Chapter 1: Dark Industry

Janus squinted against the penetrating light. He lifted his hand and turned his head in search of shadow. Orion had summoned him to this place beneath the world, and the subterranean pathways that had brought him were lit only by the dim luminescence of the guardian moss. After a few moments of pain, Janus’s vision began to adapt, and the Seneschal took stock of his surroundings.

He stood at the doorway to a sterilized chamber. Blazing, artificial light flooded the room, revealing four bare walls unbroken by windows or adornments. Orion stood with his back to the entrance obscuring with his body a metallic slab overspilling with tubes and wires.

Janus was a well-muscled man, clothed in the uniform black of his station. He moved with the practiced grace of an accomplished swordsman. Even among the Seneschal, he had a reputation as a competent and contemplative man. Few among the residents of Edentown held higher positions, yet Janus suffered the presence of a master now.

The Seneschal attempted to discern the source of the chamber’s illumination, to no avail. The blinding radiance was impenetrable. Janus turned in defeat, blinking away the afterimages that blackened his sight.

The room provoked a sense of vulnerability. The slippery, polished surface of the walls and floors glistened in a way the warrior found disturbing. Janus had done enough night work to understand the need for a chamber resistant to blood-spatter. Dark industry had conceived this place. The Seneschal’s attention turned to a drain beneath the central slab.

Flooded to wash the filth away, he thought. How efficient.

Orion gave no acknowledgment of the Seneschal’s arrival, but Janus knew Orion was aware of his presence. Janus had never seen Orion surprised by anything. Orion was physically smaller than Janus, but his dominating presence was almost as oppressive as the blinding light. He wore a light blue apron over a gray shirt. Orion’s hair was white, but the man was athletic, strong and stood with no bend in his back.

Janus found it difficult to peer past Orion to see what horror the table held. Then again, maybe his subconscious had guessed and his senses conspired to spare him the confirmation.

Orion spoke without offering any salutation or explanation as to why Janus had been summoned.

“I remember a time,” Orion said, “when there were toilets available for public use. Pleasant structures designed to provide relief when you found yourself in need away from the comfort of your home.” Orion tugged at a pair of rubber gloves that extended just past the fleshy part of his palm. His face screwed up in an expression of disgust. “The walls became stained with fecal matter. You could see fingerprints in the filth.” Orion’s nose wrinkled at the unpleasant thought. “They’d trace out figures . . . perhaps write their names. What place is there for a breed of sub-human that would perform such acts?”

Janus didn’t answer. He was keenly aware that the familiar weight of the sword on his belt was missing. The Seneschal had been asked to surrender the weapon at a checkpoint some hundred yards back. It had been a ceremonial gesture, Janus was certain Orion had no fear of a man armed with a mere blade.

Orion was untouchable.

How old is he? What secrets does he keep?

In the brilliant light, Janus could not focus on the questions. As Orion moved, Janus’s eyes continued to adapt, he caught glimpses of the bundle on the table. An opaque brown sheet covered an object of considerable bulk. Tubes of various sizes and colors ran out from beneath and connected to boxes and cylinders standing behind the slab. Janus stepped forward and caught a scent which caused him to choke back a gag.

“In my youth,” Orion continued, “I used to gather young people together to share knowledge. Not my choice,” he clarified, turning back to gaze directly at Janus for the first time; “the task was forced upon me.”

Orion turned and grabbed the corner of the brown sheet that covered the slab. With a sharp motion, he pulled the obstructing canvas away.

Janus gasped at the revealed horror.

Upon the table was the body of a human being. The torso had been cloven down the middle and pried open with clamps. Four thick restraining straps held the poor creature down, with additional restraints at the ankles, wrists and neck. Every limb had large swaths of the skin peeled away. Hundreds of lines of white thread kept the chunks of flesh in suspended positions above or to the side of their natural location. The face was covered with a mask connected to the largest of the mysterious tubes.

Orion reached out to the body. With great care, he caressed the creature’s shoulder. Beneath his light touch, the mutilated man on the slab twitched.

Janus stepped back in shock.

“He lives?” he said, surprised to hear the horror in his voice. Surely Orion heard it as well, and Janus feared his slip would have consequences.

But Orion continued, seemingly oblivious to the transgression.

“I used to teach,” he said, “and you must understand the value of my lessons. For thousands of years, great men and women have toiled in obscurity, driven by a special sort of madness, dedicating the sum of their lives to the distillation of truth. This type of person exhibits a unique and special form of insanity. They are willing to forsake family, wealth, love, and the admiration of their peers for the hope of some abstract, fleeting instant of enlightenment. Can you imagine?” Orion looked up, and Janus had to correct his expression to something more appropriate than a reflection of the horror on the slab. Orion shrugged and looked back to his labors. “The scholar’s sacrifice was collected in the form of minuscule droplets compiled and passed down for generations. This distillation went on for centuries, and by the time the knowledge was entrusted to me, they had amassed gallons!”

Blood stained Orion’s rubber-encased fingers. Janus was no stranger to blood, but he did not endure stains on his clothing when necessity had passed. Orion seemed not to care.

“I would freely distribute this concentrated genius won by suffering.” An edge entered Orion’s voice. “Yet my charges had the temerity to come to my lectures intoxicated! You’d smell it upon them, see the displacement in their vacant eyes, and the whole enterprise was reduced through their disengagement. They mocked the sacrifice of the brave pioneers who had given everything.”

Orion pushed aside bits of flesh in his subject’s torso. He let out a long whistle.

“What is it?” Janus asked.

“Do you see that?” Orion pointed into the chest cavity. The tone of his voice had changed; curiosity replaced the consternation of his prior discourse.

Janus peered forward but could make no sense of what he saw. There seemed to be only a chaotic mass of internal organs and blood.

“The adrenal gland,” Orion said. “The color is wrong and it’s three times larger than it should be. This is a new manifestation, almost as if there has been a chemical change.”

Orion pulled back his hands and stood for a moment, a pensive look on his face. Again, Janus found himself disconcerted. Orion’s consciousness seemed to have flown, with only a husk of disanimate flesh remaining. Yet after a moment, Orion’s full presence returned.

“The Bliss is responsible, of course; that’s why they’re so strong after years of use. If only there was some way to keep the benefits of strength while eliminating the additional aggression.” Orion glanced at Janus. “Think how much more effective they’d be.” He looked back at the body, “But something else seems to be have happened to this subject, something I haven’t seen before.”

Orion grew contemplative. He stepped back from the slab and walked over to a small basin with a pitcher of water. Janus was only too pleased to step away from the mutilated subject on the table as well.

As Orion washed his hands, he called over his shoulder. “It has been weeks since Cassius went out after Adam Lockhart. I think we can safely assume that he is dead.”

“Lockhart?” Janus replied.

“No, Cassius.”

Janus’s head snapped up. “Surely he has only been delayed. Should we not hold out hope he will send word soon?”

“His messages stopped a week ago.”

Janus tried to process the information. Cassius had been among the strongest of the Seneschal. “Who could have killed Cassius; surely not that feeble old man?” he asked.

Orion finished rinsing his hands and dried them with a towel. He approached Janus.

“Somebody has discovered ambition,” he said, tilting his head in reflection. “The culprit is nameless now, but time will draw him out. Every idiot thinks he should have been higher born, that his shoulders can bear the burden of leadership. Watch the coward wither at the first glancing touch of the prize. The neck of a low-born usurper is crushed by the weight of a crown.”

Orion smiled as if at some private joke.

Janus’s eyes returned to the body. Following his gaze, Orion spoke. “It’s easy to hide in the shadows and cast stones at a leader of men. But when the leader stands tall and absorbs all assaults while continuing in stoic competence, the true nature of the revolutionaries is revealed. They are dregs with but a fragmented grasp of the larger picture, and must be trained in obedience. Order is not a natural state; it must be forced — with violence, if necessary. If it is not so, the upstarts stumble haphazardly onto just enough strength to wreak havoc on the plans of greater men. I can think of no more selfish act than to disrupt the machinations of a functioning system merely because a single individual feels slighted by his lot.”

“Certainly not,” Janus agreed.

Orion gave Janus an appraising look. The moment endured, and Orion’s straight white teeth glinted with predatory malice.

“Good,” he said finally.

Janus sensed a dismissal and was tempted to take his leave, but the Seneschal’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Who was he?” the warrior asked, making a casual gesture toward the dissected subject.

Orion turned with a confused and slightly perturbed expression, and then laughed. “Oh, a slave. He might live for another day, which would be advantageous since it is better to observe an operational system.”

Janus went quiet. In almost a whisper, he asked, “Did he have a name?”

Orion scoffed. “Probably, if only for the sake of the master’s convenience. You know how slaves are; unless you are specific about designating a task, they all plead confusion.”

Janus nodded. He wanted to look away from the torment before him, but on impulse decided to hold his gaze. He stared at the mutilated human being strapped down on the table. He memorized what he saw for the purposes of later reflection. There was value in comprehending what Orion could do. Janus wasn’t sure how he felt at the sight, but some part of the horrific image resonated to the core of his being.

Orion came to stand beside the Seneschal.

“Remember, my friend; as you climb, you encounter both assistance and opposition, but the peak is solely populated with those who would pull you down.”

Janus felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

“Here’s something to direct your meditation.” Orion gestured at the table. “This one earned his fate. What must his transgression have been? You are a reflective man; I’ve always appreciated that about you.”

“Was he one of those who painted with his own excrement?” Janus offered.

Orion snorted and shook his head.

“No . . . he’s guilty of much, much worse. This one sought to rise above.”