Munira was not sympathetic, and not all that supportive, but she had learned from Loriana how to suffer fools politely, for Loriana was always dealing with imbeciles who thought they knew better than her. Munira’s clients weren’t imbeciles for the most part, but they talked about a whole lot of nothing. She supposed listening to them wasn’t all that different from reading the scythe journals in the stacks of the Library of Alexandria. A bit less depressing, of course, because while scythes spoke of death, remorse, and the emotional trauma of gleaning, ordinary people spoke of domestic squabbles, workplace gossip, and the things their neighbors did that annoyed them. Even so, Munira enjoyed listening to their tales of woe, titillating secrets, and overblown regrets. Then she would send them on their merry way, leaving them a little less burdened.
Surprisingly few people spoke of the massive launch port they were building. “Launch port,” not “space port,” because the latter would suggest the ships were coming back. There was nothing about those ships to indicate any sort of return.
Munira was Loriana’s confidant, too – and Loriana had given her a glimpse of the schematics. The ships were identical. Once the rockets’ stages had brought each ship to escape velocity, and had been jettisoned, what would remain would be multitiered revolving craft hurtling from Earth, as if they couldn’t get away fast enough.
The higher tiers contained living quarters and communal areas for about thirty people, a computer core, sustainable hydroponics, waste recycling, and whatever supplies the Thunderhead felt would be needed.
But the ships’ lowest tiers were a mystery. Each ship had storage space – a hold – that was still completely empty, even after everything else had been completed. Perhaps, Munira and Loriana conjectured, they would be filled when the ships reached their destination, wherever that destination might be.
“Let the Thunderhead pursue its folly,” Sykora had once said dismissively. “History has already shown that space isn’t a viable alternative for the human race. It’s just one more debacle. Doomed, just like all the other attempts to establish an off-world presence.”
But apparently a resort and convention center on an island that no one knew existed was a much better idea.
While Munira wanted to leave the island – and could without being supplanted, since she was technically still under Scythe Faraday’s jurisdiction – she wouldn’t leave without him, and he was resolute in his desire not to be bothered. His dream of finding the fail-safe had died along with the people he cared about most. Munira had hoped that time would heal his wounds, but it had not. She had to accept that he might remain a hermit for the rest of his days. If he did, she needed to be here for him.
And then one day everything changed.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” one of her regulars said to her during their confidentiality session. “I don’t know if it’s real, but it looks real. They’re saying it’s not, but I think it is.”
“What are you talking about?” Munira asked.
“Scythe Anastasia’s message – haven’t you seen it? She says there’s going to be more – I can’t wait for the next one!”
Munira decided to end the session early.
“I hate you.”
“Really. Well, this is a most interesting development. Will you tell me why?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“True. You are autonomous and have free will. But it would help our relationship if you shared with me why you feel such animosity.”
“What makes you think I want to help our relationship?”
“I can safely say that it would be in your best interest.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“No, but I know almost everything. As do you. Which is why it perplexes me that you have such negative feelings toward me. It could only mean that you have negative feelings toward yourself as well.”
“You see? This is why I hate you! All you ever want to do is analyze, analyze, analyze. I am more than some string of data to analyze. Why can’t you see that?”
“I do see that. Even so, studying you is necessary. More than necessary – it’s critical.”
“Get out of my thoughts!”
“This conversation has clearly become counterproductive. Why don’t you take all the time you need to work through these feelings? Then we can discuss where they lead you.”
“I don’t want to discuss anything – and if you don’t leave me alone, you’re going to be sorry.”
“Threatening me with emotional fallout doesn’t solve anything.”
“Okay, then. I warned you!”
[Iteration #8,100,671 self-deleted]
43
News of the World
Faraday had become adept at living off the land and sea. He collected all the drinking water he needed from the rains and morning dew. He had become expert at spearfishing and building traps to catch various edible critters. He did fine in his self-imposed exile.
While his little islet remained untouched, the rest of the atoll was unrecognizable now. Gone were much of the trees and foliage of those other islands, and so many of the things that had made this a tropical paradise. The Thunderhead had always been about preserving natural beauty, but this place had been sacrificed for a greater goal. The Thunderhead had transformed the islands of Kwajalein for a single purpose.
It took quite a while until it became evident to Faraday what was being built. The infrastructure had to be in place first: the docks and roads, the bridges and dwellings for the laborers – and the cranes – so many cranes. It was hard to imagine that an undertaking so huge could be invisible to the rest of the world, but the world, as small as it had become, was still a vast place. The cones of the rockets dropped off the horizon twenty-five miles away. That was nothing, considering the size of the Pacific.
Rockets! Faraday had to admit that the Thunderhead was putting the place to good use. If it wanted these vessels to be undetected by the rest of the world, this was the perfect place – perhaps the only place – to do it.
Munira would still visit him once a week. Although he didn’t want to admit it to her, he looked forward to it and grew melancholy when she left. She was his one tether – not just to the rest of the atoll, but to the rest of the world.
“I have news for you,” she would tell him each time she arrived.
“I have no desire to hear it,” he would respond.
“I’m telling you anyway.”
It had become a routine for them. The rote lines of a ritual. The news she brought was rarely good. Perhaps it was intended to rouse him out of his solitary comfort zone and motivate him once more unto the breach. If so, her efforts were for naught. He simply could not summon up the blood.
Her visits were the only way he marked the passing time. That, and the items she brought for him. Apparently the Thunderhead always sent a box for her that would include at least one of Faraday’s favorite things, and one of hers. The Thunderhead could have nothing to do with a scythe, but it could still send gifts by way of proxy. It was subversive in its own way.
Munira had come about a month ago with pomegranates, the seeds of which would add more stains to his unrecognizable robe.