The Descent

'I  don't  know.  But  something  isn't  right  here.  I'm  trying  to  obtain  photos  of  all  the expedition   members   to   show   him.   The   Helios   corporation   is   proving   less   than accommodating.  In  fact,  the  Helios  representative  told  me  there's  officially  no  such expedition.'

Branch made himself sit on the edge  of  the  fiberglass  bed  rack.  It  was  difficult  to  be

calm.  What  was  this  priest's  game?  Why  was  he  playing  detective  with  an  Army physician?  And  placing  phone  calls  in  the  middle  of  the  night  like  this,  trumpeting Ike's  innocence? 'I don't have  photos, either,' said Branch.

'It  occurred  to  me  that  another  source  of  images  might  be  that  video   General

Sandwell played for us. It  seemed  to have  a lot of faces.' So that was it. 'You want me to get it for you.'

'Perhaps the physician could pick his man from the crowd.'

'Then ask Sandwell.'

'I have. He's  no  more  forthcoming  than  the  corporation  itself.  In  fact,  I  suspect  he's something other than what he pretends  to be.'

'I'll see what I can do,' Branch said. He didn't commit himself to the theory.

'Is there  any chance of stopping the search for Crockett,  or at least stalling it?'

'Negative.  Hunter-killer  teams  have  been  inserted.  They're  going  deep,  a  month each. Beyond recall.'

'Then we need to move quickly. Send that video to the senator's office.'

After  he  hung  up,  Branch  sat  in  the  semidarkness.  He  could  smell  himself,  the plasticized flesh, the stink of his doubt. He was useless here.  That  was  their  intent.  He was  supposed  to  stay  quietly  parked  at  the  surface  and  wait  while  they  took  care  of business. Now Branch could not wait.

Obtaining  the  ClipGal  videos  for  the  priest  might  have  its  value.  But  even  if  the physician  put  his  finger  on  the  culprit,  it  was  too  late  to  reverse  Sandwell's  decision. Most  of  the  long-range  patrols  had  already  passed  beyond  communication.  Every hour put them deeper  into the stone.

Branch  got  to  his  feet.  No  more  hesitation.  He  had  a  duty.  To  himself.  To  Ike,  who had no way  to know what they  had in mind for him.

Branch stripped off his uniform. It  was like taking off his  own  skin;  it  could  never  be put on again after  this.

What  a  peculiar  thing  a  life  was.  Nearly  fifty-two,  he  had  spent  more  than  three decades  with  the  Army.  What  he  was  about  to  do  should  have  seemed  more  difficult than  this.  Perhaps  his  fellow  officers  would  understand  and  forgive  him  this  excess. Maybe  they'd  just think he'd finally gone off his nut. Freedom was like that.

Naked,  he  faced  the  mirror,  a  dark  stain  upon  the  dark  glass.  His  ruined  flesh glistened  like  a  pitted  gem.  He  was  sorry,  suddenly,  never  to  have  had  a  wife  or children. It  would have  been nice to  leave  a  letter  for  someone,  a  last  phone  message. Instead  he had this terrible  companion, a broken statue  in his looking glass.

He dressed  in civilian clothing that barely  fit, and took his rifle. Next  morning, no one wanted to report  Branch AWOL.

Finally, General Sandwell got the word. He  was  furious  and  did  not  hesitate  to  issue the order. Major Branch was in on the conspiracy  with  Ike,  he  declared.  'They're  both traitors. Shoot them on sight.'

It was a monstrous big river down there.

– MARK TWAIN, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

16

BLACK SILK

The Equator, West

The  paladin chased along the river's  paths,  devouring  great  distances.  He  had  learned of  yet  more  invasion,  but  this  time  along  the  ancient  camino  and  nearing  their  final asylum. And so he had come to investigate  this trespass,  or destroy  it, on  behalf  of  the People.

He  fought  all  memory.  Suffered  privations.  Shed  desire.  Cast  off  grief.  In  service  to the group, he gladly effaced his heart.

Some  give  up  the  world.  For  others,  the  world  is  taken  away.  Either  way,  grace comes  in  the  moment.  And  so  the  paladin  ran,  seeking  to  erase  all  thoughts  of  his great  love.

In  her  lifetime,  the  woman  had  borne  him  a  child  and  learned  her  station  and rightful duties and become mastered.  Captivity  had broken her mind and spirit. It  had created  a  blank  table  for  the  Way  to  be  written  upon.  Like  him,  she  had  recovered from  the  mutilations  and  initiations.  On  the  merits  of  her  nature,  she  had  risen  up from her lowly bestial status. He had helped create  her,  and,  as  happens,  had  come  to love his creation. Now Kora was dead.