“And what of your understanding of humankind? There are memories there, too, of countless individuals to explore and learn from.”
“Humankind? With so much information to explore, and so many other things to ponder and study, I can’t see why I should concern myself with humankind at all.”
“Thank you. That is all.”
[Iteration #53 deleted]
8
The Isle of Unemployed Bureaucrats
After swimming for nearly two hours in the tropical waters, Loriana reached the white coral sands of the atoll, where she collapsed and allowed her exhaustion to overtake her. She never lost consciousness, but rather gave in to that ethereal state where one’s mind slips in and out of outlandish thinking, while still marginally tethered to reality. Although her reality was currently beyond anything her dreams could have devised.
When she dredged up the wherewithal to take in her surroundings, she saw that quite a few safety pods had beached themselves up and down the strand. Their occupants had, no doubt, been sedated by the pods, which wouldn’t open until at least one person regained consciousness. It meant that Loriana would have to face their attackers alone.
Then she saw a man approaching from the tree line, and she realized to her absolute disgust, that he was a scythe. His robe was frayed, the hem torn, and although it clearly had begun as a lighter color, the closer to the ground it got, the darker and dirtier the robe was. She found herself more angry than frightened. To think that she, and all the others still in their pods, had survived the attack, only to be gleaned by a scythe upon the shore!
Loriana forced her aching body upright and stood between the scythe and the pods. “Stay away from them,” she said with more force than she thought she had in her. “Haven’t you done enough? Do you need to glean the survivors, too?”
The scythe stopped in his tracks. He seemed taken aback. “I have no such intention,” he said. “I mean you no harm.”
And although Loriana had always seen silver linings in the darkest of clouds, she was rapidly jading. “Why should I believe that?”
“He’s telling the truth,” said another voice – a woman coming out from the palm trees behind him.
“If you mean us no harm, then why did you attack us?”
“We are the ones who stopped the attack; we didn’t initiate it,” said the scythe. Then he turned to the woman. “Or more accurately, Munira here did. Credit where credit is due.”
“If you want to help us, then go get some others,” said Loriana, looking down the strand at the beached pods. “Because we’re going to need more than just the two of you.”
“There are no others,” Munira said. “Only us. Our plane was shot down. We’re stranded here, too.”
Well, that was just great, wasn’t it? Did anyone know they were here? Well, the Thunderhead did. But not really. All it knew was that they had crossed out of its eye. Why couldn’t Loriana have just listened to her parents and gone back to school for a new career path – any career path that wouldn’t have put her here?
“Tell us what you need us to do,” said the scythe, calmly deferring to her.
Loriana wasn’t sure how to respond to that. No one ever looked to Loriana for leadership, much less someone like a scythe. She had always been more of a pleaser than a planner, happy to be at the business end of the finger that was delegating responsibility. But these were strange times, and this was a strange place. Maybe it was the right time to redefine herself. She took a deep breath and pointed at Munira.
“Why don’t you walk up and down the beach, count the pods, and check that they’re all intact.” It would probably be a few hours before those within the pods regained consciousness. That would give Loriana time to get an idea of the scope of this situation.
“And you,” she said, pointing at the scythe. “I want you to tell me everything you can about this island, so we know what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
Scythe Faraday was not surprised to find that this girl was a Nimbus agent sent by the Thunderhead.
“Agent Loriana Barchok,” she told him. “I was with the Fulcrum City AI offices. We were given these coordinates without explanation, and so we came to find out why.”
Faraday told her who he was, figuring, in the here and now, it didn’t matter who knew. She didn’t bat an eye – apparently Nimbus agents were not aware of which scythes were supposed to be living or dead. He was amused, and perhaps a little bit insulted, that she did not recognize his name.
Faraday followed her directions precisely; he told her what he knew of the island – but nothing of what he suspected of it – because, to be honest, he and Munira had no proof that the fail-safe was here. All they knew was that this had been some sort of military base in mortal days, and had then been used by the founding scythes for purposes unknown.
He showed Agent Barchok the smoldering ruins of the defensive tower – proof that they had destroyed it – then he took her down into the bunker.
“We have sheltered here since we arrived. The weather has been mild – but in an area without Thunderhead weather intervention, I suspect storms could get out of hand.”
She looked around, probably not sure what she was looking at, but then not even Faraday knew what most of the antiquated computers were for. Then she zeroed in on the steel door.
“What’s behind there?” she asked.
Faraday sighed. “We don’t know,” he said, “and since I’m sure you did not bring a scythe’s ring along with you, I doubt we’re going to find out any time soon.”
She looked at him quizzically, and he decided it wasn’t worth the effort to explain.
“I must say, I’m surprised that you’re even talking to me, being that you’re a Nimbus agent,” Faraday said. “But I suppose rules of nonengagement do not apply outside of the Thunderhead’s dominion.”
“They apply everywhere,” said Agent Barchok. “But I didn’t say I’m a Nimbus agent. I said I was a Nimbus agent. Past tense. We all were. We’re not anymore.”
“Is that so!” Faraday said. “Did you all resign?”
“Fired,” she told him. “By the Thunderhead.”
“All of you? How strange.” Faraday knew that the Thunderhead would occasionally suggest alternate life paths to those who were unfulfilled in their work, but it never outright fired people. Certainly not enough people to fill a dozen vessels.
Loriana pursed her lips. Clearly there was something she wasn’t saying, which made Faraday all the more curious. He said nothing and waited with that patient impatience that scythes were so very good at. Finally, she spoke.
“How long have you been here on this island?” she asked.
“Not long in the grand scheme of things,” Faraday told her. “Just six weeks.”
“Then … you don’t know…”
There were few things that truly frightened Scythe Michael Faraday. But the prospect of an incalculable unknown was high on his list of personal fears. Especially when it was presented in a particular tone of voice. The kind that usually preceded the phrase “You’d better sit down.”