all that?”
“You needed it.”
“Uh huh.” She coughed hoarsely. “How about you stick to climbing, all right?”
“Sure,” he agreed, wondering how he’d managed to pick a scab off such an unhealed wound. It hit him, of course, that he’d just reminded her of how badly she’d wanted that seat on the Board. What it must have cost her to make it so high up the echelon that it was dangling within her reach.
He took a deep breath, would have killed for a gulp of water.
And then the world began to whirl. A sick feeling tickled his gut with the urge to vomit.
“Whoa,” he whispered. Blinked.
And started to topple . . .
THE DESERT
I was never trained in religion. My parents didn’t believe in it. And Mongolia had its own history, placed as it was between the Buddhist, Taoist, Islamic, Russian Orthodox, and animistic spheres. A sort of crossroads for faiths of every kind. And through it all, the ancient magic of the steppes was constantly blowing.
I was raised to be agnostic, to look first for the laws of physics and science before any credence was given to the spiritual. That creed led me to electronics, gave me my trade.
Had taken me to the stars.
And Ashanti.
Where the universe found me. A blank canvass upon which it could compose, and finally paint. The rough sketch was, of course, the Harrowing and Cleansing, and with the gift of the Prophets, it colored between the lines, shaded, and added the subtle tones of composition that created the masterpiece that was the Irredenta.
The tool for the redemption and renovation of the universe, for its cleansing and rebirth into purity.
I do remember, however, that messiahs are always given one last test before they are granted the final revelations. For my ancestors out on the steppes, it was usually starvation and deprivation that preceded spirit visions, soul flying, and holy trance. For the Buddhists it was meditation. Fasting for the Muslims. Jesus was tempted by the devil while exiled in the desert.
Now I face my desert, my darkest moments.
I have half of the adults left who descended to Donovan from Ashanti. Ten of the children are dead or missing. Shyanne and Tamil betrayed us and stole the airtruck.
The universe tempts me to recant. Taunts me with the possibility that my people really are dying on Donovan, and doing so in a way that they cannot be reincarnated.
Worst of all, it has taken my Prophets from me. An act akin to stabbing out my eyes. Leaving me in a black haze of darkness where all I can do is reach out with feeble fingers in an attempt to find my way. But flail about as I might, my groping hands find only nothingness.
For all of its appearance as a lush forest full of life, spiritually Donovan is a desert. A parched waste devoid of reassurance. A land of thirst for those desperate to slake their longing for salvation.
What better place to test me?
I am panicked, frantic, and adrift.
Three of the First Chosen are murdered by that Corporate demon, their meat preserved in refrigeration in the kitchen. They await the sacrament of feasting, the moment they will be ingested, their souls to follow the path to regeneration.
My First and Third Will, along with their teams, are missing. Presumed dead. Which, I realize, is another test. I have no proof that they are really dead. The universe might produce them, like a rabbit from a hat, the moment I declare my lack of faith.
Svetlana, my second wife, has died from a fall. Perhaps it was the universe discarding her. That she’d fulfilled her duty, bringing as many of the dead back to life as she did. The children I sired from her will grow, become new vessels in which the dead can be reborn.
Vartan worries me. I’ve always been suspicious of his true commitment. More so since Shyanne and Tamil got away with the airtruck. I can’t help but suspect Vartan allowed that to happen through omission if not direct knowledge.
In the end, I suspect that Vartan will have to be purified and reborn. But for the moment, I need him. He’s the only person I have with any security training. He knows how to use a rifle.
If, somehow, the Supervisor is alive, she will come here. She must. She’s the kind who does not leave unfinished business.
There is no telling why the airtruck hasn’t flown up out of the forest. This morning we’ve not heard gunfire. Perhaps Donovan has dealt with the Supervisor in its own way. Or something’s wrong with the airtruck. The uncertainty is maddening.
Meanwhile, I must assume Aguila is alive. And she’ll be coming for the radio.
But why take away my Prophets? Blind me like this? What’s the point of leaving me to grope about? What am I supposed to learn?
I look up, state emphatically: “I have faith.” I repeat: “
I do not doubt!”
In my deepest soul, I believe it. Let the belief run through my veins with each beat of my heart. I will not waver. I am the repository of souls. The chosen one.
I stare at an empty cafeteria, seeing the bare tables where the Prophets once lay.
The place is so quiet. Only the hum of the air conditioning and refrigerators can be heard in the background.
The children are being kept safe in the barracks dome. I have people on watch to the north and south.
But I am not alone. I never am. The dead are with me. Living in my tissue. Waiting patiently in my loins. I am their repository.
Through me, they shall live forever.
I hear the steps, two people. One is having trouble. I can hear the sliding, half stagger.
When Marta pushes the door open, she has Shimal Kastakourias’ arm over her shoulder. The woman is having trouble walking.
I wait, watch with ever growing excitement as Marta brings Shimal close, lowers her to one of the chairs at the table.
“What happened?” I ask.
Shimal stares up at me, her dark eyes panicked. “It’s been getting worse, Messiah. At first, it was simple things. Dropping stuff. Stumbling.”
I glance down, see Shimal’s right hand. It trembles, twitches. My amazement and delight increase.
“Then, this morning”—Shimal swallows hard—“I was having trouble. Kept slurring my words. It’s better now. But I just fell over. Marta said I should come to you.”
Shimal blinks, the wobble of her head barely visible.
Marta, gaze stony, says, “She thinks she’s turning into a Prophet.”
I close my eyes, lean my head back. A surge of relief spills through my breast, fills me with delight.
Of course.
That’s the lesson.
What the universe takes, it will replace.
My soul rises on a wave of rapture.
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