Chapter 81: Sita Surveys the Landscape

Sun December 6, 2074 6:22pm: Nulle Part, Strangetown



Sita was not an itinerant soldier but a sentinel, and she could not keep marching forever. Upon every horizon, etherial cisterns glimmered and taunted. Sita's hair was fixed away from her face, hardened by no more than the memory of sweat. Her eyes did not water from dust clouds that never settled, nor did they close with ease. Strangetown was an empty kiln that hissed all around her like an hourglass or a striking snake.



"Coyote!" Sita jumped at the sound of Orion's voice so close behind her, delivering such a gleeful warning. Her eyes darted about the parameter. "That's what the tribesman used to call him! Coyote Tvaud, the Desert Wolf." Orion leaned in close over Sita's shoulder. She could not feel the heat of his breath in the grip of the desert wind but she could smell it-- base animal protein and the filth of distances. "If not for that blind, limping puppy you and I would not be standing here today. It was he who saved the life of our ancestor, Jira Muenda, and it is for him that we are both named." Sita tried to stop walking but Orion pushed her gruffly along. Part of her wanted to ask him what he was on about. Part of her was not certain that she cared. Still another part of her knew how he liked to hear himself talk.



"And Coyote is dead, you know. They sifted the bones out of Blue Lake back when you were still just an egg in a petri dish." Orion sidled up to her so that she might feel the full effect of his expression, which was less a smile than an upturned scowl. "I bet you were too cute for words back then. Really wish I'd thought to take a few home videos but alas, I was indisposed."  A bank of clouds passed over the sun and the hard lines of his face shifted. His eyes lit like embers in the gloaming. Orion Specter was a grotesque. He coughed into the back of his hand. His elbow collided with Sita's shoulder as his arm shot up to cover his mouth. The fit lasted for a few brief seconds, during which Sita listened to the web of mucus collected in his chest. Whatever was wrong with her captor, it seemed to be getting worse. When the coughing subsided, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her forward once more.



"This is nice isn't it? Just the two of us out for a breezy autumn stroll like father and unholy abomination." His voice was becoming increasing hoarse. Fatigue assailed Sita throughout. Her knees buckled beneath her. Orion took a fistful of her collar, pushing her ahead. "But what piques my curiosity-- What really tickles my proverbial pickle, is the need to know why you were made at all. And by whom? Surely, your creation was beyond the feeble intellects of Drs. Beaker and Beaker. What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? Et cetera." Orion coughed only once. Sita picked up her feet as best she could but kept her silence. Even if she wanted to hold a conversation with this jackal, her sun-blistered lips and arid mouth were sealed shut.

"I get the sense that there are at least two of you. Your psyche is as tight as a drum and I can't hear your thoughts, but when I look you in the eye you feel... Incomplete, no?" Sita did not know what he was trying to lead her into but he could talk forever and never oblige her to respond. Even now, she thought that she could smell Sutekh's blood baked into the fibers of his clothing. "Male, I think. Your counterpart would be male. A brother. Stop me when I stray from the truth." Sita had no intention of doing any such thing. Orion grabbed her arm and wheeled about until they were facing one another. He bent down to look into her face. Sita's jaw clenched and unclenched. If she could have been granted one wish in that moment, it would have been for the ability to spit in his face.



"You play defense and he plays offense, is this not true?" Sita could see down the front of Orion's institutional clothes, to his pronounced clavicle and sunken chest. She wondered what paper clip and ball of twine had been keeping him together for all of this time. He should have collapsed days ago. Orion gripped her by both arms, shaking her as he spoke. "Who is the opposition?" Sita lowered her eyelids. She might have fallen asleep standing at this point. "What are you meant to fight?" Sita began to tip forward. Orion supported her weight. His eyebrows lowered and his nostrils flared menacingly. He was losing patience with her. If he took his hands away, she would fall but her exhaustion was such that it did not matter what he did. Nothing mattered.

A thought occurred to Sita as she nodded in and out of sleep. She had introduced herself to him as Spawn 002. Of course there were at least two of her. This tiny lie of his spoke volumes, even more than the frustration on his face. The Daemon Lotan was stumped. So long as he could not garner any information from her, she could not be manipulated.



"Want to know what I think?" Orion crept closer to her, sliding his scorched feet through the sand. "I think you look an awful lot like that Goth bitch and the resemblance is not accidental. I think that Mortimer Goth was both hammer and chain." His tone was increasing in pitch, wearing thin. Whatever he wanted from her, he was at his wits' end. Sita surveyed his peeling skin, his bloodshot eyes, the cracked landscape of his face. He could talk forever, moving like he knew no fatigue or thirst but the evidence spoke for its self. Orion was a life in decline. "Kvornan Tricou." The name emerged as a low growl. Sita looked up at him wearily. It was more of a response than she should have granted him.



Orion spun around, laughing in triumph. Sita's eyes had revealed a certain truth after all. The daemon shouted into the sky, soliciting an audience of the clouds.

"Of course! Of course this science fair project is meant to kill the Sheut! Everything comes down to him for you feckless apes! I wonder, what will you do with yourselves after he's dead? Play tiddlywinks in the parlor and reminiscence? Holy hell!" Orion turned on the spot.



"Allow me to let you in on a little secret, just between pals: Kvornan Tricou is not some dark and spectral omega. He's nothing but a sniveling brat who has been confined to the dinner table until he eats his vegetables. Now, I know what you might be thinking, 'But Orion, he doesn't want to serve! He wants his own free will! He chose vampirism and suicide and murder and--' Blah, blah, blah who gives a shit? He's Proximus Deus and if he wants a choice, it's because they're prepared to give him one. Either he serves in heaven or he reigns elsewhere." Orion swiveled his hips away from her to cough into the crook of his elbow. Sita thought she saw spots of blood mixed in with his saliva.

"Or at least that's just what I think," he said. Orion yanked her forward by the wrist. "Come along, Sita Tvaud! Mustn't be late for our appointment with your rescue party."