Fire of the Dark Triad

by Asya Semenovich

  Here we go, thought Hilgor.

  “I need to get your waiver. My ship is in inadequate condition. I am required to have a functioning medical emergency vat on-board. If an outlier happens to get seriously sick during the several weeks en route, the vat would temporarily stop the body’s metabolism until we make it to Earth,” Nick stopped and looked away as if he didn’t want Hilgor to see his face. “The vat is currently not available. It’s occupied. My previous job didn’t go well.” With a noticeable effort he met Hilgor’s eyes, “You have the right to refuse the trip. Once I get in touch with Earth, I will pass your information on to another headhunter.”

  “Wait,” Hilgor shook his head, “didn’t go well … how? What’s going on Nick?”

  Nick wanted to say something, but his voice broke. Layers and layers of self-control started melting from his face, revealing pain, anxiety and desperation.

  “A person on-board is dying. The vat’s biomass is nearing its expiration. I am in a hurry, Hilgor,” he said.

  And with that, the whole picture finally fell into place. Except … “Nick, why didn’t you go directly to Earth?”

  Nick winced as if something had physically hurt him.

  “It’s personal, complicated. I need a lot of money, but the person in the vat won’t help. I promise that it has nothing to do with your situation. I can explain later.”

  Nothing nefarious, thought Hilgor. People are being people, space cloning phenomenon aside.

  “I don’t care about the vat. I’ll sign whatever official waiver you need. I just need to talk to Del. Everything else will be fast,” he said, and for some reason it felt good to see that the signs of pain on Nick’s face had lost intensity.

  Hilgor was about to head for the door, when he quickly stopped in his tracks. “Oh, wait,” he realized that the program hadn’t mentioned a critical subject. Nick’s face tensed.

  “Riph?” Hilgor’s voice sounded scared.

  “He’s no problem,” Nick smiled, “he is no threat to their genetics.”

  “I hoped so …” Hilgor said with relief. “I’ll be back soon. She’s smart.” A strange expression passed over his face, “And for better or worse, she is decisive.”

  After he left the apartment, Nick sank back on the couch, rested his head on its high back, put his hand on Riph’s head and closed his eyes.

  Del was on her way to meet one of her clients when she received Hilgor’s call. She turned back immediately, not asking why the urgency, and told Hilgor to wait in her office.

  As Hilgor entered the large windowless room, its walls began to glow with a dim ghoulish light. He looked around, located the remote control and pointed it at the floor. A section slowly opened up, and an armchair unfolded from inside. It was a compromise, a pathetic symbol of their relationship. She refused to let a utilitarian object distort her design; and he refused to sit on any of her furniture.

  Generally speaking, Hilgor was capable of putting up with unpleasant surroundings, but this was different. A subtle perversity that was a trademark of Del’s personality emerged in all aspects of her natural habitat. He winced and sat in the chair trying not to look at her desk. An unsuspecting visitor would question their sanity before realizing that it was stretched in one direction by the same almost undetectable angle. It was just one of the items, which she carefully selected over time from the public art pool. Her hobby was to pick works that balanced on a thin line and ultimately fell to the side of just not making it, most likely unbeknownst to their creators. She called her collection a shrine to a confused mediocrity and, unlike Hilgor, found it delightful.

  The door flung open and Del entered the room making Hilgor think of a speedboat leaving a strong wake. She was apparently very busy today, so she had forgone her usual style in favor of a simple black dress. She gave Hilgor a quick nod, walked behind her surrealistic desk and sat in the chair. Imagining the level of craziness of what he was about to tell her, he shifted in his chair uncomfortably and firmly squeezed the armrests. He stammered a little, not sure how to start.

  “We need to talk,” he said finally.

  “Obviously,” she agreed cheerfully, “otherwise you wouldn’t have called me here with such urgency.”

  “Right,” he got up and started circling the room, navigating his way among the piles of miscellaneous artsy objects strewn across the floor.

  During the next ten minutes, he listed the events of the last forty-eight hours and laid out the essential facts connected with Nick’s offer. From time to time he lifted his head, checking her reaction. Her expression went through several stages, none of which he expected. At first, she appeared confused. Then for a time she became intensely attentive. And finally, she looked sad and, strangely, relieved.

  He stopped and repeated the last question, “So, will you go?”

  She leaned back and looked at him silently for a while. Then she said, in an unusually pensive voice, “How funny, it’s not what I thought it would be. But it’s even better.”

  She picked up a pen from the table and started absent-mindedly twisting it in her hands. “I thought you called to break up with me,” she explained.

  Now he looked at her in confusion.

  “Hilgor, we needed to talk a long time ago,” she spoke very softly, “I’m glad that we’ve been forced to, finally.”

  Without the mask of her usual flamboyant eccentricity, her face became unguarded and, surprisingly, tender.

  “I’m happy for you. You should go. It’s a crazy story, but you know … this is why I stuck around for so long even though I knew it wasn’t working. What’s the term they use – anti-conformity index? I’m an expert in guessing it.” There was sadness in her smile, “Hilgor, I won’t go with you. The whole thing about us is wrong. We’re … a different species.”

  Now she spoke very calmly, as if delivering a long prepared speech, “We are not happy, let’s face it. I am not happy. You spend the best of yourself on your work, it burns all your passion; I get the leftovers.”

  Hilgor tried to say something to protest, but she interrupted.

  “I would have preferred to compete with another woman – at least it would be fair,” she suddenly sounded bitter, but then forced herself back to an even tone. “I know you want me around, but I don’t want to serve as your bridge to the outside world. My life here, at least, has some real meaning.”

  He wasn’t surprised, really. He knew it was true. There wasn’t much to say, but too much at stake, so he awkwardly ventured into the field of a foreign vocabulary. “Del, do you love me?”

  “Define love. Do you love me?”

  She was staring at the desk as if she just discovered something interesting on its surface.

  He went to her and put his palms on the table, leaning forward, and tried to look into her eyes.

  “Del, listen. I understand. But you don’t have to stay with me there. Earth is a better place. They are way ahead of us; their planet is not sick; their medicine can fix anything. Why do you care about this poisonous world?”

  “There are some things in this world I care about,” she almost whispered, but held his gaze.

  “What? Your art? Don’t be stupid.”

  “Yes, my art,” she said firmly, “and … I’m healthy. I don’t need their medicine …” she interrupted herself, struck by an unexpected thought. “Their medicine … it fixes everything?” she asked with sudden hope in her voice.

  Hilgor nodded, thinking about the information provided by Nick’s program.

  “Until what stage?”

  “Any stage, I think, as long as the person is still alive.” Then he corrected himself, “It depends on the definition of death, of course. I learned that the one we use is too simplistic.”

  “Reish,” she said, “you can save Reish.” She got up abruptly, pushing back her chair and looked straight into his eyes, �
��She should live, Hilgor.” Intensity was returning to her face, which was regaining its usual hypnotic power. “She doesn’t own what she has. And this Universe is not so rich to squander it like that.”

  He remembered the pale face, the bare room and the whirl of blue happiness in his heart. “But, Del …” he said helplessly.

  “Hilgor, I’m not going. I’m sorry.”

  He made a move to get around the desk to give her a hug, but she stepped back so quickly that she knocked down the chair behind her.

  “Just go, Hilgor. Really. I’ll let her know. Just pick her up.”

  He walked to the exit. He had already half-opened the door when he remembered something.

  “Can you spread the gossip that I have moved behind the Wall – as a protest against their stupid communal rules?”

  “Feels good to give a farewell kick?” she smirked.

  “There’s that. But really, they don’t track people there, so they will believe it. It’s simpler this way.” A random thought that Deait would guess the truth passed through his mind.

  “Will do. Good luck! Trust me; we’re going to be happier this way,” now she was smiling, her face relaxed and radiant as she watched him going through the door.

  He almost believed her, but giving her a farewell glance, he recognized a funny-looking spiky ball that she was squeezing in her hand. She had taken it home from his office desk at some point, a three-dimensional model of an object he had tried to build. He remembered that she found the shape amusing and he also recalled that the spikes were very sharp.

  The door closed softly. He stared at it in silence for a few moments, and then immediately reached for the doorknob. And at the same time, he heard a click – she must have used a remote to lock it from the inside. He turned around and walked to the elevator.

  When Hilgor returned home, the dog and the man were still in the same position on the couch, with Nick’s hand still on Riph’s head. Riph barked once and jumped down. Hilgor gave him a brief pat and walked straight to the far corner where he had left his armchair the night before. He didn’t turn on the lights even though it was beginning to get dark.

  “She is not going,” said Hilgor in an even voice, sitting back in the armchair, “and she is right.”

  “Did you expect her to go?” Nick’s face was hardly visible in the remains of the gray light.

  “I don’t know. I never know with her. Although I should say – I knew, I guess.” Hilgor shivered, only now noticing the bitter cold in the room. He walked to the window and shut it.

  “She is right. This feeling of making things out of nothingness is so … addictive. I rush there the moment I feel that I have any energy. And I stay there until I’m empty,” he paused and added, “it’s not fair to her.”

  He began pacing the room along a silver patch on the floor created by the streetlight.

  The silence lasted so long that Hilgor decided that this odd conversation was over. Then Nick said in a casual, almost indifferent tone, “Can you live without her? I mean, live a normal life, not bending in pain every time when you remember that she’s gone?” His voice sounded strange, as if he was asking both Hilgor and himself at the same time, and for some reason, Hilgor felt embarrassed by the meek ambiguity of his response,

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”

  Nick didn’t comment. Instead, he switched to a matter-of-fact tone, “Shall we go?”

  Hilgor touched the wall, turning on the bright strips of the overhead light. “Nick,” he said firmly, “I have one condition. There’s this woman, behind the Wall. I want to bring her instead.”

  “That’s not an option, Hilgor. We have strict protocols on who is allowed to …”

  “How will they know we’re not together? We’ll pretend.”

  Nick shook his head, “But Hilgor, its illegal, forget about unethical. Listen, I’m sorry …”

  “It’s my condition. And she is dying, Nick.”

  For a while Nick just stared at him in silence. Then he sighed and nodded.

  Hilgor sat at the table and jotted down a list of the remaining items. There wasn’t much left. He made a quick pass around the apartment and threw a few necessities into a small bag. Then he returned to Nick and somewhat sheepishly pointed to the bulky shape in the corner of the living room. “This is the last thing. I really want to take it.”

  Nick looked at the worn leather armchair, so old that its original black color had turned into some undetermined shade of dark gray.

  “Of course, it’ll look amazing on Earth. Are you sure that you don’t need anything else?” he asked with an impulsive grin. He walked to the heavy recliner and easily slid it across the floor to the exit.

  Hilgor picked up Riph’s leash and abruptly stopped.

  “Sorry, one more thing. It won’t take long. Let me throw something in their faces. As a revenge for Deait. They will get oh so mad at me in the same way, and rush to punish me in the same way, but this time they will be robbed of this pleasure. Plus, I don’t mind if people know that it was me who proved Zongi’s conjecture – it feels good from many angles.”

  He returned to his computer and moved all his private research files to the public domain, signing them with his full name.

  The chair shifted precariously on the floor in the back as the air capsule crossed the city at the highest allowed speed. Night traffic was very light, and Nick turned the corners with exact precision. The Wall was quickly approaching, exploding in size, as they got closer.

  “How do you know …” started Hilgor.

  “… Where we need to go?” Nick finished the sentence not taking his eyes off the road.

  Hilgor nodded, suddenly remembering the steps behind him in the empty passage of the underground city.

  “Do you think I could afford to lose you? I’ve been shadowing you for the last two days.”

  Once they passed through the Wall, Nick told Kir to override the capsule’s safety settings. The engine whined at an unfamiliar pitch, and Hilgor felt his body pressed into the back of his seat. He had no idea that a standard passenger capsule was capable of generating such speed. By the time they approached the cluster of white structures at the foot of the hill, Hilgor’s palms were damp, and his heart was firmly stuck in his throat.

  Nick landed the capsule exactly in front of Reish’s house. Hilgor jumped out before it came to a full stop and hurriedly walked toward the entrance. The door opened, and he stepped inside. Riph sat up, looked at Nick and whined softly.

  “You don’t like it here, puppy? Can’t blame you,” Nick leaned back, turning off the engine. “It’s cool, Riph. You and me; we both just need a little patience now.” He was in the middle of the last sentence when the door slid aside again, and the bright yellow light from inside was cast on a rectangular patch of dry soil between the house and the capsule. In a couple of minutes, Hilgor walked out the door, dragging a heavy oblong container. In another moment, the silhouette of a young woman appeared in the doorway. She was hastily stuffing pieces of clothing into a bag that hung over her shoulder.

  “Nick, I’m going to fasten this box and the chair. It’s all of her work. Not that I doubt your driving …” Hilgor opened the cargo door.

  The woman was now quickly walking to the capsule. And all of a sudden she stumbled on the uneven ground and awkwardly fell.

  Nick saw her trip, and time stopped and jumped back. As once before, Nick pushed the capsule door open, jumped down, ran the same three long steps through heavy smoke and fell on his knees. He lifted her head from the ground and looked into her pale face. Struggling to sit up, she said, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I got dizzy.” Only then did reality come flooding back. He slowly let go of the girl. He looked at his hands; there was no blood on them. The gray shapes of houses in the dark, the outline of bare hills in the distance and Hilgor’s worried face slowly came i
nto focus. Nick stood up, helped Reish to her feet and walked back to the capsule, trying to make the smell of the burning forest in his head go away, to the past, to the place he didn’t want to remember.

  He climbed into the driver’s chair and started the engine.

  “Reish, what about your drafts, the unfinished pieces?” asked Hilgor from the cargo compartment.

  But she just shook her head, reclining in the passenger seat.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  PART IV:

  THE

  OBSESSION

  Earth

  Nick had been up for so many hours that he had to resort to ever-larger doses of stimulants to keep the ship on course, and his mind eventually began to rebel by creating periodic glitches – for example, he suddenly noticed that he had been staring at the navigation screens for who knows how long without making any sense of the data. He needed a break, and he was lucky that all of the system indicators were green at the moment, except, of course, the status of the biomass that was keeping Lita alive. That light was stale red, and the expiration time kept oscillating between three days and three hours. The sensor was slightly off like every other monitor on the ship, but it was clear that the biomass wouldn’t last much longer.

  They were on the fastest possible route home from Y-3, and he had already sent an emergency request for an ambulance. There was nothing else he could do to speed things up, and it was better not to think about the red indicator.

  He tried to picture Lita’s face. He hadn’t seen her, locked inside the vat, since they left Beta Blue. He liked to imagine that she was sleeping, dreaming of something good. He told himself not to check her vitals again. They wouldn’t have changed, frozen in time, as long as the biomass held up.

  He checked. They hadn’t changed. But his palms got clammy.

  He got up, swiped the navigation screens to the background of his vision, and walked out into the corridor. He was going to the medical wing again. He would just stand in that room, brightly lit and empty except for the smooth white cask in the corner, until one of the navigation indicators showed signs of instability, and then he would have to go back to work.