CHAPTER TEN: EUTHANASIA ON THE TABLE
Winter with its soft drifts of clear-glinting snow and bitter blasts merged into blossomy spring, full of laughter and nectar; next came lazy sweltering summer days and yearly festivals; then autumn sifted its yellow and golden-brown leaves over the land, where they quickly grew sear and parched within a few days of lying on the street; finally back to winter again. Twice the course ran itself, Setzer finding himself twenty-six years of age.
For these two years Setzer lived as he found best: he ate well, worked hard, and filled his idle time with sweetness. He took his friends into the Blackjack's inner decks, where they indulged in delectable meals, whiling away the hours with laughing sport in poker, bridge, roulette, or any other game that they fancied.
Daryl sat ever at his side. It felt so natural, so right for her to be there that Setzer, after a few tentative starts, found to his delight that he could talk, tease, and admire the women who came to the parties without fear of a jealous hissy fit. His taste for the feminine persuasion had not faded over the years. He especially favored long-haired, leggy blondes. He liked to watch them, especially with impunity.
For he knew she would never leave his side. At the end of each long workday and party, it would be Daryl whom he sunk down with on the couch in front of a fire, massaging her legs which she curled up in his lap, nobody else. There they talked about many things, teased Benedick and each other, and laughed long before retiring to bed for another night.
Everything was great fun, no pressing cares in the world, but, very freakish to tell, during this time Setzer's platinum-blonde hair turned prematurely silver.
He had gotten up one day, and, going in front of a mirror to brush his hair, saw the change. It had shifted color so gradually that he had not even noticed. He let out a wail, which brought Daryl running in from the bedroom.
"I've gone completely gray!" he groaned, running his fingers through his hair in disbelief.
"Why, you're right," Daryl said, examining a strand. "I hadn't noticed."
"My Papa went gray early on, too," Setzer muttered darkly. "Curse his infernal genes!"
She slipped her arms around his waste and whispered close: "Don't worry about it. I think it makes you look sexy. It's not gray per se...it's a silvery color. It's gorgeous. In fact, I say it suits you better than your old color."
"Really?"
"Yes. Dye it back and I'll shave you bald."
The new hue did suit his rather pale complexion rather well, so he took nature's course in stride. At her suggestion, he stopped binding his long hair with velvet ribbons into a neat ponytail, now letting the long silver strands flow free over his shoulders. And Setzer soon made a joke that Daryl had put him through so many scares since the first day she shimmied up the scaffolding that he had gone gray with the stress and fright of dealing with her. She always hit him when he said this, though she never denied anything.
For Daryl had been busy, too. Shortly following Setzer's meeting with the Emperor, a contract had been drawn up concerning the use and production of airships; one section stipulated that the Blackjack had to be used to transport so many goods to Imperial bases throughout the world whenever called upon. Since no-one else knew how to fly, the job fell to Setzer and Daryl. She accompanied him on the long trips over seas and mountains, dividing steering shifts in half with him and helping the crew unload goods. And, to put it lightly, her driving was downright scary at times: dips, corkscrews, sudden U-turns, moves so outrageous that they didn't have names. Setzer soon learned to not give her the night shifts; the crew wouldn't have gotten any sleep otherwise.
Still, the pair performed their duties with such efficiency and speed that they had enough time to make Daryl her very own airship, as promised, after a year. She named it the Falcon.
The Falcon was not as large or elaborate as the Blackjack--it had only one small spare room--but it was more slender and aerodynamic. Daryl had built the ship for speed, not comfort. Setzer felt that some of her designs were not very sensible. It was light, true, but not very strong, and Daryl had souped up the engines by rather dubious means. Even she admitted to a bit of recklessness.
"This new airship may be a bit unstable," she said.
"What!" answered he. "You can't be serious! Daryl Spielen, talking of danger? The doom of the world is nigh! Let's get you out of here before the gods come."
"Setzer!"
"All right, all right. I am a little worried about the Falcon, Daryl. I'd feel better if you gave it normal engines at least. What are you trying to prove, anyway? "
"They do guzzle up gas, and I've had trouble with maintaining them. They just seem to wear out easily. The people who sell me cogs and wiring have a real racket going. To answer your question: none of your beeswax. I just want to push the envelope."
"You're a madwoman."
"Don't I know it. But, oh, Setzer, it just goes so fast! Isn't it wonderful?"
Riding the Falcon was wonderful, he had to admit; they had gone faster through the sky in that thing than they had in the Blackjack. It handled smoothly, too--it could do tons of tricks. Very wonderful, indeed. Especially in the evenings. At that time they flew up on the Falcon as high as they were able and, hovering at the apex of the journey, they would stand at the balustrade, arms around each other's waists, and silently watch the cool rose and gold seep into violet, stars blinking on one after another. He felt lighter than air and luckier than the gods at sunset.
"But," she appended, "if something does happen to me, the Falcon is yours. It wouldn't be in any better hands."
"Ha!" He began to laugh. "I'll win it from you when I whip your pretty little bum in a race!"
Racing their airships had become one of their favorite pastimes. Danger and death lurked all about their whipping turns and demented dives, but it only added to the excitement. Just as a race-car driver knows he goes into great peril every time he straps in yet cannot tear himself away from coming back for more, so Setzer and Daryl could not have stopped their games. Setzer noted proudly that no matter how much Daryl bragged about her precious craft, their winning streaks were about half and half. The Falcon was fast, true, but Setzer was the more skillful and crafty pilot. He never ceased to remind her of that.
"Big talk, buster!" she snapped; she wiggled the cute little bum in question with a great deal more skill than was good for a decent woman and ran out of the room, leaving him to chase after.
During this time, too, Daryl began pressing her lover to take a vacation from Vector and the business life and bring her to Jidoor for a week or two. She wanted to meet his old friends and his parents, she explained, and the break would do them both good.
Setzer balked whenever she suggested the vacation. When he was not seeing to his duties as a businessman or making deliveries, racing and making the most of his social life took all of his time. He could not see how he could do as she asked without falling egregiously behind schedule. He really did want to see his parents and friends, but going back seemed much more trouble than it was worth. He had been writing to his family once more and was keeping better in touch with them; that was good enough for him. Last and least, Setzer did not think his parents, especially his mother, would approve of him bringing a woman with whom he lived but was not married to into the house.
"We'll do it soon," he always told her, "but not at the moment, my delectable sweet." Daryl never had much time to complain, for she was as busy as he, and was also having a gay time of it all.
Then the soldiers came.
For two years Setzer had enjoyed relative freedom from the eyes of the Emperor. True, there were rumors about companies running on government charters finding their halls and vaults patrolled by Imperial soldiers. Factories churned out less domestic products and more armor, swords, shields--the soldiers saw to that. Setzer heard and was a bit alarmed and concerned, but nothing prepared him for what came.
He and Daryl rode to the workplace, getting out of the carriage at the front walk as was routine. Setzer looked up to see two men in Imperial fatigues, wicked pikes held ramrod straight at their sides.
Daryl made to open her mouth, but he shook his head. "Stay calm. I'll see what the trouble is. We mustn't make any fuss."
"Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted the soldiers, walking up the steps hand in hand with Daryl. "I expect your commander is within?"
An affirmative nod was the response; Setzer smiled, bade them good day, and entered the building. It seemed that two guards had been posted at every doorway, not to mention there was a group of three or four in almost every room.
Setzer swallowed hard. The Emperor had shown no displeasure in his work, but a person doesn't just send a whole battalion into one specific place just for the heck of it or as a mistake. What had brought this on? What needed to be done?
"Oh, my dear gods!" Daryl cried; her chest was heaving and her eyes flashed with hot drops. "They've turned the place into a fracking garrison! GET OUT OF HERE, YOU WEASELLY EGG-SUCKING--"
He clamped his hand over her mouth and sent her off to the hangar, praying she wouldn't do anything rash in his absence. Setzer went to his office, where he met the captain of the guards.
The fellow looked the surly type, but after a few helpings of good brandy and a smoke or two, he was quite amiable.
"So," Setzer said, "what brings you fellows here?"
"Emperor's orders."
Setzer smiled, forcing himself to recall his father's advice that people, no matter how stupid they are, do not appreciate being reminded of the fact to their faces. "I hear, my good man, that your comrades guard other businesses as well."
"That they do," the captain nodded.
"Why?"
"Don't you know?"
Suspicions had formed on the sight of the Imperials, but Setzer truly did not know why they had come. He had made so many deliveries that his grip on current affairs was quite sub-par. Setzer told the captain so.
"Have you ever heard of the Returners, sir?"
"No. Enlighten me."
"A Returner," the captain growled, "is a man that blows up women and little children just because he doesn't like the Emperor. A Returner's the sneakiest SOB alive with the yellowest belly. They hide out in the sewers and garbage heaps and barns and kill things and make people mad without daring to show their faces in a fair fight."
"So they're an opposition group," Setzer said blandly. The captain nodded his head viciously.
"They hate the Empire! They come mostly from Maranda and Tzen and the other villages thereabouts, but they've spread northward. There's even some home-grown ones from right here. How do you like that, sir? Blowing up their own people!"
"Is blowing up things all they do, Captain?"
"Yeah, seems like it. They aren't brave or skilled enough to go against us in a fair fight, so they plant their little bombs all over the Empire. They've been up to something right here in Vector, targeting factories and trading posts. They even gone and bombed an Imperial barracks. I had friends that died in that attack. It's gotten so bad that the Emperor's ordered us out to protect the big industries."
Setzer was certain that the man was not lying. So he gathered all the newspapers, financial magazines, and oral information available into his office (having sent the captain to the cafeteria on the promise of a feast of roast beef) and saw the information for himself.
What he found enraged him. Several rather negligible factories and storage buildings had been demolished along with the barracks, but not one large market participant had been touched. The bombs were crude and homemade, and the only reason there had been any successful targets at all was because security had been ill-trained and scanty.
His ears went red. Setzer had ample, competent security officers, and he knew that he possessed the resources to crank up measures at any notice. He burned to throw the whole wretched lot of soldiers out with the wash water. For a moment, he considered ordering Mulciber and his workers to force the Imperials out but that was utter suicide. The only thing to do was stick it out.
All in all, the unwelcome new additions to the labor force behaved themselves and production met its usual daily quota, even if everyone was quieter than usual. Setzer took little consolation in that. Hour upon dreary hour crept by, hot and ponderous on his lungs, and in his mind he directed violence to the poor, innocent guards who were only doing their jobs. Once he even wept.
When the final bell rang, Setzer collected his paperwork and Daryl and loaded them into his carriage, directing the driver to make a course for the Imperial Palace. He told her of what he had found out and his intentions. Daryl looked up at him with grateful eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"I don't know if I can get rid of them," he told her with a pat on her arm and a kiss on the cheek, "but I'm sure I can reduce their number, if anything."
"Do you think he'll give you an audience on such short notice?"
"Of course. Remember, my dear madam, that I am the one of the only two people in the whole wide world who owns an airship. I am a great contributor to Vector's economical well-being. I have clout. The secretaries and guards know me. I may have to burn some gold, but I will be heard."
They arrived at the palace courtyard; Setzer helped Daryl out and slipped his arm around her back, saying, "Let's go, you and I. I'm already thinking I oughtn't have brought you along, to be perfectly candid. I know you don't like politics. But this appertains to us both. But let me do the talking."
"Certainly. You're better at that sort thing."
They went along through the halls to a room just outside the audience chamber. Here people who did not have official appointments for hearings vied for a vacant spot in the Emperor's schedule. The head secretary, who knew Setzer, looked up and listened to the young man's request.
"I'll tell him as soon as the person in there is heard out, Mr. Gabbiani."
Praise be to all the gods that he was rich! Setzer barely settled himself down in his chair before the secretary rose, disappeared, and returned again.
"He will see you now. In his private chambers."
Setzer nodded for Daryl to follow, and they ran the usual gamut of guards and inspections. They entered the room, prompting Gestahl to stand from his seat at their arrival. He did not look in the least surprised to see them.
"I trust that this is of the most catastrophic importance, Mr. Gabbiani, for you to have interrupted my court."
"Your Excellency, I intend no intrusion on your time, but this matter is important to me. Why have you dispatched so many soldiers to my factories? It has caused distress among my workers. Majesty, you know that I myself am capable of upgrading safety procedures easily. I do not see why you should go through so much trouble for me. You only had to give the word."
"Mr. Gabbiani, you claim to be the best of businessmen, and yet you do not know what goes on around you," the Emperor said. "Or, more to the point, you simply aren't paying any attention. I tell you now that the Empire requires stricter supervision of its industries. Sending out my soldiers ensures that I know what is going on a moment's notice. It is imperative that I am aware of everything. There is much unrest on the borders, resistance is great. General Leo's been slogging it out for months in the deserts trying to stave off guerrillas, and even still they managed to infiltrate into Vector itself. Remember I decreed that all businesses were to be closely monitored to improve production and to prevent becoming targets for attacks. Even yours, Mr. Gabbiani! There is always some mob of idiots out there that think they can accomplish the downfall of a government by blowing things sky high."
"Your Excellency, my workers--"
"I have received no complaints from anyone else, Mr. Gabbiani. Perhaps you've had too free a rein for too long. We shall renegotiate our charter very soon, I fear. And for the moment, I will not dismiss one soldier from his assignment at your factories. Dis--"
"That's a pack of lies! We're not just the common middle-class people that're ignorant of the things going on," Daryl blurted out. "We know what's up, and it's not nearly as dangerous as you say." Setzer looked at her in horror; he attempted to raise his arm to silence her, but his limbs were limp.
"Don't try me, impudent girl!" Gestahl's breath warned through clenched teeth as he pointed at her. "For years I have showered favor upon you both, but if you give me insolence one more time, I'll hurl you both down to dust!"
Setzer grabbed Daryl by the shoulders and swiftly swept her out of the chambers, ignoring her struggles. She made to grab at the sills of each door they passed through, but he shoved her along steadily and none too gently.
He was frightened, terribly frightened, for the expression on the Emperor's face had been wrath incarnate. Setzer could only thank Stray that they hadn't been both incarcerated on the spot. But he was mostly angry. They had accomplished nothing and had angered the Emperor on top of that all because of her waggling tongue, gods damn it!
Directing Daryl into one of the byways surrounding the palace gates, he started to shout at her. "Woman, don't you realize what you've done? You've just gone and insulted the fucking Emperor! Now we'll never be rid of them."
Daryl lowered her head and said softly: "I am so sorry, Setzer."
Setzer wanted to tell her to apologize to the Emperor, not to him, but he discarded that impulse. Men are constantly apologizing to their lovers, usually once a day if they're well-behaved, but when a woman admits wrong to her man, it is a special occurrence indeed.
He pulled her close and ran his fingers through her hair. "No tears, now. I wouldn't have been able to convince him, anyway."
"You're right, though. We'll never be rid of them," Daryl sniffled into his coat front.
"It can't last forever. Come, let's go home."
"I'm worried, Setzer. He broke his word. What if he decides to make more airships? He might get a spy in the factories to steal the plans, or else force us to give them up."
"I know what to do. We'll go to the vaults and take out the more important plans, the blueprints for the engines and such. We'll burn the lot."
*************
The next morning, Daryl refused to get out of bed. "I am not going back there," she declared from her fortress of pillows and blankets. "I can't."
If this behavior seems irrationally stubborn, bear in mind that Daryl's life had been one of almost unbridled freedom, with very few authority figures. She could only take so much supervision. Her breaking point was thin, and when she felt oppressed, she disobeyed almost out of sheer hysteria.
Setzer knew her well enough to have discovered this long ago. Of course she could just stay home while he traipsed off to the grindstone, but he was not enthusiastic about returning to the office/garrison either. Going without Daryl seemed a terribly lonely prospect, and the long days and nights of paperwork and deliveries had taken a toll on his physical strength.
Surely, he mused, it would not harm anything to take a short vacation. Ratchet can take care of things for such a short period of time. I've earned a rest.
Yes--why not? Ratchet was not liked around the business, but he was respected and trusted; he lacked ambition. It was Ratchet who ran the overall pace of things while Setzer was away on deliveries--a short break would not be a strain on him.
"Well, if that's how you feel about it, we can delay if for a little while. I say a nice three-day break will do us wonders. It will help you get adjusted."
Brown eyes peeped out warily from the covers. "You better not be lying."
"Oh, dearest, I am hurt!" He clutched at his chest. "Where is the trust?"
"I think I lost a tad of it when someone spilled a whole glass of wine on my best shirt and said that Benedick did it."
"You can't prove anything. But, seriously, I mean it. We'll take the airships and have ourselves a grand holiday. Just the sky, the ships, and thou. It's a good idea, eh?"
"Hot damn!" She leapt out of the bed and ransacked the room for her clothes and spare changes for the trip. "Don't just stand there grinning at me! Get packed!"
Setzer chuckled and bent down to gather up the scattered sheets and pillows from the floor. "It's like a snow day," he told her, "except I am the one who decides who gets the time off and when it happens! Wow. Gods, I have become a god."
"You'll be the God of Missing Teeth if you don't hurry up. Get dressed."
************
Sound travels remarkably clear and strong through the upper air, making communication very easy. Setzer and Daryl stayed in touch without any radio--all they had to do was be able to shout over the engines.
"This is great!" Daryl hollered. "I was made for this stuff. I'm the queen! THE QUEEN, I TELL YOU! Setzer, answer me: WHO'S THE QUEEN?!"
"You are, snookums!" he yelled back. They were on their third day of vacation and heading back towards Vector, engines running at top speed.
The hiatus had done wonders for them both; the moment they had left the ground, Setzer felt happy and light, all his troubles below seeming far away and petty. He soon forgot about them in favor of focusing on teasing Daryl while they raced.
No particular destination has been set. They had gone wherever they wanted to go, only stopping to refuel. At night, one of them went onto the other's airship and they brought out soft feather-stuffed pallets and warm blankets up on the top deck. They slept under the stars, the cool nocturnal breezes fanning their faces while they wrapped their arms about each other, keeping deliciously warm.
On the second night, Setzer had whispered to Daryl, "It's been a lovely little break, but tomorrow we've got to go back home."
"I don't want to."
"Neither do I. But Daryl, we can't just go flying off whenever something we don't like happens. It's no way to live. You know I can't abandon the workers. If I'm gone too long, I'll never catch up."
She had then rolled over on her side, facing away from him. "I know. I just don't think I can stand it."
He reached out and gently twirled a strand of her hair around his finger, responding, "Of course you can. You're a tough lady. We'll stick it out together."
"I guess I shouldn't complain." She turned back to him with a gamely smile, and her eyes crinkled up with her old mischief. "I swear, tomorrow is going to be epic."
Daryl had been as good as her word. All day she had been doing all sorts of crazy stunts and whirling dives while going steadily higher. It was all Setzer could do just to keep up with her, let alone pass her.
"Ohhhhh," he sang out, "there's nothing like flying, nooo, there's nothing like flying, and that's good enough for meeee!" He had performed hundreds of missions in two years, but each time the same ecstasy sang through his body. He would never grow tired of it, not with a million flights.
From the Blackjack's deck, he saw a small black and red shape (Daryl) turn slightly away from the Falcon's steering wheel.
"Come on!" she yelled. "Stop lagging back there! Or maybe you like chewing on my wake! WUSS!"
"Listen to you!" Setzer laughed back. "I've never seen you go so fast. You'd better watch out, Ms. Let's-Crash-Into-the-Palace-and-Kill-the Emperor Spielen! I've got some tricks of my own."
"I mean it! This time is for real, Setzer. I'm going to break every record. I'll be known as the woman who flew the closest to the stars! No, not woman--person!"
"We're almost at Vector, Daryl," he admonished.
"Come on, please? Go back if you want, but I'm not done yet. You haven't seen nothing."
"Okay, okay. Do what you wish. Just meet me back at our hill at sunset."
The red and black blur that was Daryl raised its arm and fluttered something at him--probably her hand. "No worries!"
Setzer banked off towards the right and momentarily began to circle the hill; he found a suitable place and landed.
He walked up to the very beak of the prow and sat gracefully on it, dangling his legs over the sides, shifting his bones to retain his balance even in the gustiest wind. The young man had no intention of reporting to work that day, and he didn't much feel like going back home.
Pulling out the glass and metal card-darts from his coat, Setzer amused himself by spreading the cards out into suits, stacking them, watching the sun glint off their veneer, playing solitaire.
The air was very still. Every bird cry and the noises from the city wafted up to his ears clear and true. He ignored them and continued playing.
Quite without warning, his hands jerked involuntarily. His right index finger slid down the razor edge of a card, slitting the skin and drawing a thin line of blood. Setzer cried softly out in surprise and wrapped a handkerchief around the slice.
A strange sound sounded in his ears, a sound he had not been aware of it until he had hurt himself. Sometimes, when he was alone, as all people do, he heard someone's voice--his mother's, his father's, or one he didn't recognize--speak in his ear, yet with nobody around but himself. This was the same type of sound. It was silvery yet strident, with a hint of a dull roar.
What had been that queer sensation in his head? Setzer did not know. He wished Daryl was with him.
I can wait, he thought to himself, staring off at the horizon. Any moment, she'll come zooming up and boast about what she did. I only wish she'd hurry up.
The skyline tinged with gold and rose, then dusky lavender. Crickets chirped and owls hooted. Setzer could barely see his hands in front of his face. Daryl had not come.
Light burst in front of his eyes, nearly toppling him; a hand grasped his shoulder and steadied him. Setzer looked at the intruder.
"Master, why do ye tarry here long following th' sun?" Benedick, holding a lantern aloft in one hand, peered down at him. "I'd expected ye to be near half-dead from the night's flaw. Come out from the cold."
Setzer became aware of a deep aching in his joints--every time he moved something groaned. So stiff was he that he needed Benedick to help him to his feet.
"Has Daryl come home yet?" Setzer asked.
Benedick started. "No, Master. I did think Ladybird to be with ye these past three days."
"We came back today, but she wanted to fly a little longer. She didn't come back?"
The old man gave Setzer a hearty slap on the back, eliciting a wince. "Do not cudgel the brain with gloom, Master. I do expect that Ladybird flew overlong and could not finish the trip back here 'fore nightfall. Expect her in the morning. Now to bed with ye."
*************
One year. Three hundred and sixty five days; eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours; five hundred twenty five thousand and six hundred minutes; thirty one million and five hundred thirty six thousand seconds.
Ratchet informed Setzer on the first day after the vacation that Daryl had not reported in at the hangar. She had not come home.
How he pulled off a calm, professional facade was a mystery even to himself. At work Setzer acted somewhat like he always had, but at his house, he dropped everything. On the first day he paced around his room, mumbling to himself, very annoyed. On the second he became worried. On the third he grew angry, shouting out threats of "No more flying for you, wench!" and other such rot to the empty air. The servants found him quite intolerable.
Then the fear set in. It hung around Setzer at all times, present in the vague disquiet in his chest, the pangs of great loneliness. It was especially acute at night, when he drifted off to sleep and there was no warmth next to him. In his hazy thoughts before dreams he felt certain that he would never see her again.
Yet through the long, dusty days and empty nights, he did not accept defeat, even as the months dragged by, holding out longer than any rational man could. How he could do this was a simple matter of vocation. Gamblers are easily the most hopeful breed of people in the world. They squander their money and precious time for living in the smoke-filled casinos on the expectation that one day, someday, they will call the right number or pick the right card or get the right slot machine combination and become rich. Day after day they live with this hope. Setzer easily transferred his gambler's patience to focusing on Daryl's return.
He did other things as well. Every night before bed he got down on his knees and prayed like a schoolboy, promising to go straight, promising to donate money to charities in the gods' names if they would only return his Daryl to him. He meant every word, too. Every day when he came home, hesitating at the front door, he would close his eyes and imagine that once the door was open, Daryl would come out to greet him, throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. He didn't know how he would respond--it was a matter of either embracing her or choking her. He would determine that later. But only Benedick greeted him at the door.
Of course, he searched for her. He reported Daryl's missing status to the police, hired a small army of detectives, hounds, and forensic scientists to hunt for any trace of her. He offered rewards for any information on her whereabouts. He searched himself, too, via the Blackjack, but due to all the constraints his business put on him, he could do very little personal investigation.
One year. For one whole year he searched and prayed and hoped; he could do nothing else.
It all ended with three words. Ratchet appeared at the door one day, poking his head through; the two men locked gazes.
"We," Ratchet announced, "have found her."
*************
On the extreme northeastern edge of the world was a large island in the shape of a triangle. No-one inhabited it, for the ghosts of strange, terrible beasts haunted the rugged land and any attempts to colonize the place had ended in secret midnight slaughter, only the tatters of tents and shards of bone and cloth left behind to tell the tale. As aforementioned, the land was not very good, so there seemed little point it men risking their lives for such an unworthy plot.
In this island, aptly but unimaginatively dubbed Triangle Island, was a small swath of desert land cutting through the very center. It was here that Setzer, guided by Ratchet, directed the Blackjack.
The young man stood tall and restrained at the wheel, his face set in an expression he usually wore for poker matches. The news weighed heavy upon his heart, slowly crumpling it, but he felt oddly hollow and calm.
"Is she alive?" he had asked Ratchet.
"Sir, what a question! She's as dead as dead can be. Even if the crash didn't kill her, one can hardly expect to her survive for a year under ten feet of sand."
And there it was. Ratchet did not lie, yet Setzer didn't quite believe him. Only when he had seen the body with his own eyes would he concede himself beaten.
Flying low, Setzer saw boats beached on the shores and a small cluster of tents dotting the stretch of desert, at the edge of a large pit. He circled around once before settling for a landing.
"I must warn you," Ratchet said as he led Setzer, Benedick trailing close behind, to one of the larger tents, "she is not a pretty sight."
He lifted up the flap and ushered them in. The tent had nothing in it except a long table, upon which lay a form shrouded in a heavy cloth. Setzer stepped forward and lifted up one corner of the shroud.
Aromas of dust and sand sifted up into his nose, blinding him momentarily. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked down.
The sand had well preserved Daryl's face and neck as best it could. The skin of her face had turned into parchment, desiccated of all pliant moisture. Her hair had turned brittle and hard as straw; blood mottled patches here and there, soot streaked the forehead. It was a dull sight.
"What's wrong? Is the face strange to you?" Ratchet asked.
Setzer stumbled, his shaking knees falling to the earth, hands clutching at the sides of the table. In his peripheral vision, he saw Ratchet advance. Strong fingers pinched his nose; in a matter of moments he gasped for air.
Ratchet forced a draught from a small blue bottle down Setzer's throat, grunting something to someone--Benedick--about a pain-killing medicine distilled from the crushed seeds of certain poppies. Setzer did not understand most of it, for his eyes began to swim. A numb sensation spread throughout his chest, as if Ratchet had taken a hypodermic needle and injected Novocain straight into his heart.
What's going on? I feel frozen. No, it's like I'm made of stone. This, one thought echoed faintly, is how Ratchet feels.
Suddenly, all seemed clear and harmonious, utterly peaceful; Setzer had never experienced the like. His thoughts were scrambled, but what came out of his mouth was lucid and calm.
"Take the body back to Vector and have it prepared for burial. She shall have a great tomb to rest in, a splendid tomb. Near Kohlingen."
"Why Kohlingen, Master?" Benedick whispered, looking fearfully between Ratchet and Setzer.
"Who cares? The country around there is beautiful. There's plenty of room there to build a tomb. Also, I don't want only burial chambers. I want one huge storage room, big enough for an airship."
"These words are naught but wild and whirling, Master! Ye plan to inhume an airship with poor Ladybird?"
"Yes. Ratchet, I want you to restore the Falcon for me. Do it anyway you please just as long as it looks like it once did. I can't do it myself. I can't bear to look at it."
"How droll!" Ratchet almost sighed. "You would have thought she was a queen of the old deserts. They were buried with all of their worldly belongings for the afterlife too."
"Oh, shut up. Gods...I feel so tired," Setzer slurred.
"The Divine Mixture does have that effect on first-time users. You'll get used to it after about a week. Take it twice daily until I say otherwise," Ratchet said.
"All right, all right. Do whatever you want. But...What's the use?" Setzer stumbled again. Benedick barely caught him before he hit the floor.
Somnolent urges laced every limb of Setzer's body; he closed his eyes and felt his body being lifted up, rubbery legs dangling over. Bristly hairs (Benedick's whiskers) tickled his face, but he was too tired to sneeze.
Benedick had lifted him up like a rag doll and was carrying Setzer to the Blackjack. Passing under the flap, Setzer cracked open an eye and murmured softly: "Gone."
*************
Building a tomb requires a deal of investment in labor, time, and capital, and the preparations are incredibly boring. If he had known how dull the whole set up was, Setzer probably would have never thought of undertaking the project, even if he actually didn't have to do much of anything.
After seeing the body and Falcon's wreckage brought back to Vector, Setzer went up into his room and lay in his favorite armchair. The Divine Mixture was strong--it made him very tired that sometimes he could not think. He did not report to the garrison/factory; Benedick, hovering around at all times now, brought the paperwork and reports to the room. When he wasn't working, he slept. He did not want to bothered with tombs. It was only by his inevitable dumb luck that anything was built at all.
A letter had come from the Emperor, expressing condolences for the loss and offering to pay for the tomb's construction. Men and machines were sent to the land around Kohlingen to survey a good location and swiftly began to dig. As for statues, decor, and other design matters, Benedick took charge of those. The Doman took his decisions to Setzer for approval, but the young man had nothing outstanding to say.
"What think you on this cloth for wall hangings, Master?"
"Nnng."
"Do these flowers take your fancy, Master?"
"Grag."
The only time Setzer took any initiative was on the matter of the door's inscription. Benedick came into the room bearing a small golden plaque and held it up to his master's face.
"Here is the plaque for the tomb's door, Master. What think you on it?
Setzer's eyes nearly popped out of his as he read:
DARYL RESTS HERE
Thou will come no more, alas, alas
No more shall thy presence grace us
With the sweet love, life, and spirit
That warmed the hearts of many
Thou will come no more, alas, alas!
"BENEDICK!!!" Setzer shouted, leaping out of his chair, scattering papers everywhere. "Did you write that?"
"By my troth, I did not," Benedick gibbered beseechingly, raising his hands in supplication.
"I'm very glad of that, because if you had, I would have fired you. May whoever wrote that be dragged out into the street and shot!"
"I take it ye do not fancy it."
"Hell, no. Such things are grounds for libel, Benedick. Here." He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down the words GO AWAY. "Use that."
"Are ye certain, Master, that this is any more of an improvement?" Benedick queried, eyeing the new inscription warily.
"Dead certain! It's what she would have wanted. She'd have gotten a kick out of it."
"Very well."
"Wait. I suppose we can still use that old inscription. We'll put it somewhere deep inside on a wall or something, where nobody can see."
"Yes, Master."
While all these preparations went on, Ratchet worked with a small crew of assistants on restoring the Falcon. The project proved quite formidable: both main engines were damaged beyond all repair and had to be completely reconstructed. It was lucky for them that Setzer had not burned the sketches of the engine plans; Ratchet could fill in the holes from memory.
Everything took a month and a half to complete. During this time, Daryl's body was sent to the embalmer's, where she was treated with chemicals and herbs to prevent any further deterioration. Little else could be done except to clean the wounds and anoint the skin to make it less parched. When all was ready, she was taken from Vector to a small hamlet off to the southwest of Kohlingen that was near the site of the tomb. It was there that the funeral was scheduled to take place.
***********
Tradition dictated that, before the proper funeral ceremonies, the dead body was to be laid out in a special building for friends and family to take one last look before burial. It was more of a social gathering than anything else, a time for people to congregate and express sorrow amongst themselves before the priest took over. Almost everyone there was a friend of Setzer's, for none of Daryl's kind had the funds to make the trip over to Kohlingen, and Setzer was in no condition to ferry people over on the Blackjack. He did pay for her mother's passage, as well as Benedick's, and for a few employees, including Mulciber, who had desired to express their sympathy. They had grown fond of Daryl.
Tears were abundant at the scene, women constantly wiping their eyes and men blowing into handkerchiefs. Setzer, dry-eyed, sat alone in the corner as everyone waited for the body, currently being touched up a bit, to be brought out of the back rooms. He had taken his daily dose two hours before, and the drowsy apathy was still on him. He was aware of where he was, but he did not care, nor did he want to be there. He wished himself back into his room.
"Poor man, poor man," one of the women mourners whispered to her husband, "he won't cry. And it looks like he hasn't slept at all since the accident."
Setzer heard her words, but they meant nothing to him. He sat by the corner, waiting, and his heart was hard and dry.
"He must do something, or something will give," whispered another. "He might go crazy."
Mulciber and a riveter, the only people from the factory who had come to the pre-funeral ceremonies, went up to Setzer and spoke softly to him.
"Boy," Mulciber growled, not without kindness, "it's hard, I know. But life goes on. Stop being so damn dramatic. I know what you're goin' through. My wife left me all alone with a worthless nephew, but I didn't starve myself or stop sleepin' like a zombie. Gods, it hurt. But believe me, if an old son of a bitch like me can get over it, you can, too. Do somethin'."
Setzer looked up at Mulciber with dry eyes and said not a word.
"That was good sense there," the riveter said. "It's not helping anyone to act like this. Do you think she cares? Her worries are over. You gotta go on with your business. Myself, I lost gods know how many friends and family members in the service of the army, but it didn't stop me. Two brothers, an uncle, and ten friends, gone and buried forever in foreign soil. Life's a bitch, but it's all we have. Stop wasting it."
Setzer still did not say anything. The people began to whisper even more between themselves; everyone fidgeted and cast anxious glances.
A shadow fell in the door. Benedick awkwardly made his way in and mumbled apologies to all as he passed through them quite gracelessly. The old Doman conferred with Mulciber and the other man a pace; he then quietly patted Setzer's shoulder.
"Dear Master, I pray you, come with me speedily. I wish to show ye something."
Setzer let Benedick take him by the hand and guide him through a series of doors, going deeper and deeper, following the signs, until they came to the room where Daryl's corpse was held. Benedick, much to the protest of the embalmers, forced his way in, his old body showing some of his former Samurai vigor.
On a table, shrouded in a white cloth with only her head poking out, lay Daryl. Setzer felt his heart churn for a single beat.
Benedick gently sat Setzer down at the end of the table. The old man lifted Daryl's head and set it in Setzer's lap, glaring balefully at the embalmers, some of whom had stepped forward.
"Keep thy distance, or I'll trounce thee!" He turned to Setzer and said: "Look upon her that thou didst love, Master, and embrace her as if she lived."
Setzer bent his head and looked at the closed, blinded eyes, the poor hair and dumb, cold mouth. He felt a pain in his chest, and he gave a loud cry; tears sprang from his eyes and he thrust the head off his knees. He ran out of the room and did not stop until he reached the opening to the tomb.
There he sank down into a ball next to the door and wept for that bright girl who had flown too high.