Cyrus smiled. “Sett, old friend, if your ego were any bigger they’d have to name a galaxy after it.”
“Just a matter of time, Captain,” Sett said. “Speaking of great honors, I take it that you received the packet and memo from headquarters.”
“I did.”
“The word is that there are going to be some changes around here.”
“That’s not up to me. I will follow my orders.”
“Good. I’ll remind you of that when I’m the one who’s giving them to you.”
Sett snickered and strolled over to my table.
“You there,” he said to me, devilry in his eyes.
I stood and saluted. “Sir, Cadet Kohai, Sir.”
“How long have you been with Captains Cyrus and Volk, Cadet Kohai?”
“Sir, thirty-six Earth months, Sir,” I belted.
Sett addressed the table of cadets. “Hear that boys? Thirty-six months. Cadet Kohai must be one badass cupid.”
The cadets laughed, but I ignored them.
“Have you had weapons training yet, Cadet Kohai?”
Trying to hide my shame I answered, “No, Sir. Not yet, Sir.”
The cadets chortled some more, but gratefully, Virgil didn’t join in.
Sett continued his bullying. “Visited Earth?”
“Sir, not yet, Sir.”
“Uh-huh. So tell me Cadet Kohai, what do you do all day while the rest of your fellow cadets are busting their asses?”
“Umm, well, it’s kinda hard to explain, Sir. I, ah, pray and meditate a lot, Sir.”
I knew how lame that sounded, but aware that Cyrus and Volk were watching—Volk casually whittling the ends of his chopsticks with the sharp edge of a demon dagger—I mustered as much conviction as I could.
“Pray and meditate, you say?” Sett shrank back, hand to mouth, eyes wide, feigning fright. “Ooh…” He pretended to shiver, eliciting more snickers from the cadets.
“…And calisthenics,” I added. “And study. Lots of calisthenics and study, Sir.” It was all I could do to not show my humiliation. “It’s not quite what you think, Sir. It’s actually pretty rigorous,” I offered weakly.
“What do you study, Cadet? The art of surrender?”
“Sir, the archives, Sir.”
A murmur rolled across the table of cadets.
“Right,” Sett scoffed. “The legendary ‘archives,’ which even if they existed would be filled with nothing but myth and superstition.” He withdrew his pearl-handled demon duster from its holster and offered it to me. “Wanna play with the big boys, Cadet?”
I looked longingly at the gun, licked my lips, and involuntarily began to reach for it. I regained my composure, and pulled my hand back.
“Sir, thank you for the offer, Sir, but I’m in good hands. Captains Cyrus and Volk are teaching me everything I need to know to become the best cupid commando that I can, and I have complete faith in them, Sir.”
“Faith is no match for one of these, boy.” He waved the gun. Then he spun on his heels and said, “Cadet Terence!”
“Sir!” Terence bolted to his feet and hustled over to us.
“Show Cadet Kohai where your faith resides.”
Terence was just about to throw a backhanded punch at me, when he yelped in pain. He looked at his fist in amazement. Stuck in the back of his hand was a chopstick.
Terence yanked out the chopstick and moved to throw another punch only to be speared a second time. “Ow!”
The entire table turned towards Cyrus and Volk, who shrugged innocently.
Terence glowered at me. “At my leisure, Kohai,” he snarled.
I picked up my lunch tray. “If you’ll excuse me.” I walked over to the captains’ table and sat down.
“Thanks,” I said to Captain Volk.
“Give me your pudding and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal,” I said with a smile, and handed him my dessert.
4
Chance Encounters
Earth, 2034
Graduate psychology student and teaching assistant, Ellen Veetal, sat typing at the computer in her cluttered university office. Opposite her, against the back wall, sat a set of large, gray, metal bookcases jam-packed with books. Decorating the other walls were calendars, university posters, diplomas, and photos of her dog, Carl; a black Labrador, named after the late Swiss psychologist, Carl Jung.
Tacked to the door hung a mock poster of FBI Agents Maulder and Scully from a popular 20th century television show called The X-Files, whose heroes weekly pursued some bizarre enigma or conspiracy. It had a small cult following and could still be seen on obscure cable channels at three in the morning. Ellen’s poster pictured the show’s two heroes pointing at each other’s heads, and the program’s logo had been rewritten. The poster read: The Truth is in Here.
The twenty-eight-year-old Miss Veetal had wavy, jet-black, shoulder-length hair, marble-gray eyes, a flawless complexion, and a figure that appeared to require no effort to maintain. Vivacious and intellectual, she looked like a cross between the Greek beauty, Psyche, and a librarian. On one side of her was a folding chair with a stack of student exams, and on the other side, an old, black leather couch where Carl lay curled up and snoozing.
Ellen paused in thought from her typing, then shot rolling on her chair to the bookcase behind her. She swiveled, ran a finger across the spines, and chose a book entitled Beyond the Occult. She wedged the book carefully from the crammed shelf to avoid an avalanche.
Carl let out a little woof. Ellen swiveled and turned to the door. A moment later she heard a gentle knock.
Professor Chauncey Matterson, thirty-eight, stuck his priggishly handsome head into the room. “Hello…?”
Ellen rocketed back to her desk. “Come in, Professor Matterson.”
The professor, dressed in a tweed coat patched at the elbows, a white, Royal Oxford shirt, and a loosened tie, stepped into her office. Aware he was in the presence of beauty, he ran his hand through his silky brown hair, easily setting it perfectly in place. He raised himself up, standing as tall and manly as his five-foot nine-inch, doughy stature could muster.
“I stopped by to see if you’ve finished correcting the exams.”
“Last night. I dropped by your office this morning but you were out, then it slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”
She picked up the stack of papers from the seat of the folding chair beside her and handed the pile to the professor.
“How did they do?” he inquired.
“Awful.”
Matterson shook his head in disappointment. “I give you the heirs of the Facebook generation.” He gestured towards Ellen’s computer. “What are you working on?”
“My thesis proposal. If you have a moment, I’d like to ask—”
“I’m sorry, Ellen, but I have an appointment to keep. Please catch me tomorrow.”
“Sure…”
Chance noted the book on Ellen’s lap. “I hope your thesis has nothing to do with that.”
Carl bounded from the couch and began sniffing in the corner of the room. He cocked his head and whimpered.
“What is it Carl?” Ellen said. She rolled over to the dog and petted him. “He’s been obsessed with this corner all morning. Silly pooch.”
“You really shouldn’t bring your dog to campus. It sets a poor examp—I like dogs.”
“Pardon me?” Ellen said, confused.
“My ex-wife got my dog. Her lawyer argued that it belonged with the house. I’d have enjoyed bringing little Pavlov to school.”
“Professor Matterson…?”
“Enjoyed the chat, but I’ve really got to run. I’m getting fitted for a new suit. A past student of mine is getting married next Saturday.”
Carl sniffed his way to another corner of the office and sat, tail wagging, staring at the corner as if in anticipation.
“Jill Taylor?” Ellen asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m going to her wedding too. She�
�s my best friend.”
“You don’t say? Well, I’d rather not go alone. Would you mind if—?”
“I’d love to.”
“Really? Fantastic. I’ll pick you up. Just email me your address, okay?”
“Sure. Thank you, Profess—”
“Call me Chauncey, Ellen. I’ve only got you by a few years.”
“A few years, two Ph.Ds., twenty-eight published articles, three bestselling books, and a PBS special,” she lauded.
“Outside of our hallowed, stuffy halls and classrooms, I’d be grateful if you’d call me Chauncey. In fact, better yet, call me what my family and friends call me, Chance.”
“Chance,” Ellen repeated, pleased. “I’ll take it. Get it? ‘Take a chance.’”
The professor smiled and exited her office.
“Huh,” Ellen said turning to her dog. “What do you make of that, Carl?”
Carl, tail wagging and head cocked, ignored her question and continued to stare into the corner of the room.
5
Dormitory Davids
Sitting in prayer atop the lower bunk in my Academy dormitory—something I did every evening while my roommate was away—the creaking door alerted me to Virgil’s early return. I almost reached for a book to pretend I was reading, but surprised myself and did nothing. Before he spoke I could sense him puzzling at me as if I were a Rorschach painting.
“What are you doing?” he asked innocently.
Determined not to apologize for my faith—something Captains Cyrus and Volk insisted was vital to it—I answered a little too petulantly, “What does it look like?”
“Praying. But how come?”
“Because I like to.”
“But there’s no statue.”
“So?”
“Don’t you need a statue?”
“Says who?”
“The Academy and, well, everybody.”
I rose and faced my friend. “Maybe they are wrong, Virgil. Ever think of that?”
“How can you be wrong about something that important?”
“If you can’t find Him here,” I said, tapping Virgil’s forehead, “then you have to find Him here.” I tapped his chest.
“Eros?”
“God,” I said.
“Eros,” he repeated, unable to compute the difference.
“If I had meant Eros, I’d have said Eros.”
“But…”
“Never mind,” I said, sorry I had brought it up. It was a subject, after all, that I was too afraid to even raise with Captains Cyrus and Volk.
Our dormitory was a small, austere room with two wooden tables, two old, hardback chairs, a single bookshelf, and a two-tiered bunk bed. Virgil sat down cross-legged on the cool, tiled floor. I joined him. We preferred sitting on the floor rather than on the wooden chairs because the rickety things tended to leave little brown splinters in our butts.
“I wish I were smart like you, Kohai,” Virgil said, having figured the reason for my squabble was some finer point of metaphysics, something Virgil didn’t think he was capable of comprehending.
“I’m not so smart.”
“You must be if Cyrus and Volk have taken you under their wings, so to speak. You’re the first cadet they’ve agreed to train in…like forever. Why else? You’re not big. You’re not strong. You’re—”
“A wimp?”
“You’re not a wimp, Kohai. And I respect you for having stuck to your guns at lunch today.”
“My guns? That’s a laugh. If I had taken Sett’s gun, I’d have shot myself in the foot.” I sighed. “I wish Captain Cyrus would start teaching me how to fight.”
“What’s praying like, Kohai?” Virgil asked, ignoring my grumbling.
“Huh? It’s…different each time. Why do you ask?”
“In a couple of days is our big test and, well, you know the stories. Cadets don’t always make it back. So, maybe it wouldn’t hurt if I, you know…prayed, like in the old days. Like in those fables we heard when we were young.”
“Sorry to break the news to you, Virgil, but they weren’t fables.”
“They weren’t?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, can I pray for courage?”
“Courage is a great thing to pray for, Virge. Captain Cyrus says that without courage few other virtues are possible. But you don’t need me to teach you. You just do it. And don’t worry; you’re an excellent cadet. I’m sure you’ll do fine. I just wish I could be there with you.”
“You’ll get there, I’m sure.”
“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. “Tell me again what it’s like on Earth.”
“Like I said, it’s amazing. All your senses become hyper-extended or something. It’s a little scary at first, but you get used to it.”
“Cyrus says that the more aware I become here, the stronger I’ll be on Earth.”
“Could be,” Virgil said, “but I haven’t really been tested yet, so I can’t say. But there is this sort of richness to everything down there. I remember my first day in the field. I was hardly able to walk ten feet through this park we were in without becoming nearly paralyzed.”
“Because you were scared?”
“No, because it was too beautiful!”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You can see sharper, smell deeper, hear further. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but you feel, well, kinda godlike.”
“Wow. Why would you ever want to leave?”
“You forget how dangerous it is down there for us, Kohai. There are fear demons all over the frickin’ place. But, they are really hard to spot. You know why?”
“Because they live inside the humans, not outside.”
“Right! How’d you know that? Did the captains teach you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, for some reason we weren’t told that until we got down there.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” I said. “You’d think they would want you guys to be as prepared as possible.”
Virgil shrugged. “Beats me. I guess a fear demon is a fear demon, and it doesn’t really matter where they come from. Anyway, the Academy professors told us afterwards that it wasn’t always so, that the fear demons used to run around outside the bodies, but that over time they learned how to penetrate the mortals’ aura shields.”
I nodded along, despite knowing that what Virgil was reciting was bunk.
“Yeah,” Virgil continued. “My professor says that the fear demons—”
“Yetzers,” I interrupted.
“Huh?”
“In the archives they are called yetzers. It’s only been since the creation of the Academy that we began calling them fear demons.”
“Whatever. So, these yetzers mutated through natural selection, meaning only the stronger, better-adapted demons survived. The Cupid Corps killed all the others.”
I kept my amusement tucked between my lips. “You don’t say?”
“Yeah. The mutated demons that were better equipped to penetrate the humans’ energy fields became the more successful demon species. Something like that. Cool, huh?”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Yeah, makes sense to me, but I’m no science wiz like you, Kohai.”
“Interesting, because that’s not at all how Captain Cyrus explains it.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. He and Volk put the blame on the humans themselves. They say it isn’t that the yetzers are getting stronger, but that human emuna has been steadily diminishing.”
“Emuna?”
“What the sages called ‘deep faith.’ Think of it as part of the human metaphysical immune system. There is no ‘force field’ or ‘penetration’ going on.”
“There isn’t?”
“No.”
“So how did the yetzers get inside of them?”
“Yetzers lurk within the humans from the day they are born. They grow and strengthen within them because the humans don’t have the emuna it takes to stop them from doin
g so.”
“Whoa,” Virgil said, his mind trying to get around the idea. “Faith? How could something we can’t see or touch create a force capable of keeping those yetzer demons down? I don’t get it.”
“How is it,” I submitted, “that a mere thought in a human’s head—something without any weight or size—can set their pulses racing, send shivers down their spines, or stir their loins?”
“Some chemical process, maybe?”
“Well, then let me ask you, do you think courage is a force?”
“Courage? Um, yeah, I guess it’s a force…of sorts.”
“Well,” I said, “we can see the results of courage, right? We can see it in action. We might even be able to sense it in someone just by his composure, in the way the person carries himself, walks and talks.”
“You mean like in Captain Cyrus and Captain Volk?”
“Good,” I agreed. “But, courage itself is invisible. Courage itself can’t be touched, weighed, or measured. It is a word describing an emotional and intellectual state of being. In a particular situation, one either demonstrates courage or one doesn’t.”
Virgil scratched his head.
“Okay,” I said, coming up with an example. “Do you know the story of David and Goliath?”
“Um, it rings a bell…maybe…sorta. Okay, no.”
“It’s from the Bible.”
“The what?”
“The most sacred of sacred texts.”
“Oh,” Virgil said. “We don’t read that junk.”
“Yeah, well,” I continued, “in there, we’re told the story of Goliath, a Philistine warrior who taunted and cursed the Israelites daily—the people whose story is recounted in the Bible. He dared the Israelites to send out a warrior to fight him, saying that if he lost to him, the Philistines would become their slaves. Goliath was a big, mean dude—a giant.”
“Like Commando Ajax?”
“Yeah, a real badass. And like Ajax, everyone was terrified of him. Except a young shepherd named David. David volunteered to fight Goliath, and walked out to meet the fearsome warrior without any armor but his emuna. Goliath laughed and mocked him and the Israelites. He said, ‘Am I a dog that you come to me with sticks? Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the sky and the beasts of the field!’
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Book 1: Hell-bent (Shooting Eros Series) Page 2
