Dusk (5 page)

Dr. Tanner calmly took another sip of his
pint. “There is a line, however, between the proselytizer and the
zealot, and it is quite wide.”

Dr. Fordham added as Dr. Tanner drank, “Dr.
Tanner here is merely exercising his own right to worship as he
pleases. He has not sought to offend or accost any of us with his
beliefs.”

“To Dr. Tanner’s credit, I agree. But,
personally, in the company of such educated men. I find the very
idea of a belief or a religion prostrating any of us as offensive.
In my experience, religion itself is a bandage masking the abscess
of a frail intellect. An ointment to sooth the palsy of ignorance
feebly supported by the gnarled crutch of dogma.” Dr. Winberg
lifted his pint to eclipse what Cyrus thought must have been a
smirk. Any thoughts that his assumptive assessment of Winberg had
been unfounded drained away as quickly as the thick liquid that
passed from Winberg’s cup into his still pudgy belly. Cyrus could
sit idle no longer.

“Are you suggesting that education is somehow
more valuable than imagination?” Cyrus knew this was not exactly
what Winberg had meant, but he figured if he attacked his statement
directly, he would be walking into a timeworn, prefabricated
response. A response that would, without a doubt, degrade the
discussion to an academic shouting match, filled with intelligent
sounding, but pedestrian, aphorisms and verbiage. Cyrus was
comfortable even in that arena, but he could not watch this man
posturing himself by pushing others around with his academic
ale-belly, and playing on Dr. Winberg’s field would only elicit
more of that.

“I don’t feel archaic dogmas and traditions
have anything to do with imagination. I think they anchor us to our
lower selves and that education is the only way to free ourselves
of those shackles. It seems it should be obvious to anyone who has
matriculated through Laureateship as we all have.” He spread his
arms to indicate everyone at the table. It was a welcoming gesture,
but to Cyrus it seemed histrionic and overblown.

“Only those who are born into the Meritocracy
are guaranteed Laureateship, and the Freeschool transfer process is
as cutthroat and bloody as an uberhound pit. And even if you’re
selected for Laureateship, the Meritocracy taps people to go to the
Arcologies virtually at random.”

“But they have to pick selective members from
the top tier. Surely you are not suggesting the mass populous is
worthy of Laureateship.”

“It’s common for Arcologists to tell
themselves and the general populace that the Laureateship process
is selective, but honestly, once you’re in the top tier, you are
practically handpicked by the Meritocracy. They should call it what
it is, a sanctioned aristocracy—an academic cotillion designed to
keep the upper echelon free of undesirables.”

Dr. Winberg lifted his cup again, this time
allowing the smirk to remain as he lowered the pint from his face,
“How then do you explain your tapping?”

Cyrus raised his brow slowly as he met Dr.
Winberg’s gaze. Dr. Tanner lowered his pint and pursed his lips to
speak, but Cyrus had already released his volley, “As eloquent as
that sounded, it’s still a cheap shot. So I will call your little
insult and raise you one. As much as you wear your credentials on
your sleeve, and as feverishly as you wave the banner of
sociological evolution, the notion of Manifest Destiny seems to
have escaped your distaste for the archaic. No matter how much you
misquote Nietzsche, you will always stand as the foremost example
of why society made it much easier for me to leave Earth and get on
this ship.”

There was an audible shuffling at the table
as if the tension had taken a physical form and was shambling
beneath it. Dr. Villichez lowered his empty pint like a gavel, he
was short and slouched over the table, but the white of his hair,
and the hard, experienced features of his face lent him authority
his posture did not, “Gentleman, gentleman, let’s try to keep this
diplomatic. We have to live together for the next five years on
this bucket of bolts. Let us try to keep the dinner conversation
kosher.”

“Well, as Dr. Winberg here so deftly eluded,
diplomacy does not run so thick in my blood as piss and vinegar—a
fact I will not be ashamed of. I only stood in for Dr. Tanner
because I know he is too dignified to respond to such a lowbrow
attack. I, on the other hand, have no problem playing the role of
the demon beast, and I cannot abide by a bully, no matter how
affluent. If you do not want to smell the beast, don’t fan his
clothes. If we are to live on this alloyed crucible in a kosher
manner, as Dr. Villichez put it, Dr. Winberg here should understand
that.”

“I apologize for my affront,” Dr. Winberg
conceded with a somewhat smug lilt as he passed a deliberate gaze
at Dr. Villichez. He took another sip and turned his attention back
to Cyrus as he lowered the pint, “However, I cannot let slide your
more subtle attack on my upbringing as well. I feel a need for
further explanation.”

Cyrus tested the warmth of his neglected pint
with the tip of his index finger, “As I understand it, you seem to
espouse that knowledge somehow supersedes religious philosophy. But
I don’t agree. I cannot.” He took in the juices the left on his
fingertip with pursed lips as he turned his attention back Dr.
Winberg, “Even a scalded animal learns to stray away from the
steaming pot. Our instincts move in to cover what the weakest of
intellects cannot, sometimes better so. A man learns whether he
wants to or not. It is whether or not that man is given access to
formal education that can be coddled over.” Cyrus paused to finally
take a sip from his pint. It was cooler than he liked, but
acceptable given his options. He continued as he lowered it back to
the table, “We shelter knowledge with deadlocks as if it is some
sort of prized commodity. How can we call ourselves professors,
when our happenstance superiority is all we profess?”

Dr. Winberg looked legitimately confused, and
yet still managed to look smug, “I fail to see your point.”

Cyrus swallowed quickly and lowered his cup
to retort, as the rest of the table looked back to him as if it
were a miniaturized Kantistyka match, “Allow me to clarify;” he
took a long drink from his pint, let it settle in his mouth, and
then slowly swallowed. An involuntary gasp escaped his lungs as he
set down the cup, “in world where we do not elbow-guard knowledge,
where information and knowledge are disseminated to the masses, the
man who stands on the hill at dawn and commands the sun to rise is
no longer a conjuror. And yet, even when we understand the
elliptical motion of a heliocentric Earth, and the rotation and
precession along the Earth’s axis, the sunrise, however
predictable, is no less wondrous to those with eyes enough to see.”
Cyrus could see solemn nods of approval here and there at the
table. “My point, Dr. Winberg, is this: God is not dead, he is
merely bound and gagged in the morbid cave of our arrogance.
Perhaps, when the swelling of our own heads has subsided enough, we
will hear his muffled pleas and be humble enough to answer
them.”

There was mild chatter all around the table
as Cyrus finished off his drink, but Winberg was still not
finished, “So you’re a zealot now as well?”

Cyrus chuckled legitimately at the notion,
“Me? No. Blasphemy is braided too well into my thought patterns for
me to champion any one ideal.” Cyrus paused and held his chest as a
quiet but dense burp arose from his insides. “But I still have a
certain amount of wonder in my heart. That’s why I became a
scientist in the first place.” He tapped his chest lightly to
loosen any other bubbles that may have lurked in his bowels. “And
every time there is a new obstacle to tackle, a new theory to test,
I am comfortable—even pleased—knowing there are forces in this
universe bigger and stronger than me, regardless of the names we
give them.”

There were more nods and chatter as Cyrus
weakly lifted himself from the table. Dr. Winberg’s retort seemed
less slow and deliberate than his other statements, as if he were
trying to stick them to Cyrus before he left, “See that is where I
must disagree. I believe the human intellect is the greatest thing
in the universe. Man eventually conquered flight. He went from
stubborn geocentricity to the development of space travel. Gravity
remained a mystery for thousands of years and we conquered that as
well. The light-speed barrier has long been a stopping block of the
universe, and yet, as you should well know, we could conquer even
that in our lifetimes—our original lifetimes.”

There were more nods and murmurs. Expectant
eyes fell on Cyrus as he slid in his chair. Cyrus steadied himself
against the wall and then moved toward the entrance to the room, “I
hate to excuse myself from this challenge of intellects, but I have
dire business to attend to. We will have to conclude this
discussion at a later date.”

Dr. Villichez wiped his mouth with his napkin
and clasped his hands together, “As our time on this vessel is far
from brief, I’m sure there will be ample opportunity to add to this
discussion.”

Dr. Tanner looked at everyone else in the room as
individual conversations sprouted like a Hydroponic Table Garden.
He watched Dr. Winberg turn and engage in another rather weighty
discussion with Dr. Gerhard Torvald, preeminent microbiologist who
was much more open to Dr. Winberg’s distaste for religion. Dr.
Winberg seemed to be lapping up the attention like a dehydrated
stray at a lav pool. Tanner could see why those who spread religion
like imperialists spread culture could create distaste among the
less pious. However, he himself never evangelized anyone who did
not specifically request it, and that ministry always came with a
fair warning. Besides, what had been so crudely referred to as
zealotry was so obviously curbed by Dr. Tanner’s own profession.
No, he himself would define it as devotion, and for better or
worse, for the purposes of this journey, it was his and his alone
unless someone else actively chose to join him. Again, he could
understand the reluctance to accept grand ideas of the intangible
and untestable, but what he could not understand, even at the time
when he himself did not believe, is what made those who did not
believe attack the idea of religion with the extreme prejudice of a
seasoned, unified infantry.

When Cyrus emerged from the lav, Dr.
Villichez was there to meet him. He smiled and clasped his hands
together, but the smile soon dwindled to concern. “As I am in
charge of both the physical and psychological health of all on this
vessel, I feel it is my duty to help keep the peace. So please
forgive me if I am somewhat out of place in being a little unnerved
at what happened at dinner tonight. These meetings are designed for
us to commingle, to fraternize, so that we can exist as a cohesive
unit on the planet while we await our families and colleagues.”

Cyrus himself was a bit unnerved on being
approached immediately after exiting the lav, but he could see the
corners of Villichez’s eyes quivering, and could tell the concern,
and in turn the urgency, in his voice was sincere. Cyrus adjusted
his jumpsuit slightly, “I am sorry if I had a part in making the
dinner unnerving, but I must say, as your family includes more than
one eminent primate zoologist, you had to have seen what was going
on in there.”

Dr. Villichez nodded then focused on Cyrus’s
eyes again, resting a hand kindly on his left shoulder. “I could
see, yes, but what I couldn’t see was why you felt the need to
engage him on his terms.”

This line split through Cyrus’s head as if he
had expected him to say something else, anything else. It wasn’t so
much that Cyrus and Dr. Winberg had butt heads because Cyrus
slapped Dr. Winberg’s hand away from the prize, but rather because
Cyrus too had been reaching for it. “Dr. Villichez, I will make an
effort to keep my end of our dinner table conversations copasetic,
but we’re all equals here. We all have our roles. And from now
until we settle Asha and leave it to our descendants, whenever Dr.
Winberg flexes his academic muscle to berate someone, he and I will
have a disagreement.”

“Well, son,” Dr. Villichez said, smiling
slightly and lightly rubbing Cyrus’s arm, “I’m sorry you feel that
way. Perhaps Dr. Winberg’s hubris is not so… ominous.”

Dr. Villichez turned and left in the
direction of the infirmary, using the wall to walk. Cyrus steadied
himself and tried to walk back to his own room, with greater
difficulty than on his way to dinner, but without using the
wall.

• • • • •

At almost two meters tall, and only
eighty-five kilograms, Dr. Torvald was tall but scrawny even before
entering the Hyposoma. His flaxen hair, alabaster skin, and angular
features had done nothing to make him look less gangly. Despite a
stature that should have been awkward, Dr. Torvald possessed a
walking grace and a quiet, inviting demeanor that gave him a
presence his initial impression did not always indicate. But now,
to Dr. Tanner, as he attempted to complete a push-up, Dr. Torvald’s
emaciated limbs and arched back made him look like a frightened
stray cat. Then finally, halfway through only his third push-up Dr.
Torvald lurched impossibly backward and a vile mixture of dietary
supplements, liquefied nutrients, and stomach acid erupted from his
open mouth. The vomit splattered in a fan on the floor and settled
in thick globs where he had previously been kneeling. Instantly the
stench of barely processed foodstuffs and hydrochloric acid fumes
spread across the fitness chamber like a fog.

Almost on cue, the other scientists moved out
of their callisthenic positions and began to reel, wretch, or
recoil from Dr. Torvald’s general vicinity. Dr. Tanner had turned
to face Dr. Torvald as soon as the gagging had begun. “I believe
that is a good indication that we are done here,” Dr. Tanner said
clapping his hands together once.