Dusk (12 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Holographic pieces are so fleeting. They get
captured, they disappear. You speak a command and they come back.”
Cyrus lifted his queen off the board and held it between them by
the head. “Here, you lose a piece, you feel it. When it’s over, the
king hits the board, the sound resonates through the air and makes
you painfully aware of what you just lost.” His last words barely
escaped the air in front of his lips. The queen teetered and then
settled between two squares as he set it back on the board. “Let’s
finish later.” Cyrus turned as he got up and walked to the door,
his head hung lower than when he walked in.

• • • • •

“Here, put this on,” Dr. Davidson removed two
gas masks from his backpack and handed one to Cyrus.

Cyrus looked at him as if he had just handed
him a birth control calendar. “What the heck am I supposed to do
with this?”

“Put it on your face, unless you want to pass
out from methane inhalation.” The snap of the filtered mask to Dr.
Davidson’s face punctuated his sentence.

“Funny, I don’t smell anything,” Cyrus added
as he fastened his own mask to his face; he wasn’t the type to have
to get hit with the hammer to believe it hurt.

“That’s because pure methane is odorless. The
smell comes from additives that make leak detection easier,” Dr.
Davidson adjusted his hip waiters and put his hand near the button
to open the door.

“So this... poo gas… helps make our food?”
Cyrus asked. The mask amplified his voice slightly, but it still
sounded like it was stifling his words.

“No, the methane is used for ambient heat and
cooking. The CO2 and water formed from the burning are used in the
hydroponic mist. The room we are about to go into stores our waste
products until they are broken down into component parts for
recycling. Once we land, this room can help make soil we can use to
start agriculture on the planet.”

The door slid open and Cyrus was sure he
could smell the funk of the room through the filtered mask. A mesh
catwalk rimmed the circular room and separated the two scientists
from the slowly churning unction of a little more than three years
of accumulated muck. As Cyrus looked apprehensively at the swirling
lake of filth, he begged a question through the comm-link of the
mask, “I’m curious, what about me made me the best candidate to
muck about with you in this god-forsaken lavpool?”

Dr. Davidson sent a light chuckle back
through the comm-link, “Honestly, because for some reason, I like
you more than anyone else on the ship. You’re honest, almost to a
fault, but I can respect that. And you don’t seem to believe in
ulterior agendas.”

“So, do you ask everyone to root through a
steaming vat of whipped piss and shit on the first date, or is that
a privilege reserved only for true love?”

Dr. Davidson’s visor clouded as laughter
erupted through the comm-link. He leaned against his sifting pole
and waited for the involuntary convulsions to subside. With still
deliberate breath he comm-linked, “See, that’s what I mean, you can
make a man belly-ache even standing in the expelled bowels of
nineteen other men. That, and you seem like the type to get the job
done no matter how abhorrent.”

“Fair enough,” Cyrus said, laughing a bit
himself. “So exactly why are we here?”

“The Shipmate’s systems keep everything
pretty much in order, but we still have to make routine checks to
make sure the Shipmate isn’t malfunctioning. Also, this particular
part of the ship will be vitally important on the planet as far as
terraforming goes, so I want to train someone I can trust to share
that responsibility with me. As an added bonus, it would be nice if
that person had enough fortitude to hold his lunch if we found an
undigested watermelon seed or two.”

“Well, I can promise you I can hold my lunch.
However, if we find a watermelon seed in the sewer of a ship that
has seen neither vine nor fruit of a watermelon plant in 195 years,
I’m grabbing Dr. Tanner’s Bible and I’m leaving, and you can root
in piss and shit all by yourself.”

Dr. Davidson shook his head, his visor
fogging up again, “You see, never a dull moment around you
Chamberlain. Not one second.”

• • • • •

Dr. Tanner sat reading a corporeal Bible as
Cyrus entered the room. Cyrus stopped for a moment, looked a little
lost, and then spoke, “I wanted to thank you for not being offended
earlier.”

“Offended at what?”

“The distance.”

“I figured you would come around
eventually.”

“If I do, it will be a first. You can mark
the date in that ephemeris of yours.”

“I’ll keep my stylus handy.”

“You do that.”

• • • • •

The codex looked not unlike the Unified
Interplanetary Launch Platform on Eros where the Paracelsus had
embarked on this journey. Only here, the scientists that had then
been confined to the mechanized wombs that had slowed their bodily
functions to the cusp of death, now filled the various cubicles and
holostations instead of the engineers and technicians that had
catapulted their inert bodies into the virgin depths of space.

Now they busily hovered over their respective
holograms, each showing different parts of the same
battlefield.

“We need to do something about this guy!” Dr.
Milliken yelled to Dr. Koresh in the cubicle next to him.

“He can’t hold us back forever,” Dr. Koresh
replied in a slightly calmer, yet still agitated, voice.

Another cry came from across the room, “What
the heck? Why are my peasants dying?” Dr. Jang was frantically
scanning the battlefield for the source of his problems. He noticed
the water source leading into his castle was a mere trickle. “How
the...” he shifted down the hologram, following the creek that
should have been a river. About a scale kilometer upriver he
noticed there were four dams built in succession with cavalry and
archers protecting them—Dr. Chamberlain’s cavalry and archers. “You
underdeveloped pod spawn!” Jang exclaimed. He knew Cyrus had to
have heard his reaction, but as he scrolled along the battlefield,
he saw Cyrus’s troops were engaged with Dr. Koresh’s men at the
growing conflagration that had been Koresh’s main supply depot.

Jang scrolled back to his castle, selected
his vanguard, and ordered them to destroy the dam and the force
surrounding it.

His castle gates flew open, and his three van
leaders charged out into a maelstrom of arrows from behind either
hill across the road from the castle. Unprepared, the forces
collapsed in a heap of carnage just beyond the portcullis. While
the arrows were still in flight, the two archer units, plus a unit
of infantry that had been hiding, rushed in and took the
castle.

A charged cry of, “Damn you Chamberlain!”
reverberated above the clamor. Dr. Jang had not realized how
ludicrous his outburst had been until the area immediately around
him became quiet and snickering began. He was sure Cyrus had heard
him, but there had been no response—only the clash of swords and
arrows and the pitiful cries of the last of his soldiers as Cyrus’s
horde routed them out.

Jang set his head down on his cubicle as the
sound of the obliteration of his last bastion subsided. A beep from
the cubicle prompted him to lift his head. A private message that
had been sent to everyone except Cyrus swept across the hologram.
Evidently, Dr. Jang’s demise had been so fast the system had not
registered it before the message had been sent. The message read,
“Let’s pool our forces and attack him at all at once.” It was too
late for Jang’s own army, but Jang scrolled through the hologram to
watch the battle as an observer. Dr. Koresh lowered his drawbridge
and sent out the bulk of his forces, leaving only a few foot
soldiers behind to keep the fort. Across the hologram, Davidson’s
portcullis opened and his force rushed out as well. One by one, the
others’ forces surrounded Cyrus’s original keep that had only a
small group of men because he had extended himself across the
battlefield. Cyrus was producing new troops with Jang’s old fort
and the forts of two other players that had been ousted, but these
new troops were too far away to provide assistance. Jang smiled
through his own frustration. The end was near for Cyrus, and his
other troops would not be able to save him in time.

Jang scrolled over to another fort as the
doors closed and he caught a glimmer of something odd as the gates
were barred. “Wait a second,” he said to himself and zoomed into
the corner of the fort where he saw a hint of ruddy brown in the
corner—the same ruddy brown of the capes Cyrus’s elite foot
soldiers wore.

Frantically, Jang’s hand moved over the laser
keyboard to send a message of warning, but he had already been put
into observer mode and was locked out.

He looked around the battlefield. The troops
formed a ring around Cyrus’s main castle and began their advance,
but each of his attackers had at least three of Cyrus’s elite
soldiers inside their own gates. Only they weren’t attacking.

The onslaught on Cyrus’s main base commenced
and it was clear that his forces would not be able to hold out for
long. But no one seemed to notice the men lurking in their
bases.

Jang couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Hey,
he’s already...”

But it was too late. By the time the warnings
that their main bases were under attack could have flashed across
their holograms it was already over. Cyrus’s men stood in the
center of each of the bases waving the other teams standards over
their heads. A furor of grumbles, sighs, and curse words in various
languages filled the room. More than two or three fists slammed
down on cubicles and there were screeches here and there as chairs
slid from under their owners. Dr. Jang was already next to Cyrus as
he rose calmly from his chair. “You are a sneaky bastard,” Jang
said as he extended his hand for Cyrus to shake.

“Thank you,” Cyrus said, smiling only
slightly as he shook firmly then yawned. “Now I think I can sleep
soundly.”

“Sleep? I’m gonna have stupid gram cursors
and foot soldiers dancing around in my head all night until I
figure out a way to beat you.”

Cyrus laughed as he moved toward the entrance
as some left, and some moved to shake his hand. “Well, I feel sorry
for you.”

“Why’s that?” Jang asked as Cyrus received a
handshake and pat on the back from Davidson.

Cyrus turned his attention back to Jang and
smiled, “Because you’re going to have to miss more than one night
of sleep before you can beat me at being a sneaky bastard.” Cyrus
winked and then made his way through the mix of admiring and
dejected scientists that moved to congratulate him on his
victory.

• • • • •

—
Hey Dada, I got something to ask you.

—
What’s that Dari?

—
Something Scott Seal said in class today kinda
bothered me.

—
Okay.

—
He said I was arrogant and that I had a big
head. But I don’t feel arrogant and I don’t really think my head is
that much bigger than anyone else’s. What do you think? Tell the
truth Dada.

—
Firstly, I think Scott Seal needs to watch what
he says about other people’s heads. I’ve seen his head. If the head
jokes start flying, most of them will stick to his.

—
Come on Dada, I’m serious.

—
Okay, okay, Dari. Well, what I honestly think is
that simple people like to use the word arrogant when they feel
like they themselves are out of their depth.

—
I don’t get it.

—
What I mean is this; big-headed is just a figure
of speech to describe someone who thinks they are better than
someone else, but I say, if you really are better at whatever it
is, not only should you not have to act ashamed, but you should get
credit for it.

—
Okay, I get that, but how can that help me deal
with other people?

—
You know, on that Conquest game you love to play
so much, on the Chinese Warring States period levels, the guys all
wear helmets or hats and the officers all have the big hats?
Why?

—
So you can see the generals on the battlefield I
would guess.

—
Exactly. So the higher ranked officials stand
out. But unlike our society, in their society, you were awarded
higher rank by how well you did what you said you could do—which in
their case was measured in how much butt you kicked. Which meant if
you were on a raging battlefield, and you looked across the horizon
and saw a giant hat with feathers and all other manners of gaudy
extensions, you checked the size of your own hat, and if it wasn’t
big enough, you knew not to go over there.

—
Unless you wanted your butt kicked.

—
And who wants that, right?

—
So I think what you’re saying is, it doesn’t
matter how big your head is as long as it still fits your
hat.

—
Precisely. But at the same time, remember anyone
can have his hat knocked off his head, and if you piss enough
people off, they’ll show up at your house with pitchforks and
torches like in those old two-D monster vids.

—
Well, what if your hat is big enough to take
them all?

—
Son, note my words and note them well, there are
men who have stood against the world in the past, and men that will
in the future, but no man’s hat is so big that he can stand there
forever. No one.

—
Not even yours, Dada?

—
Not even close.

• • • • •

Cyrus shuffled through the datadeck looking for a
particular book by Richard Feynman that he remembered from the
Arcology. It was a rather antiquated book, but it contained the
particular equation he needed for his computations.