The Unearthing (38 page)

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, the Ship didn’t cause that massacre,” Andrews sneered bitterly, “Any more than it’ll cause worldwide panic. It’s been how many weeks since the Ship unearthed itself? In all that time, we’ve had no mass hysteria and the only violence that we have experienced was at the hands of a doomsday cult that most people agreed was dangerous to begin with! If the Ship hadn’t set off Gabriel Ashe, then something else bloody well would have.”

“There
is
panic, right now,” Bloom said, “Fear that something worse might happen next time. People are frightened. The world is frightened.”

“And where does that leave us?” Paulson asked.

“Stuck waiting for someone else to decide things for us,” Bloom answered.

♦♦♦

The crisis centers set up in Los Angeles following the attacks by Gabriel Ashe’s Knights of Christ were able to quickly place James with a therapist who would be able to help; a young woman by the name of Louise Brace. After taking a brief patient history from James, asking some basic questions designed to rule out certain psychological disorders, she began questioning him directly on what was troubling him.

“Had you ever witnessed someone’s death before Professor Echohawk?” Dr Brace asked.

“No,” James said, “Plenty of people in my life have died though; my grandparents; my uncle John; a friend of mine in college killed himself—well not suicide, but he killed himself driving drunk up on Mulholland.”

“But you’d never witnessed death before.”

“Not unless swatting flies counts, no. I’ve never even seen a pet dog or cat put to sleep. I’ve never been hunting or fishing.” Brace made notes on her console’s writing pad before addressing James again.

“Tell me, with as much detail as possible, what was going through your mind, when Professor Echohawk was killed.”

“You mean, how did it make me feel?”

“No,” Brace said, “I’m fairly sure that unless you’re dangerously psychotic, you felt like shit when Professor Echohawk was killed. What I want to know is what you were
thinking
.” James swallowed and thought back to the shooting. He recalled the events…the sounds…and there among those memories, his thoughts at the time had been very well recorded. He recounted them to Doctor Brace. When he was finished, James was tearful and shaking. Brace regarded him with clinical sympathy as James blew his nose and wiped his eyes. When he had composed himself, she asked:

“And the panic attacks always begin at night? While you’re sleeping?”

“Yes; mainly. Sometimes during the day…I might start thinking about death…or growing old and it starts.”

“Does the dream of Professor Echohawk’s death always accompany the panic attacks when you wake up with them at night?”

“Not always,” James replied, “Sometimes, I just…wake up scared; terrified.”

“And you said you’ve been self medicating with marijuana?”

“Yeah; half-gram joints, usually with a beer.” Brace checked her console again, writing down more information, consulting the World Psychiatric Diagnostic Resource’s extensive Grid spar. There were a number of possible clinical conditions that James Johnson might have, but Doctor Brace suspected his death-terror and panic attacks were basic; a little therapy, a little medication, a little time…she felt she could help him.

“Mister Johnson, I feel reasonably sure that I can help you,” She said. “Although it may take some time. We’ll start by alleviating your immediate symptoms. I’m not fond of you using marijuana as heavily as you have been. Cut it back to social smoking and don’t smoke a joint within two hours of taking the medication I’m prescribing. No alcohol with the meds either and don’t drive or operate heavy equipment while on these.”

“What are you giving me?”

“A fast-acting sublingual tranquilizer, called Sereling. It’s an older compound with a proven track record,” Brace replied, filling out the ‘scrip, “Take a whole pill under the tongue if you wake up with a panic attack. A half-dose should do if you feel your anxiety mounting while you’re awake. They’re non-habit forming and have few side effects. Your pharmacist will be able to give you specific information relating to your health profile.”

“Is this it?” James asked, taking the prescription from her.

“No,” Brace said. “We’ll also be meeting for ninety minutes every two weeks to talk. As your also experiencing a crisis of faith, you might want to speak with your parish Priest. You said you were Catholic?”

“Yeah, but non-practicing.”

“You might want to look at that, as well. If you’re still comfortable within the bounds of organized worship.”

“I don’t know.” Brace smiled.

“Well there you are,” She said. “Find out if Church still holds and interest for you. We’ll talk about that when I see you again in two weeks.” She and James logged an appointment time and then it was time for him to leave.

♦♦♦

The tramcar shot from the darkened bulkheads of the inner hull into a transparent passage spanning the distance between inner hull and the gigantic edifices built into the superstructure of the outer hull of the Ship. Jude watched as the car approached a multi-tiered construct that crawled halfway up the side of the outer hull. But even as the impressive, impossible architecture demanded notice, all that mattered was killing Ashe. The grand scale of the building he was approaching would not be denied as it reached above and below for kilometres before evening off into a gargantuan black and gold plateau.

This Ship was a majestic thing, an ancient thing; Jude had to acknowledge that it was far greater and far more enduring than the battle he was fighting at the moment, or the cause he was fighting for or even the nation whose flag he fought under. This behemoth had been here longer than the Human species had existed. Gabriel Ashe’s assassination would matter little to the Ship. Jude believed the Ship would probably be here longer than the Human species, anyway. The tram passed through the bulkheads of this outer rim structure. Jude was approaching a station. Gabriel Ashe was now only a few minutes ahead of him, and about to die.

♦♦♦

“James?” The voice called. He sighed once, dismissively and went back to sinking deeper into the blissful oblivion he’d created for himself. James had decided to see how the pills worked in conjunction with smoking a joint. The effect was heavenly.

“James, what’s going on?” James rolled open an eye, blinked and then dragged himself into a sitting position.

“I guess the tranks hit me hard.” He said noncommittally, stretching his feet out on the floor in front of him. He’d been resting, zoned to shit, on the couch for a while.

“How many of those things did you take?” Allison asked, perturbed.

“Just one,” he lied. “But I’d smoked a joint first.”

He’d chased two pills with one joint and a double rum and Coke about two hours before. James still felt mainly out of it.

“You know you’re not supposed to mix that shit; it can be dangerous!” She said, alarmed. Allison paused, looking deeply into his eyes. “James…is there a problem?”

“No,” he said. “What? You mean with drugs? I just started taking them; how can there be?”

Her frown said she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Come on,” He said, “I started taking the pills today. Is that enough time to get addicted?”

“No,” she said, “But James, those pills are rough on you.”

“It’s not like I’ll take them all the time,” He said, “I’m only supposed to take them when I have a panic attack. I just wanted to see how well they worked.” That seemed to placate her. She smiled uncertainly and kissed him. Then she wrinkled her nose and drew back.

“You should take a shower. You smell like stale smoke and jays.” He smelled himself, curiously.

“Yeah I guess I do,” he said.

“Come on,” she said, “We have to get ready. They’re releasing Laura this afternoon and we have to pick her up.”

“Shit,” James said, “I forgot.”

“Come on. Go get ready.” She pulled him off the couch and pushed him in the direction of the bathroom. A few minutes later he had steaming water running for his shower and he was regarding himself in the mirror. Looking back at him he saw the face of the only person he knew would be with him until he died. He wanted another pill but knew it wouldn’t happen just yet. Not with Allison hovering around him. Maybe after they got Laura home. He stepped into the shower. A couple of minutes later the bathroom door opened and closed and he watched as Allison undressed, watching him as she touched herself slowly, languidly before joining him under the spray.

“I wanted to welcome you home too,” she said, kissing him, “Going to see Doctor Brace must have been a hard thing to do.” The only comfort the world of sobriety held for James was Allison’s body. A shame she couldn’t keep him from feeling his own mortality even as he touched her and was touched by her.

“
Now
you’re awake,” She said as she went down on her knees and on him.

“Yeah,” he rasped, but for reasons other than what she thought: the Fear was a constant flutter in his stomach, all the more since the spray from the shower and the promise of impending sex had woken him fully from the drug stupor. James came after only a few minutes under her ministrations. Allison got back up, kissing him and he tasted his saltiness in her mouth. James tried to focus on her and on what she was doing for him, to him. He tried to be more involved in the process of soaping her up, of running his hands over her, touching her, caressing her, but it was still the cold of the grave that he felt inside. He was very aware that his now-pounding heart would one day be finally silenced as he kissed her passionately, backing her against the wall to enter her. Allison cried out and curled a leg around his waist, parting the way in for him. His eyes were closed in concentration and against the spray of the water. She opened her eyes to regard him as his movements started becoming fast, hard.

“James!” she exclaimed. She hadn’t expected him to be a rough lover. It wasn’t unwelcome; rough could be fun. He grabbed her from behind, lifting her up.

“Yeah,” She whispered against him. Even as loving her became the serious focus of his efforts, James was still very conscious that he was going to die one day; that he would cease to exist. He wanted to focus on Allison; on the feeling of her around him; how good she felt. He wanted to lose himself in the moment but couldn’t. His body was absorbed in the love play but his mind was trapped, thinking of death; of his death, of hers, of everyone and everything. He thrust into her harder, eliciting cries of pleasure from Allison. James was trying desperately to make the pleasure at his center stronger than the fear in his heart. Allison’s breath was coming short in her chest, now. God, if he only knew what he was doing to her…she looked at him again. His eyes were tightly shut, his face flush…but there was something out of place on his features. She started to look harder at him, trying to see, but he moved a hand to her breast, brushing and then squeezing the nipple and thrust into her even harder. The sensation was too strong, too inviting. Her concentration broke, absorbed into what he was doing to her. As Allison wrapped her arms around his neck, crying out and hitching her other leg around his waist, James thought about what it would be like in those final few seconds of life as his existence slipped away, his awareness fading to an oblivion far more real, more permanent than the ones he experienced on a heavy dose of his medication. His body was responding to Allison’s, thrusting more urgently, eliciting cries and moans from them both, but still he thought about his death, his end; the fear that he might outlive Allison if they stayed together, the terror that he might not. Allison opened her eyes. He was driving into her a little too hard now. It was starting to hurt along with her escalating pleasure. She stared at him. There was no mistaking it. Something was wrong. There was some horror in his face, some urgent terror and as he continued to fuck her harder, the look on his face became more intense. She was scared and despite the way her pleasure was climbing, peaking, what was going on was frightening her now.

“Slow down…” she gasped, “Slow down…” Allison didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to stop him, slow the rhythm so she could concentrate on James, on what was wrong. But he didn’t slow. Instead, the hand at her breast slid further down, zeroing in and the pleasure overtook her. She screamed as she came, the pleasure and the pain of his rough motions overlapping and then she felt the hot wash of his orgasm following hers, his own cry sounding. As his body experienced the little death, James’ mind was momentarily free of the shrouded thoughts of his real death. His knees buckled and Allison unwrapped her legs from his waist, pulling away from him to stand on her own unsteady feet. She leaned on his shoulders, her body quaking with the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm she’d just had. She stared at him, seriously regarding him.

“James,” she said catching her breath, alarmed at her orgasm as much as at him and what just happened under the shower’s hot spray, “James, where were you just now?” She asked in a voice as shaky as her footing, “What the fuck was going on? What the hell
was
that?” She brushed his wet hair from his face, seeing something dark in his eyes beginning to fade.

“James?” He looked at her face, looked at her eyes, seeing that she did care for him, that she was scared and had to look away. He was so wrapped up in himself; he should have been more aware that there was someone else involved. James started crying, then. Grief over his own death; guilt over his inconsideration towards Allison overwhelmed him. She drew his head to her shoulder, pressing against him, holding him.