by Ashanti Luke
“There are some days where I remember some of the good times, but then I remember that I know better,” Cyrus opened his hands, stretched his fingers, and then looked down at his palms. “I don’t really regret the time I spent, the history, I just...” Cyrus raised his left hand to his forehead and brushed it across his face.
“You’re not going to get distant on me again are you?”
“No, no, it’s not just that. I just can’t help feeling like I ran away.”
“Well, maybe you did and maybe you didn’t, but you’re here now and there’s no way we can turn this monkey cage around. So just remember to look forward.”
Cyrus let his hand slowly slide from his face revealing his eyes. “You know what I miss the most, other than Darius? My conversations with my friend from Laureateship—Dr. Alexander Kalem.”
Tanner met Cyrus’s eyes, “I’m sure I’ve heard that name before.”
“Most likely, he’s a professor of Near Eastern philosophy at the Arcology of Los Angeles. He was in Chicago for a long while after we matriculated, but he moved to Los Angeles because his lungs could not take the mix of cold and smog, and the newly terra-formed Los Angeles was a perfect place for a convalescing asthmatic. There were other Arcologies he could have gone to, but I think he really moved to be closer to someone he could talk to and not have to pick his words.”
“Yeah, I could see people who are picky about words being a little unnerved around you. See it at least once or twice a week here,” Tanner smiled, but Cyrus either didn’t see it, or was too nostalgic to notice.
“It was nice to just be able to say whatever was on my mind and not have to qualify it. To just be, I dunno, understood, whether you were agreed with or not. Never happened with anyone else—not even Feralynn. Actually, the first conversation Feralynn and I ever had was an argument. She was studying with Xander for a class that had something to do with Aryans I believe. I had come to meet him at the cafeteria where they were studying to get some money from him that he owed me. He and Feralynn were talking about the cost of running prototype atmospheric processors to clean the air in Los Angeles and Pittsburg. I said something to the effect of ‘if only poor people were dying from the deteriorating air quality, they would just increase production in the factories and cut their losses, and that only when the rich people started dying would they actually even bother.’ Well, it turned out her uncle had been one of the first publicized victims of the pneumatic consumption that came from the smog, and that her father’s involvement was why they had been talking about it in the first place. After I removed my foot from my mouth, I joined the conversation, but it wasn’t for another month or so that we started to talk to each other when Xander wasn’t there.” Cyrus smiled to himself, “Xander would always joke that the first thing my wife ever said about me was that I was an arrogant hound’s ass.”
“Wait a second,” Tanner interrupted, “Xander is what you call him, right? With an ‘X’? He’s X. Kalem, the author of the book on the links between Zoroastrianism and the Rig Vedas?”
“The very same.”
“That’s where I’ve heard the name. Wait, is his name Alexander or Xander?”
“Well, Uncle Xander is what Darius called him since he learned to talk. Guess it’s hard to say ‘Alex’ with no front teeth.” Cyrus paused for a moment, looking at the wall as if he could see something on the other side of it. “Funny, Xander and I hated each other when we first met. But I think it was more because we could see our own shortcomings in the other and that mirror was not kind. Over time, we found that even though we were very different people, there was something that we shared that was as indefinable as it was deep. I could honestly say I would not have made it out of the Arcology if it wasn’t for him.”
“Surprised he wasn’t picked to be on this journey.”
“Well, he’s one of those people that Winberg says gets paid to talk. Besides, he is coming on the Damocles and bringing Darius and Feralynn with him.”
“That will be an interesting family reunion. One I don’t want to miss.”
“Yeah, I...” Cyrus paused awkwardly, as if the words he had intended to say had fallen back down his throat. “I just hope the time gives us time to miss each other I guess—Feralynn and I. It just bothers me that even after this long, she’s the one I miss the least.”
“I guess if you miss her at all there is some hope.”
“You know, my time on this ship has reminded me of a lot of things I had forgotten on Earth. And it’s taught me some I don’t think I ever really knew. But one thing that has unfortunately eluded the grand, enlightening lesson plan is hope.”
“For your sake, and the sake of your soul, I pray that rubric surfaces before all your piss and vinegar runs out,” Tanner’s mouth smiled, but his eyes were staid.
“Well then, I believe it has some time, because my reservoir of piss and vinegar ain’t drying up by damn sight.”
eight
• • • • •
—Dari, what’s wrong?
—Nothing.
—Come on Dari. If you don’t want to talk about it, say ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Don’t tell me ‘nothing’ when I can see clearly something has you upset.
—Sorry Dada.
—No need for apologies. Did something happen at school today?
—Yeah, kind of. Well, not really. Not yet anyways. I’m just… a little worried.
—Worried about what?
—Terry Gallager.
—What did he do now?
—He says if I don’t bring him ten creds tomorrow, he’s gonna beat me up and make me lick the lav seat.
—Hmm. He sounds pretty creative for a lab monkey.
—I guess.
—Tell me, what is so scary about this Terry kid anyways? I’ve seen him. He’s no juggernaut.
—Maybe not to you cuz you’re so big, but to me, he’s so mean and strong.
—You look here. I don’t care how big he is or how strong he’s supposed to be. He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. And if he tries to force your hand, you warn him. If he doesn’t pay your warning any mind, and he puts his hands on you, you hit him in his throat. Guaranteed he won’t bother you again.
—But Miss Hasabe will get upset. She’ll send me to the Disciplinarian.
—If this thing does go down tomorrow, and you get sent to the Disciplinarian, you have them comm-sat me immediately. I’ll come down there and ask Miss Hasabe why you have to do her job for her.
—But Dada, I’m scared.
—Fear is what bullies like that Gallager kid feed off of. It’s all they have to go on. It’s okay to be afraid, but don’t let him see it.
—But what if he makes me lick the nasty lav seat?
—Like I said Dari, no man can make you do anything you don’t choose to do.
—What if he has a stick or a blade or something?
—Dari, even if a man puts a gunto your head, you remember, you can always choose the bullet.
• • • • •
“So what are we doing today that’s so special?” Cyrus asked, too exhausted to manage a full smile. Torvald and Milliken mumbled and nodded in support of both the question and the fatigue, while Davidson looked dejectedly at his shoes. Toutopolus let his stringy, earth-toned brown bangs hang over his boyish, but now fatigued features, the balding patch of scalp glinting in the light of the training room as nervous perspiration formed there.
“Your all-night Conquest of the Ages tryst doesn’t seem like such a good idea right now, does it?” Tanner chided as he puffed up his chest, sensing the thin fog of misery visible on the eyelids of the friends and colleagues who in this room, as they passed through the door with an open left hand over closed right fist, became his loyal students.
Tanner forced a shrill whistle through his teeth. The Shipmate marched in on command carrying a large footlocker in his arms and what appeared to be an elongated golf bag slung over his back. After the android s
et down the chest and the golf bag, Tanner thanked him and excused him to his usual duties. Tanner’s five charges unsuccessfully tried to stand at attention, their stances faltering under the weight of curiosity, apprehension, and a long night of siege battles.
Tanner flipped open the clasps on the chest and unzipped the bag with deliberate melodrama, milking the tension in the makeshift dojo. His students’ adolescent nighttime exploit had created an environment with excellent opportunity for martial insight.
Tanner left the bag and chest unopened and turned to face his five students lined shoulder-to-shoulder, arm’s length apart. He smiled to himself as he caught Dr. Chamberlain who was trying to hide his fidgeting. Tanner’s consternation returned quickly as he clasped his hands behind his back and addressed them with as much pomp and authority as he could muster.
“Today, you will each make a choice and you will stick to that choice.” His voice resonated off the walls as each of the students’ stances stiffened.
Cyrus could take the anxiety no longer, “Sifu, what are we choosing?”
Dr. Tanner turned and knelt. He flipped open the bag and lifted the lid of the chest. Still kneeling, he turned to his students and revealed a giddy, yet somehow sinister, grin as he spoke, “Weapons.”
• • • • •
Cyrus shambled to the dinner table favoring his left leg with an exaggerated limp, trying with difficulty not to drag the quarterstaff he carried. He shuffled over to his usual seat, and before he sat, he paused, surveying the area around his seat as if he were looking for something. The seven who were already seated at the table looked on in silent bewilderment—except Dr. Tanner who seemed not to notice. Cyrus leaned the staff against the wall behind his chair, carefully positioning it out of the sweep of Tanner’s chair. Cyrus eased himself into his chair slowly, wincing a little as a tender spot in his right leg brushed against the table. Just as Dr. Murphy opened his mouth to question Cyrus, Torvald entered the room using the wall as support. Something wooden and black was attached impossibly to his shoulder as he pushed away from the wall and steadied himself with a chair near the head of the table. He shifted his weight and the shadows across his body gave way and revealed an impressive swell developing over his left eye and something silver hiding in a fold of his disheveled jumpsuit.
“May I ask what that is on your shoulder? And what happened to you face?” Dr. Murphy asked, his bewilderment even more evident now.
“These,” Dr. Torvald grabbed the wood with his left hand and set two wooden bars linked with a silver chain on the table, “are nunchakus.” After setting the curious implement on the table, he paused to nurse his seemingly useless right hand and pointed to the inflammation over his right eye with the better hand. “This,” he paused as he heaved out a long, exhausted breath, “is what happens when you don’t know how to use them.”
“So you’re saying you did all this to yourself?” Dr. Tsuchiya marveled.
“No, I’m saying I hit myself in the eye with my own nunchakus. Sifu Tanner whacked me in the hand with a stick I can’t remember the name of, and my gimp-like stature can be attributed to the generous Dr. Chamberlain here, who in a gesture of good will, assisted my decision to retire by introducing the end of his staff to my testicles.”
“I don’t know if I approve of…” before the sentence could fully escape the lips of Dr. Fordham, which were still parted in disbelief, the door again slid open and a sound resembling the death knell of some diseased farm animal ushered in from the hall. As everyone turned to the source of the moan, Dr. Milliken collapsed into the room in a sprawl of flailing limbs with some unidentifiable wooden object. Another bovine moan escaped his mouth, as did most of the air in his lungs. Dr. Villichez and Dr. Fordham hurried to help the man into a chair. His body heaved as he gasped and coughed, and even though he weighed less than either of the two older men, the assistance proved difficult. He sat in the chair and leaned what could now be seen as a wooden Chinese broadsword against the back of his chair.
“I was wrong,” Dr. Fordham continued, moving back to his chair, “I definitely do not approve of this.”
“They will be just fine,” Dr. Tanner said, sipping from his cup as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Dr. Milliken wheezed out then coughed again, momentarily stiffening from a twinge of pain that shot from his malformed lower lip as he attempted to cover his mouth.
“Mother of all things great and small! What has happened here? And why are these barbaric implements of mayhem at the dinner table?” Dr. Villichez, practically shivering with dismay, pointed at the nunchakus and Cyrus’s staff.
“Sifu Tanner says that these are extensions of our own bodies and that they are more important on this ship, than our own penises.” Cyrus explained.
“I find it hard to believe that Dr. Tanner would utter such a thing and condone this… this… debacle.” Dr. Villichez huffed.
“Well, believe it. He demonstrated exactly what he meant by parrying one of my attacks and extending his kali stick…”
“Yeah, that’s what it’s called!” Torvald interrupted then returned his drinking glass to his eye.
“…into the side of my knee,” Cyrus continued, unfazed by the outburst. “Honestly, I would rather the weapon had been his penis—would have hurt much less. And it’s a good thing all these weapons are made of wood, or they would have implemented more mayhem. Make no mistake, despite all his pious reverence and understated demeanor, Sifu Tanner here is a world class butcher.”
“Yeah, but he knows what he’s doing,” coughed out Dr. Milliken, finally regaining his composure. We would have been a lot better off if we hadn’t been up all night playing hologames.
Suddenly, icy looks shot from Cyrus, Torvald, and Dr. Qin and focused on Milliken.
“Oops,” he muttered and exaggerated another cough. Cyrus shook his head in legitimate disbelief.
Dr. Villichez looked to the ceiling of the dining hall in an overstated appeal to a higher power. “Children! I have been put in charge of past-due children!” He turned his attention back to the grown men still staring at Dr. Milliken in accusation and disdain. Villichez let his gaze settle a little longer on the battered and bruised ones, especially Dr. Milliken who now stared shamefully into his glass. “And beating each other with sticks! This errant vessel has fast become an asylum!” Cyrus relaxed his stare and allowed a laugh to escape despite the pain it afforded his battered sternum. “What, pray-tell, do you find so amusing about this circus?” Dr. Villichez bellowed, incensed.
“We are on a hollow metal tube with no windows, traveling faster than any manmade device has ever traveled, speeding toward a place that we have calculated is a planet-wide wasteland. We left our families, our friends, our countries, and our world behind, and you seem surprised by the fact that we exhibit tell-tale signs of insanity.” Cyrus, wiped a strand of spittle from his mouth as, with the cut that was now throbbing on the inside of his lower lip, it was hard to talk so long and keep saliva in his mouth. “No disrespect intended, but you must forgive me if I find this whole scene amusing.”
Dr. Villichez threw his hands in the air, sending a fork that had rested near the edge of the table toward Dr. Tsuchiya. As the fork came clattering to a rest in the center of the table, Dr. Villichez stood up abruptly. “I cannot take any more of this fiasco. I am retiring to my room to read. And perhaps I can regain my own sanity. Good night!” He stormed out the door almost before it could open.
“He didn’t have to throw his fork at me,” Dr. Tsuchiya said after he was gone, “What did I do?” Coughs and laughter echoed through the bulkhead, and as Dr. Villichez moved to the living quarters, he himself could not help smile, if only for a moment.
• • • • •
“I have something that’s been bugging me recently. But I don’t want you to get offended if I bring it up.”
“Well, Tanner, a statement like that is most always a prelude to something offensive. But if the
source is genuine...” Cyrus looked up from the floor of the fitness chamber, his knees tucked to his chest, Kantistyka paddle at his feet.
“I’m not so much worried about the offense; that would just mean I’d have to pole whip you the next time we sparred. That you’d get over. I’m just worried about you retreating until you catch the beating that brings you back to your senses. It’s like questions about what’s really going on inside that thick skull of yours is the only thing you ever retreat from,” Dr. Tanner stretched his legs out in front of him and let out a long, contemplative sigh. “Let me see if I can get ahold of what I’m trying to say. Around the eighth and ninth century, a set of Scandinavian societies believed that their god Odin could bestow great strength on warriors through the spirit of the bear, which was the strongest, most vicious animal they could think of. Being a warlike society, this belief both colored, and was colored by, their everyday lives. There were even warriors that donned the trappings of bear hide as armor or dressings over their torso. These warriors, when possessed by the spirit of the bear, were fierce adversaries—biting their own shields, frothing at the mouth, amassing unheard body counts because their own lives were insignificant next to their thirst for victory. They were called ‘The Wearers of the Bear Shirt’ or in their language, behr sarkr. That’s where we get the term ‘berserk’ from...” Dr. Tanner paused and looked at the floor as if the remaining words in his treatise had slipped from his fingers and spilled across the treated clay at his feet.
There was a short, yet still uncomfortable, pause. The air between the two men had the substance and texture of a pall. “I follow, I think, but I’m not sure where you are taking me,” Cyrus lifted himself and extended his legs. He turned toward Tanner, moving the ethereal veil between them. Dr. Tanner looked up from the floor and met Cyrus’s gaze with a smile, not forced, not particularly cogent, but genuine, and for a moment, until he found the words he had been looking for, the shroud slipped and revealed something that it had been fighting to hide.
