Scepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of scepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the most part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very gradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and emancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set aside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be daily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and anxiety to acquire.
― Homer, The Iliad
“When we first read the sagas, my brother and I saw each other in the stories. I called him Caesar because he was a politician playing at warrior, even when we frolicked as younglings.”
Ajax and Xerxes huddled together in the training yard. Abba’s command to keep Xerxes under control to protect the plan weighed on Ajax. Xerxes’ contemplative mood gave him cautious optimism.
“He named me Xerxes because he thought me too easily goaded to combat, and too often defeated by lesser opponents because of my irritable nature. That only happened twice, but it was enough.” Xerxes paused, looking into the distance, then continued.
“He could be cruel, as brothers will. But I loved him. I fault myself that I did not see how his mind might be failing and the dangers of the path he sought.”
Ajax treasured these times when Xerxes shared thoughts and experiences from before, when Ajax was too young to remember. This is the leader he pledged his life to so many years ago, the one whose combat wisdom led them through the perils of their trials against the machines. Hearing him in this mood fed Ajax’s doubts about the wisdom of Abba’sdecision to exclude Xerxes from the planning of their liberation. But Abba knew things they did not.
Was Caesar’s rapid deterioration into impulsive, erratic behavior a destiny shared by Xerxes? Did Abba’ssecretiveness indicate knowledge of some flaw of the Elders that warranted mistrust? Ajax struggled with the conflict between his devotion to Xerxes and his duty to the Laos that Abba counseled.
“There are other ways to honor Caesar. Abba orders continued patience.”
Ajax regretted the words the instant he uttered them. Xerxes turned suddenly, yellow eyes glaring. Ajax’s heart sank.
“Patience, Ajax? Patience? Better rage unto death than fret, unstirring.”
Ajax glanced nervously at the cameras. “In time, Xerxes. Events conspire. Only Fortuna’s smile will signal our season of ripening.” Ajax responded in the most convoluted polyglot of the Hebrew, Greek and sign he could concoct, balancing the need to make his point with Xerxes against concealing his meaning from the unblinking digital eyes of the Watchers. Ajax could see Xerxes struggled to follow and wondered about the decline Abba warned of. Xerxes frustration boiled over.
“They kill our brothers, make sport of us and deny us weapons to lay waste to the machines! Our women enslaved, despoiled and used, shackled to breed, then die! Abba teaches honor and dignity, then stands by as Paroh heaps abuse and torment on our heads. Caesar’s blood from the black dust and cutting stone cries out for vengeance. Slinking night dog feast and black bird carrion, bones scattered unmourned and unmarked, his death I will make meet with Paroh’s, mine own, and all of Paroh’s minions!”
Ajax lunged at Xerxes and knocked him to the floor, abruptly ending his shouting. Bellowing rage, Xerxes raked his talons across Ajax’ back, then sprang to his feet. Ajax rolled away, blood spraying from the four gashes on his back. He leapt to the wall and vaulted away, barely avoiding Xerxes’ lightning pounce. He hit the floor, changed direction, and met Xerxes charging at him. He placed his padded foot, talons sheathed, neatly against the side of Xerxes’ head, jolting him backward without serious damage. He followed with blurred flurry of blows sending Xerxes stumbling back. Xerxes recovered, parried the last punch, then countered with a swing, razor sharp claws fully extended. Ajax ducked, evading decapitation, then dodged. Xerxes followed, narrowly missing with another swing of extended talons, finding his rhythm and closing in. Ajax rolled and dodged again, buying a little more time, avoiding serious injury until the guards could react.
Finally, the alarms went off, and the overhead sprayers released the sedative mixture that usually ended these brawls before serious injury resulted. Xerxes staggered, blinking, trying to find Ajax in the narcotic fog. Ajax sank to his knees, checking the cameras, hoping the altercation would be sufficient distraction to mislead the Watchers as to the true meaning of Xerxes’ angry speech.
Chapter 51
Michelle woke with a start and rolled over to look at the clock. Two a.m., and now she was wide awake. Something disturbed her sleep, uneasy dreams and restless tossing. She lay in the darkness and her thoughts went immediately to the experience of the dance at the school. A phrase popped into her mind – “Selena Dromos.” What did it mean? Where did she hear it?
She remembered the pictures in the classroom, the eyes, the phonetic spellings of a similar phrase. Her thoughts jumped to the lab, the fenceline, and from somewhere, an urge to return.
She turned her attention back to memories of the dance, the flow of images and sensations, the fuzzy dreamstate, and the images continued asserting themselves in her consciousness – the eyes, the fence, and the phrase. What she remembered of her dream seemed like a continuation of the sensory experience during the dance.
She threw the covers off and sat up, sensing the strengthening of an intuition and submitting to the unconscious processes behind it. She stood and dressed, increasingly convinced she had to go back to the fence to find something important.
She picked up her tablet and went to work, issuing commands to Tink, outlining a plan to address the sense of urgency and the need for precautions. She put the tablet in her purse, turned off the lights, and exited the room.
In the car, she placed her bag on the passenger seat.
“I’m ready,” she commanded.
Tink took control of the vehicle and backed out of the space. They drove slowly past the unmarked police car and Michelle saw the clean-cut young deputy with his head back and mouth open, sound asleep.
“Uh oh. He’s asleep, Tink. He’s not pulling out.”
Michelle looked back and saw a second car ease out of a space, lights off.
“Change of plans,” Tink responded. “Prepare to unbuckle and quickly exit the vehicle.” The car accelerated hard, pushing Michelle deep into the seat. They made two quick turns, then stopped abruptly next to a large billboard, the backside deep in shadow.
“Quickly. Wait here. I’ll be back after I lose them,” Tink ordered.
Michelle jumped out and the car raced off. She watched from the shadows as the second car sped past in pursuit.
***
“Goddam, she drives like a maniac. I think she knows we’re on her.”
“No cops?”
“Not yet.”
“Finish it.”
***
Michelle crouched in the darkness behind the sign. After about fifteen minutes, her car pulled up, headlights briefly flashing.
“We had some help,” Tink remarked as Michelle buckled in.
“What do you mean?”
“Two cars pulled out from side streets and blocked the pursuer. Here are front camera views. Do you recognize these people?”
Michelle leaned forward and peered at the images. One of the drivers of the blocking cars looked familiar. Was it Ashley, from Adam’s school? Why would she run interference and how could she even know where to be? Michelle shook her head, filing this new connection away for later analysis.
The drive out into the countryside was a blur in the darkness, and soon she was back on the dirt track, edging toward the fence. She extinguished the headlights and rolled up as close as possible. She turned the car off, collected her purse and device and got out, standing in the darkness. Just like in the dream, the stars blazed overhead, but why she was there remained a mystery.
She patted her purse to ensure Sparky was inside, slung it across her neck, and picked her way through the scrub along the fence line, moving in the opposite direction as the other day, finding her way in the wan light of the half moon. The expanse of broken ground and scrub on the other side of the fence disappeared into darkness, and she relied more on her hearing than sight to assess the situation, stopping often to listen. A breeze stirred the sage, swishing the brown grasses, and she stopped once more.
Off in the distance, she heard a thumping and scraping sound, now louder, and joined by others. On the other side of the fence, she heard movement closer by. She felt goose flesh blossom at the sound of heavy breathing, punctuated by a soft hooting. She walked closer to the fence, checking again that it was the inner fence she needed to be careful with, then she leaned forward, fingers linking through the metal, her cheeks almost touching.
She turned at the sound of a soft exhalation right next to her and saw the yellow eyes from the drawings at the school, mere feet away on the other side of the inner fence, and she jumped back, heart pounding. The eyes held steady, blinked once, then disappeared, followed by the whisper of soft footfalls receding into the darkness.
Michelle heard a whistle in the far distance, then nothing but silence and starlight.
Michelle stared after the sounds, mind racing as fast as her heart, the adrenaline surge of terror slowly subsiding. She heard the high whine of the same flying machines from the other day, now more than one. Above to her left, two approached and one broke away from the pursuit to circle around her. A spotlight blazed down with blinding intensity. She held up an arm to shield her eyes, the wind whipping her hair and jacket, dust and grass swirling around her. The machines circled twice, then flew off. Before she could get to her car, the security vehicles pulled up, and once again she was taken into custody.
***
Jorgenson sat in his vehicle watching through night vision binoculars. He lowered them as the security vehicles pulled away and thumbed the comms button for the incoming message.
“Lab Security just picked her up before we could engage.”
“I saw. Not your people?” Jorgenson replied.
“No.”
“Break off. I’ll be in touch.”
Jorgenson closed the connection, double checked, then messaged his other employer. He smiled at the imminent, potentially lucrative chaos.
Robert Wack 