Sing, goddess, of Achilles’ ruinous anger
Which brought ten thousand pains to the Achaeans,
And cast the souls of many stalwart heroes
To Hades, and their bodies to the dogs
And birds of prey.
― Homer, The Iliad

Fortune holds no favor for our plan, Surt signed.

Patience, Ajax signed back, sitting under the guns and cameras in the exercise yard. Around them, the yearlings frolicked, enjoying a few more moments of play after the evening rations before the evening lessons.

Ajax held the oversized spoon clumsily while he signed with his free hand, furtively glancing at the ubiquitous glass eyes on the walls. He hid the signs in random movements touching his food, scratching his ear, stretching. Surt feigned indifference, but Ajax recognized the tensing of his back muscles and the rippling of his coloration as the epidermal chromophores responded to surging hormones and variations in cutaneous blood flow, indicating the message was received and understood. His only response was a short shake of his head. Ajax considered how to proceed.

Caesar’s death changes things. Paroh suspects. We must divert his gaze once more.

Surt shook his head again. Telemachos will not forget the shame of desecration. His followers demand satisfaction. The rites must be observed. What have they done with Caesar’s body? How much longer can we defy Xerxes? This double game sickens me.

Ajax played with his food, then tried again.

I will ask Abba about Caesar, but that cannot distract us. Freedom must be for all. Caesar knew the risk. All labors must serve the Laos. He and Xerxes wished for more than is possible, too soon.

Surt’s head came up, and he fixed Ajax with a yellow-eyed glare. The signs came in a torrent.

I have been beyond, tasted the wind in the hills, drunk from the cold streams, run beneath the moon amongst the alloioi, unseen.

I know who you are, Ajax signed back.

Staying here is slow death, Surt continued. Caesar knew that. Xerxes, too. I can wait no more.

Then he caught Ajax’s eye with a lift of his chin and spoke.

“V’im lo akhshav, eimatai?”

Surt’s question was one the Laos, their people, asked each day: how much longer?

Ajax ignored the glass eyes once more and signed in response.

Patience. We talk again soon. Give me time.

Surt looked off into the distance, then back at Ajax.

“Matai?”

Ajax finished his meal, then left Surt and entered the compound. The talk of duty and secrets weighed on him as he prepared to fulfill his own responsibility, the periodic chore known only to himself and Abba, by Abba’s command.

He stood at the door waiting for the guard to signal. Finally the door slid open. Ajax stepped forward and it closed behind. In front, the main door to the tunnels leading down to their sleeping quarters and classrooms remained closed, and a service door to the side opened. He stepped through into another chamber. A mechanical arm holding the metal collar extended and he stood still while it clamped around his neck. It pinched, but he knew the pinch was much preferable to the electric shock if he tried to touch the collar.

Another door opened, and the mechanical arm urged him forward, sliding along the wall in a grooved track as he walked. He passed through two more doors, then entered a lift, the arm sliding in with him and anchoring to the wall as the door closed. The compartment descended.

At one turn, the arm transferred the grip to another arm on the opposite wall and they turned down another corridor. Everywhere the eyes watched. Finally, he faced the last door and waited.

The eye next to the door made no sign or signal, but after a brief wait, the door slid open and he advanced into the large room. Straight ahead on a broad cushioned table lay the oldest of the breeding Mothers. Ajax waited while he was released from the collar, then approached and leaned over the gray mound of flesh, festooned with wires and tubes, arms and legs secured by heavy canvas straps.

Ajax touched her arm and leaned in.

“I am here, Em.”

The figure on the table stirred, puffy face turning toward him slowly, the swollen eyes widening, a lift of the chin the only response.

Ajax rubbed her arm, then turned to his task. He assembled the cleaning materials, then set to the ritual that brought him into this torture chamber every three days to give comfort to the mothers, the only grendel allowed inside this room.

He began washing her feet, moving slowly up her legs, washing, rinsing, drying, keeping the table clean. He loosened the straps and rolled her, washing and drying her back. Partially paralyzed by the substances flowing through the tubes into her body as well as long disuse, her muscles twitched and fasciculated, unable to assist.

As he moved up her body, she labored to take deeper breaths, summoning the energy for the effort to speak. He did his best to conceal this from the watching eyes, shielding her with his own body as he bent over her.

He leaned close, washing her neck, and she wheezed softly into his ear, in the words of the language only they two spoke.

“When?”

Ajax paused his rubbing briefly, then continued.

“Soon. Abba commands patience.”

She heaved a deep sigh, one arm moving feebly to her swollen belly.

“These two grow quickly. They will be my last.”

Ajax stiffened. “Why do you say this?”

She heaved another sigh, shuddering.

“I will not go with the Laos. I am failing.”

Ajax cradled her head in his hands, holding her gaze, heedless of what the eyes might see.

“You must endure. We go soon. Remember your own words, Verdande: ‘Endure, survive, prevail’.”

She took another shuddering breath, lips moving, only the last few words audible.

“Em?” Ajax whispered. He thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her face.

“My son. Care for your sisters. I sleep.”

Chapter 31

Sheriff Spaulding skimmed Vargas’ report, finally submitted an hour ago. All day, he resisted the urge to call and nag, knowing full well it would only slow the process down as Vargas dug his heels in to show he couldn’t be pushed around. So he waited.

The report was good enough, a thorough listing of the details in the kitchen. Vargas had been back out there this afternoon and had pictures of tire tracks, as well as footprints out by the barn, with some details about plaster and some fragments of what looked like casts of Cyrus’ fossil. Lots of pictures, no speculation.

He went back to the beginning and read the report more thoroughly. Specimens swabbed, sent to the ISP lab in Pocatello. Something was missing.

He rechecked the CAD system. Spaulding cursed. No warrant. Vargas either never got one, or didn’t log it in.

Spaulding rubbed his forehead. It might not be an issue, if they got a hit on the DNA from the Idaho CODIS. Then he wouldn’t have to get a court order for a national search. The evidence collection might hold if the prosecutor could make an argument about the imminent security of the crime scene, but that would be a stretch. With Cyrus’ ex-wife a possible suspect, a good defense attorney could get all that evidence thrown out without a warrant to re-enter and collect the evidence.

He put a call in to Vargas. He connected, and he could see Vargas’ kitchen in the background.

“Did you get a warrant before you went out there to Cyrus’ yesterday?” Spaulding asked without preamble. Vargas eyes flicked to the left, confirming Spaulding’s suspicions.

“Uh, no. I figured exigent circumstances, y’know…..”

“For a body that sat for two days? Are you kidding?” Spaulding exploded. “What did Jerry Muller say when you talked to him? Didn’t he ask?”

“I never talked to him. Barb took a message, said he was tied up all afternoon with the Commissioners. He never called back.”

“Jesus…” Spaulding bit off the expletive and hung up on Vargas.

He called Muller and went to voicemail. He left a message for him to call first chance he got, then hung up and texted the same thing.

This wasn’t going well. The murder itself didn’t add up, and now the investigation was compromised. This was exactly the kind of sloppy procedure that he’d been fighting against since he took the job, and the harder he worked to raise the bar, the more these events rankled.

He called the Medical Examiner’s office in Pocatello.

“Hey, it’s Danny Spaulding up in Rigby. I’m glad I caught you. How’s it going?”

“Great Sheriff, what can I do for you?”

“Got any results on a Cyrus Link yet?”

“Hold a sec.”

Spaulding heard clicking and tapping on a keyboard. “Sorry, sheriff, we don’t have a Cyrus Link.”

“What?”

“Don’t have him. Better check with Rusty.”

He hung up and called Rusty Winters, but only got his message also. He asked him to call, then he called Eckersell’s Funeral Home.

“Hey Linda, it’s Danny Spaulding. How are you?”

“Great, Sheriff. What’s going on?”

“Are you guys still holding Cyrus Link?”

“Sure are. Poor Rusty’s been running around all day. The storage room is busting at the seams. We’re booked every day into next week.”

Spaulding once more suppressed a curse.

“Will Rusty be coming back tonight? I really need to get Cyrus down to Pocatello.”

“If I see him, I’ll let him know. Poor guy. Rusty, I mean. Well, and Cyrus. They, well… you know what I mean. I’ll tell him.”

Chapter 32