Agents of the Demiurge (18 page)

He took the name
Erik as he entered the village. Erik. The name of a victim several
villages back. That man had fought for his life with admirable
passion, though ultimately with little success. Everyone chose
death at some point. The pathetic creatures valued their lives only
so long as they basked in the warmth of pleasant experiences.

None of them appreciated the gift of
existence granted them. They lived, they experienced, they thought,
they ate and mated and played and did all the myriad activities
that people did. None of that could happen without the Creator's
endowment of
being
.

They didn't understand the enormity of
something
existing. No one did. They couldn't comprehend the
concept of nothing. They couldn't grasp that the alternative to the
Creator's world was eternal emptiness.

Instead, the people saw the world as a stage
for their pathetic stories of domestic drudgery. Each one thought
himself unique and worthy of some special place in the order of
existence. They thought the world existed for their personal
benefit and opted out of life the moment that benefit declined.

It was a tragedy only he could see. The
Creator replaced emptiness with something-ness and the dumb
creatures couldn't appreciate the majesty of what had been done. It
was beyond ignorance. Beyond selfishness.

They thought the world flawed when it didn't
cater to every momentary, contradictory whim. Never did it occur to
them that the world might not be created for their benefit. That
any one person's ideal might constitute a nightmare for every other
person. They never questioned their ceaseless desires, only a world
that didn't fulfill them.

Erik had asked dozens of people his question
so far. None of them had provided a satisfactory answer. Each had
experienced an agonizing death. In some ways, the deaths provided
more insight than the words. After all, whether intended to be
great truths or self-serving lies, in the end words were just puffs
of air. Death was pure.

He went through his normal routine, visiting
the village's guest pavilion and meeting the locals. This village
had about sixty people, and as usual, his victim chose himself. An
obnoxiously social man moved about the square with an effervescent
joy, flirting with any woman old enough to talk and young enough to
walk, joking with the men and throwing balls with the boys. The
name of this social addict was Geron.

Geron's constant motion looked at first
glance to be an outlet for his youthful exuberance, but Erik saw
something bleaker in the manic activity. Erik suspected that Geron
in fact couldn't stand to be still. And not because of some deep
love of life. No. Geron couldn't bear to truly exist in a moment
because he despised his existence. His frantic dance around the
people of his village served to distract him from the misery he
felt in the odd moment of reflection.

This man would soon be robbed of all
distractions. Instead of the mental noise of a haphazard existence,
Geron would experience pure contemplation punctuated by
excruciating agony, all of it permeated by overwhelming fear. How
quickly would he give up hope and embrace annihilation? For most, a
single night sufficed.

After his treatment of a victim named Yurin
caused him to question the purity of his intentions, Erik had
decided to hold himself to a simple rule: if a victim asked for
death, he would grant the wish. That was the magic moment, after
all, when they chose death over life. Their self-hatred was the
ugly truth he sought to uncover. Once they chose annihilation, he
granted their freedom.

Erik ate with the villagers and relaxed until
night. He waited until Geron went inside a house, then retired to a
hammock in the guest pavilion, feigning sleep. The village grew
silent.

Without a sound, Erik left the hammock. He
slung his bag on his back and moved to a house near the one Geron
slept inside. Using dry kindling from his bag, he built a small
structure. Then he brought out strips of cloth and placed them
inside his construction.

Erik snuck to the remnants of the communal
fires and blew life back into an ember. When it glowed a cheery
red, he transferred its spark to a piece of kindling and carried it
back to where he had made his preparations. The cloth blazed to
life, then the kindling frame caught fire. Then the building it
abutted began to burn.

He returned to the guest pavilion to wait.
Minutes passed before anyone noticed the flames. By then, one wall
of the house was consumed by fire and the thatched roof was sending
smoke throughout the village. Screams for help shattered the
night.

Erik emerged from the pavilion at the same
time that most people were leaving their houses. He jogged up to
Geron. “We need to get water! Come help me carry jugs from the
spring!”

Without a moment's hesitation, Geron followed
him out of the village. Of course, five other men were running in
the same direction. Before Erik and Geron could reach the spring,
the fastest man rushed back towards the village, shouting “someone
shattered all the jugs!”

Geron stared at Erik, dumbfounded. “Someone
broke the jugs. Why would someone do that? How are we going to put
out the fire now?”

“We need to go to the nearest village. We
will ask their men to bring jugs to help us put out the fire.”

Geron nodded his head. “Yes, let's do
that.”

As easy as that, Erik got Geron alone. He
waited until they were midway between villages before striking his
target in the back of the head with the shaft of his walking stick.
Geron went from running to rolling through the dust so fast the
effect was positively comical.

Erik put his walking stick through a loop on
his bag, then started to drag his unconscious victim into the bush.
No one would think to look for Geron until it was too late. The
people of the village were dealing with one emergency and couldn't
comprehend that someone might use the confusion to cover a murder.
What fools the people were.

“You always use the same method,” a voice
said from the darkness.

Erik looked up too late. A fist collided with
his face, sending him to the ground with the taste of blood in his
mouth. “That makes you predictable,” the voice continued.

In a flash, Erik ripped the knob off of his
walking stick and lurched back to his feet. He took a split second
to regain his balance and then drove the sharpened point at his
opponent with all the viciousness he could summon.

The man twisted aside, jabbed Erik’s nose
again, and then drove a heel into Erik’s calf, collapsing him in an
awkward sprawl. The man picked up the walking stick and inspected
the sharpened point. “Been a while since I’ve seen a spear.”

“Kill him already,” said a woman he couldn’t
see.

The man rolled his eyes. “So
now
you
want me to participate?”

“I want you to finish what you started so we
can put this incident behind us.”

“First I want to know why he kills.”

Erik stared up at the man, squinting in the
dark to make out distinguishing characteristics. Was the flesh he
saw unusually pale? Erik began to laugh. “What’s your name,
stranger?”

“My name is Tzem. Now tell me why you kill
people.”

“That’s not your name,” Erik said. “You are
Hess.”

The startled twitch proved everything. Erik
found he couldn’t stop giggling. “I spent over a year following
your path and now
you
find
me
.”

“Careful,” Elza said to her man.

“Something isn’t right about him,” Hess
said.

“I expected you to be weak.” Erik put a hand
to his broken nose. “All those stories of love and helping the
people. I’m so very happy you’re not. It makes you much more
interesting.”

Hess hefted the walking stick. “Why were you
following us?”

“Oh, Hess, I just wanted to meet someone like
me.”

For several heartbeats, no one moved. Then
Hess tossed the walking stick aside. “We are nothing alike,
Observer
.”

Erik stood slowly, eyes tracking the tension
that never left Hess. “I believe Elza just accused you of
participating. Sounds like the two of you have a disagreement. An
old one, I'd say. Might even go back to the first world if I’ve put
the clues together right. Way I see it, we have to do some
participating if we’re going to discover answers to the hard
questions. Ain’t that how you see things, Hess? Ain’t we two
plantains from the same bunch?”

“He doesn’t kill for pleasure,” Elza
said.

“Neither do I. Though I do find pleasure in
my work.”

Hess folded his arms. “I won’t let you kill
this man.”

“No worries. I've lost interest in Geron. I
want to talk.”

“Good. We have a camp a few miles from here.
What is your name?”

Erik blinked. After losing their trail, he
had stopped his efforts to select an appropriate moniker. He had
assumed so many names over the years. Names he had worn and
discarded in rapid succession. None of them meant anything to
him.

“Maybe you shouldn't have started with such a
difficult question,” Elza muttered.

He glared at her. “Erik. My name is
Erik.”

“Sounds awful hard to remember,” she
said.

Hess grunted. “Follow me and we will have
that talk.”

Erik returned
approximately ten hours after his unannounced departure, whistling
a jaunty tune as he kicked the locked door open. Once inside, he
went straight to their food stores, seized a box of animal
crackers, and proceeded to dump fist fulls into his mouth, sending
crumbs cascading from the corners of his mouth as he chewed.

“Fucking city's an edible food vacuum,” he
said. “Would'a eaten me some survivors, but that shit's never good
raw.”

Drake's attempt to fade into the background
resulted in a tin can crashing to the floor to scatter nuts in a
riot of sound. Erik rolled his eyes. “So what's the dealio, Mr.
Hess? Your woman ditch you for reals? Look at the bright side, she
made you a big bomb first. If that ain't love, then nothing
is.”

Hess found his voice. “What do you want?”

“Food. Conversation. Some of your shop tools.
I've got a friend waiting for me not far from here. We are going to
have so much fun. I haven't had a single moment of me-time this
whole fucking Iteration. Only time I got close to torture, it was
from the wrong side. Amateurs didn't even know what they were
doing. Iteration twenty-seven. Those boys were masters of the
trade. Masters. They used belt sanders to strip away my skin. Made
a fucking game of it. Competed to see which of them could remove
the most flesh before it started to come back.”

“You got caught before?” They were Ingrid's
first words in days.

Erik shrugged. “This is time number three.
You'd think I might learn a lesson or some shit, but that's not my
style. And ya gotta respect my style. Ain't that right, Hess? I
mean,
I
never had a woman leave
me
.”

Jerome cleared her throat.

“The fuck? Don't tell me you got some
contrary factoid in Encyclopedia Observia that says otherwise.”
Erik's easy smile faltered. He poked his finger hard at Jerome's
flat chest. “And don't you go misconstruing that bitch Beeta and
her suiciding ways.”

“Easy,” Hess growled.

“You got your replacement woman picked out
already? Nice, Hess. Don't let your dipstick get dry.”

“Enough. We have business.” Jerome pointed
one finger at Ingrid and another at Erik. “The Creator instructed
me to conduct a vote. Choice one is all Observers have their
memories wiped. Choice two is everything stays the same. Failure to
answer in a timely fashion will be considered a vote in favor of
the memory wipe.”

Silence.

Erik looked around the room. “Are you fucking
kidding me?”

Ingrid waited for Jerome's somber denial
before responding. “Wipe us. Creator should have done it a long
time since.”

“Shit!” Erik glared at Jerome. “I say no.
What's the vote at?”

“Five votes for. Two votes against.”

Erik retrieved a screwdriver from the floor
and moved to stand above Hess. “What did you vote, lover-boy?” He
leaned forward. “Did you vote to put your sorry ass out of its
misery?”

Hess sat back in his chair. “Get out of my
face, Erik.”

“What. Was. Your. Vote.”

“I'm you're only ally in this, Erik.”

“You voted for life?” Erik considered that.
“What about now? You still feel that way without your lady
friend?”

“I would vote to wipe
your
mind in an
instant, Erik. But I'm not willing to sacrifice myself to get
there.”

Erik's dour expression flipped to sunshine
instantly. “I hear ya, brother. To hell with everyone but numero
uno. Well, I got lots of anti-therapy to conduct. Take it easy,
Hess. I hope the rest of you come down with kidney stones and
hemorrhoids.”

On his saunter to the door, Erik broke into a
frantic shuffle, slammed Drake into the wall, and drove his
screwdriver into Drake's eye socket, pushing it deep until only the
handle remained free. “Oh ya,” Erik said, voice dripping honey,
“almost forgot to tell you fuckers. Might be a good idea to watch
yer backs. I'm a tad sore over this voting thing.”

They watched Erik leave, then Drake pull a
tool free of his head. Within two hours, Ingrid and Drake were
gone, departing without words of farewell or even a backward
glance.

Jerome sat across from Hess when the two of
them were alone. Her sharp features seemed to radiate loneliness
far more acutely than what he felt. “Don't feel bad that he left
without a kiss,” Hess said. “I'm sure you know better than me how
many hookups there have been in the history of the Observers. It's
a cheap thrill to them.”