Dusk

by Ashanti Luke

  “The Hunab Ku,” Darius said as he looked on, rubbing his beard.

  “What?” Uzziah asked, not sure what the hologram had just said.

  “The Hunab Ku is an ancient Mayan symbol. It is related to the Mayan calendar, but I don’t remember how.” Tanner didn’t even open his eyes as Darius explained.

  “How could he—you—know that?” Milliken asked Darius.

  “Balam Castenago, one of the engineers on the J.L. Orbital, used it as a logo for his engineering company. He was of Quiché descent. He called his company Xmucane Development. It was called ‘the Hunab Ku’ for Ashan trademark registration purposes.

  Milliken opened his mouth as if to speak, but then said nothing. Tanner, with his eyes still closed, spoke the idea that must have frustrated Milliken to silence, “But the city looks untouched, right? At least untouched before the Ashans got there. So if no one lived there and it was zipped up like a vapor-lock for hundreds of thousands of years, who in the hell built it, and for what?”

  “That’s what’s been scraping my brain for the last week. We can’t even build something like this now, not even if we combined Ashan and Earth technology, well old Earth technology.” Milliken shook his head as if he were trying to shake out the frustration. “No matter how you try to carve it, the timeframe always breaks a chunk off.”

  “Hmm,” Torvald grunted as he looked up from his own work at the holomonitor connected to the Xerxes. He had kept silent until now but seemed completely engaged. “Look at the building shapes, Davidson’s maned lions, Tanner’s Temple, Cyrus’s yellow sun. All these things are distinctly familiar to us, and yet would be completely foreign to anyone who existed on Asha today, six hundred years ago, or on Earth or Asha six hundred thousand years ago.”

  “So what are you saying?” Uzziah stood up rolling his shoulders back. To Cyrus, he looked unnerved, but it would have been barely perceptible to someone who had not trained with him.

  “I’m saying the explication is more likely to be found in things familiar to us, rather than in the unfamiliar. My guess is that city has more to do with Earth than Asha. Especially with the things Davidson and I uncovered in that cave.”

  • • • • •

  Whether it was his body adjusting to the Eos, the resurgence of his own faith, or the fact that he was again in command of a dojo, Tanner was filled with a new vigor as he barked the names of moves at his exponentially larger class.

  The Apostates formed four lines of four and tried their best to follow the commands as Sifu Tanner gave them. Cyrus, Torvald, Davidson, Jang, and Toutopolus helped those who had trouble, while Uzziah, still nauseous from his emergence from the Cave, sat on the side basking in a sliver a light, trying feebly to look healthier than what he felt.

  Having studied their own combat art, the men and women Paeryl referred to as his van were remarkably limber and agile. There was a young student called Six because of a scar on his chest that resembled the Roman numerals. Six was extremely gifted with agility, and he learned techniques faster that anyone Tanner had ever seen. It helped that the Apostates had a fighting art of their own. It was young compared to the time-honored arts of Earth, but their art was practical, and years of necessity had honed it to precision; what it lacked in diversity, it made up for with its freshness.

  Maybe it was their seemingly inexhaustible energy, or the daily threat posed by the masters of Eurydice and Druvidia, but the Apostates absorbed Tanner’s teachings like cheesecloth.

  Each session began with calisthenics and then moved to techniques, but the second half had always included the Apostates sharing their art, what Paeryl referred to as Crossing the Kheires and the others called The Hundred Hands. At first, the Apostates had only shared the concepts behind their moves, but after they had become more comfortable with each other’s styles, they had begun to spend the latter half of the class sparring. It had been a chore at first. The Hundred Hands style had been given an accurate nomination. Each move chained to the next. The Apostates didn’t seem to need to breath between moves, and eventually Tanner and the others found they didn’t need to either. The Apostates would spin their smaller lighter bodies over and under attacks, moving their momentum into punch after kick in a stream that didn’t seemed to end until someone grabbed or kicked them. And Six, he was the fastest of the Apostates—and strongest too. He could easily take on any five Apostates, or any three scientists excluding Tanner or Uzziah—Tanner made up for what he lacked in comparable speed with wisdom, and Uzziah made up for both with sheer force and tolerance of pain. Yet on any given day, both Tanner and Uzziah would opt for some solution other than a real fight with Six if it meant someone would not walk away—because they could not guarantee it would not be them on the gurney.

  Perhaps it was the difference in gravity on the Paracelsus, or the seemingly never-ending supply of energy afforded them by the Eos, but practice seemed to last longer than it ever could have on the ship, and it seemed to be more intense. The Apostates had an advantage initially due to their familiarity with their photosynthesizing metabolisms, but it wasn’t long before Cyrus and his ‘van’ found that the advantages the Apostates had in speed and endurance could be balanced by the scientists’ sheer temerity and strength.

  They took time to fill their wineskins in the aqueduct, and then paired up for sparring. Six walked over to Cyrus and spoke, “Sifu Tanner holds the ensign jack, but you seem to be the vanguard.” He puffed out his chest, causing the V and I etched in the flesh over his heart to expand slightly.

  “I’m a student of the art, just like everyone else,” Cyrus said, looking around.

  Six smiled as if he found Cyrus’s answer amusing. “Are you aware I hold the Amphiphoreus?”

  “Don’t even know what that is,” Cyrus was growing tired of humoring him, and it was obvious Cyrus was fishing for something else to give his attention. He could not find Loli of Nine, Paeryl’s daughter, who could easily hold her own in a fight, but Paeryl had asked Cyrus to watch over her anyway. And if this was Paeryl’s best man, he had a pretty good idea why she needed to be watched.

  “It is the award given to the Hundred Hands sparring champion. Every gyre there is a tourney. I have held the Amphiphoreus for forty gyres,” Six added, his chest still inflated as he smiled. With that grin, Cyrus recognized him as the man who had ogled him when they had fled Eurydice. Then, behind the smiling Six, he saw Jang, cupping Loli’s hand in his own, demonstrating the correct way to form a tiger’s claw by slowly, gently moving each individual finger into place. She smiled as she began to understand the technique. She was more focused on her hand than Jang, but Jang seemed to be more focused on her eyes and pursed lips.

  “Excuse me,” Cyrus said to Six without looking away from the scene across the pitch. Six nodded, a little dejected, and moved toward Tanner.

  Jang traced the tip of his finger down Loli’s forearm, demonstrating the proper way to hold her wrist. Even halfway across the pitch, Cyrus could see the gooseflesh forming on her upper arm.

  “Sifu said he needs your assistance,” Cyrus said before he had fully reached them. It wasn’t completely a lie. Tanner had asked Cyrus to find someone to help him retrieve the weapons he had requested from the forge.

  Jang greeted Cyrus, hand over fist, bowed slightly, and then left, saying goodbye to Loli after the formalities.

  When Jang was outside of earshot, Cyrus spoke, “He’s a bit of a flirt, but he is highly respectable.”

  Loli held out her tiger claw, waving her dark hair to the side as she admired the claw next to her other hand. “Oh,” she said through her smile. She was beautiful. The greenish tint made the lighter complexion of her skin glow in the orange light. The Eos must have absorbed most of the rays before they stimulated production of melanin. That made her paler than Cyrus was normally attracted to, but the glow made it hard to look away from her. She looked younger than what she must have been, but there was an odd understanding in her eyes. Then the understanding gave way to concern
as she relaxed her fingers. “Oh,” she said again, this time more warily. “Perhaps he is not aware I am already betrothed.”

  It took Cyrus longer than it should have to internalize what she had said. Their version of Commonspeak, as familiar as it was, was often elusive. Then, as realization crept in, he uttered his own, “Oh.”

  • • • • •

  Uzziah stood at the front of the room as Aerik Twelve discussed the armament of the Ashan forces. He looked older than many of the others, but did not look as old as Paeryl. There was something weary about his stature even though it looked like his bushy brown hair was only beginning to grey. A few of the elder Apostates called him The Hanged Man, but most referred to him as simply Aerik. He was currently holding two submachine pistols high enough for everyone to see. They looked more like staple guns from Earth, as they had finger guards beneath the barrel linking to the bottom of the handle.

  “These are your standard issue automatic hand projectors. They fire standard hand slugs at rate of five every second.” He set one of the auto pistols on the table while continuing to hold the other. “They have an active recoil compensation system that increases weight in the front of the hand projector as the slug is ejected. Their versatility and light weight have made them the main side weapon of the Eurydician Municipals, who are most always armed with non-lethal disintegrating rounds.”

  He placed the two auto pistols on the table and lifted what looked like one of the assault rifles they had used in Eurydice. “This amazing piece of artillery is the Eurydice Acer IV. It has active recoil compensation, fires a long bore slug at more than twelve slugs per second, and has a capacity for 108 slugs.”

  Aerik set the rifle down on the table and Uzziah picked it up to look it over. We will familiarize you with techniques on using each of these as this is the artillery most available to us.

  “What are those weapons behind you?” Milliken asked, referring to the holographic images floating behind Aerik

  “Those are weapons you may encounter that it would behoove you to identify before they are used. For example, this little thing here.” He moved his hand and the image of a small silver device that looked like a chicken egg moved forward from the menagerie of weaponry behind him. “This seemingly harmless little device can block the sun on your whole sortie. He moved his hand again and the egg began to vibrate as a low-pitched oscillation filled the room from hidden speakers. “The Valois Squib is a beautiful ordinance indeed. It generates a small EM field that can attach to even poorly conductive metals, and thanks to an antimatter core, it can penetrate any—hearken to this—any surface. And because it has a small sound signature and rarely generates secondary explosions, it is the weapon of choice of the Echelon.”

  Torvald raised his hand to get Aerik’s attention. “The Echelon?”

  “You mind if I take this one?” Uzziah intercepted as Aerik opened his mouth. Aerik dipped his head deeply, it was more a bow than a nod, and Uzziah continued, “The Echelon are Ashan special forces. Similar to the team I was a member of on Earth.” There was a silence in the air. No one gasped, but their faces looked like they were about to. Uzziah himself expected everyone to already know, but apparently Tanner and Cyrus were as stalwart as he had given them credit for. Everyone had known he was a military pilot, but none of them seemed to suspect anything else. Uzziah continued despite the silence, “Most of Asha considers them to be a myth, but Paeryl is pretty sure they are the ones who captured Avalon, and the ones who attacked us at the Scar. These weapons are weapons Aerik and Paeryl have seen them use, or ordinance that has been found by recon Darius Prime here hacked from the Eurydician database.”

  “How is it the Ashans aren’t sure they exist?” Toutopolus looked deeply confused.

  Aerik leaned forward to answer the question, “Because, as far as we can glean, they operate out of orbital stations in the Miasma, and out of Druvidia or Eurydice when they are azoic. We are certain they relocate just before each exodus, but there must be a secret way-point in between each migration to avoid crossing exodus traffic and facilitation crews; however, until now, we have been unable to locate it.”

  There was a buzz among those assembled as Milliken raised his hand. “What is that gun there?” he asked, indicating a gun that looked like a shotgun from a futuristic holocast.

  A wide smile spread across Aerik’s face. “This amazing piece of hardware,” he gestured and the weapon moved forward, “is the Druvidian Entropic Quantum Rifle. Referred to as the DEQ rifle or the Spellcaster, this weapon is only rumored to exist. The recon was gathered through the comm-sat link here in the base, but we are not sure if it is a prototype or in limited production.” He paused for a moment to gather his own excitement. “When the slide here is pulled back, this weapon absorbs free energy in the air. When the slide is pushed forward, it holds its charge. When the trigger is pulled, it fires compressed subatomic particles at virtually light speed. In theory, at full charge, it packs enough punch to stop an assault lev at full speed. It can be fired in a vacuum and it has a duty cycle of ten thousand discharges.”

  “Why is it called the Spellcaster?” Milliken asked with sincere interest.

  Aerik moved his hand and an odd mist formed in the room. It must have been a rudimentary hologram because the mist was highly pixilated, but it shifted and formed like real mist. Aerik waved his hand again and the slide slid back on the gun. There was a medium pitch whirr, and the mist swirled around the DEQ rifle much like mist around some arcane magician’s hands. One final gesture moved the slide forward. The whirring stopped and then the trigger slid back. There was a muffled thump that, despite its low volume, shook the room as the holoprojector simulated a dent in the wall.

  Aerik was still smiling as Torvald raised his hand. “How is it you know so much about it if it’s not supposed to exist?”

  Aerik laughed, “Because it was developed to counter our attacks. And according to the Archons, we don’t exist either.” He smiled again and indicated the real firearms on the table as he waved to disengage the holographic display.

  “So when do I get one?” Milliken asked, smiling to Toutopolus as he said it.

  Aerik’s smile faded somewhat. “When you learn to survive long enough against an Echelon Officer’s escort to take it from his cold, dead hand.” The seriousness in his voice sobered Milliken. “Not even Six has been that lucky, nor is he obtuse enough to try.”

  There was a tense quiet, and then Aerik’s smile returned as quickly as it went. “Now, Azariah of Pentacles,” Aerik indicated Uzziah as he referred to him by his Eos name, “and myself will acclimatize you to the use of the weaponry we do have in our cache.”

  twenty-three

  • • • • •

  —Dada, I’m confused.

  —What’s wrong Dari?

  —Today in class, Terry kept taking Sergio’s stylus, and Sergio finally got tired of him and hit him in the mouth with his deck case.

  —Did he get hurt?

  —I think Sergio might have knocked out one of his baby teeth, but he didn’t have to go to the med-lev or anything.

  —What’s confusing about that? Sounds like Terry finally got what he deserved.

  —Well Miss Hasabe flipped her queue counter and starts yelling at Sergio in front of everybody, telling him all this stuff about violence never solving anything. But then, later in social studies, she goes off about how great the Unification War was for the world, and how they should civilize the rest of the Fringe states so we can live in peace. Thing I don’t get is, Sergio just busted up Terry’s mouthpiece with a plastic case, but in the Uni War, even the Uni killed people—a lot of people. Terry’s teeth are gonna grow back, but you can’t grow back a whole dude. It makes no sense. Why is one okay and the other not?

  —Most people neither have, nor really want, a clear understanding of what violence really is. They treat it like it is the root of all evil, when in reality it is neutral—a means to an end. It’s the ends that make the differenc
e.

  —So you’re saying the ends justify the means?

  —No, Dari, I’m saying the means, in the case of violence, are irrelevant. It’s the ultimate end that tells the real story. For example, everyone at school knows that Gallager boy is a menace. I’m sure even he knows, and for whatever reason, no one does anything about him. They may as well teach him that his actions don’t have consequences. He continues the same monkey business day-in and day-out until someone gets tired of him and talks to the monkey in a language he understands.

  —Getting his face bust open.

  —Exactly. And it wasn’t the means that Sergio used that was the problem. It was the fact that no one put Terry in check before those particular means were necessary. They should have ended it well before that.

  —Maybe so, but Miss Hasabe says violence is never the answer.

  —And yet she condones the Uni War. She only railed Sergio and condones the War because she enjoys the ends the War created, while the ends of Sergio’s actions meant she has to clean up Terry’s blood and teeth and talk to parents in her conference hour. If she didn’t want to see violence, she should have set the axis straight before it came to it. Violence is as necessary to life as anything else. When you clean your teeth in the morning, it’s violent to the bacteria. Without some level of violence, we wouldn’t have food to eat. Without some level of violence, we couldn’t create this sterilized world that allows Miss Hasabe to stand in front of a classroom and pretend it doesn’t exist.

  —So you think violence is okay?

  —I think violence is a tool, and just like any other tool, it has its uses and its misuses. And any man who wields it irresponsibly, who doesn’t understand the nature of the tool itself, will eventually smash his own hand into oblivion.

  —So, you think Sergio did the right thing?

  —I think Sergio did what he felt he had to. I think Sergio’s dad needs to lay in Sergio’s ear for a bit. But most importantly, I think if Miss Hasabe wants to continue believing violence only exists outside her classroom, she needs to put a stopple on Terry before he aggravates people to the point where they feel it’s necessary. Bottom line, you can’t eat a sweetbar twice. You gotta handle a problem either at the beginning or handle it at the end.