Brian D'Amato - The Sacrifice Game

But during the second battle for Ix-“after 2JS’s short reign had collapsed in a hallucinogen-sodden rout,” as I liked to think of it-Koh had had to trade 2JS the three real Scorpion-adders to get me out. She also had to let him go, of course, and he’d probably taken them with him in his retreat force, which she said was only eight score or so bloods. I figured Koh had probably mastered the tzam lic anyway and didn’t even need them anymore.

I felt not quite like a pawn, maybe, but definitely like a commodity. Still, Koh had kept to her end and gotten me out and that meant a lot, even if I was just part of her bid to establish herself. It all got me to thinking about my whole thing, what was going on and what had gone on before, I mean, before the downloading. I’d just look up at the lengthening cracks in the new plaster and flip through images of my life, trying to think of things that would distract me from my itching stump.

I asked Koh where she thought 2 Jeweled Skull had gone, and without answering that-annoyingly, a lot of people around here didn’t exactly answer questions, they just sort of commented on them-she said that she thought she might be able to take him again, and that there were people working on tracking him down. I figured she meant the Caracara Clan of Teotihuacan, the ones she’d invited down here along with everybody else. Even back on the mul in Teotihuacan, when she was talking to 3 Talon and I hadn’t heard what they were talking about, she was probably already making that deal, that if she were in charge she’d help the Caracara Clan of Teotihuacan expand into the Ixian area and would deed their leaders some choice formerly Ocelot land-on the condition that they turn over 2 Jeweled Skull. She’d probably convinced them that he was a danger to the house anyway.

Which was true, kind of. Or at least he was a loose cannon. In the end 2JS was too much of a fraidycat. He didn’t take his new information far enough, he couldn’t get his head around the various paradoxes my consciousness had brought him, and really it was no wonder he’d gotten confused and screwed up.

Koh was curious. I mean, she had curiosity. She couldn’t get enough history. She made me go over and over the dates and events of the Conquest until she could recite them herself, which she did with a kind of morbid relish. She’d spent her whole life training to figure out just a little bit of the future, and as good as she was at it, for her it was at best like being blindfolded and given ten beats to feel her way through a cathedral. And then suddenly here was someone who’d actually seen it. She was fascinated by the idea of a time when women were closer to the social equals of men. She kept asking whether I thought of women as equal in every respect, and I said I flattered myself that I did, except it was obvious they weren’t as good as men at collecting baseball memorabilia. She couldn’t get enough of whatever I could remember about powerful women in Old World and latter-day New World history, and she’d just sit there filling my sickroom with cigar smoke while I told her about the three Cleopatras, Zenobia, Joan of Arc, Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, Catherine the Great, Margaret Thatcher, Eva Peron, Madonna, Hillary Clinton, Rigoberta Menchu, Marena, Jenny McCarthy, whoever. She asked whether women fought in wars and I said combat still-and of course I’m using the word still inadvisedly-wasn’t so popular with them as it was with guys. She asked a lot about war, to the point where I thought she might be thinking about training a crossbow squad. She still didn’t get the captives thing, though. She was like, what’s the point if you have to give back your trophies? Nor did she grok the concept of an equal-opportunity society. In her world you either baked tortillas or whacked your enemies-or, rather, watched your hirelings whacking them-and if you didn’t, you were a social nothing, no matter whether you were an architect, a great fresco painter, a Rattler monk, a cantor like On The Left, a flesh picker, or her much-loved favorite dwarf.

Nerds are forever, though. As I might have expected, she made me go over math more than any other subject. She wasn’t too impressed by Arabic numerals-which are actually Indian, by the way, that is, East Indian-but she was amazed by trig and higher equations and, especially, game theory. Sometimes, after a couple of hours of giving her Probability 101 problems and watching her work them out on a bean abacus, I’d start feeling like if I’d wanted to teach freshmen I’d have stayed home, but I don’t think I ever quite lost patience. Anyway, she was a quick study. She was less interested in art and literature and didn’t get the notion of art for art’s sake, whatever that was. But that stuff is hard to describe. She asked about modern musical scales a couple of times and I tried to demonstrate them but Chacal’s singing voice was one thing that wasn’t much better than Jed 1 ’s. We made paper helicopters and airplanes and unit-origami crystals. She loved them so much she refused to burn them. “They’ll rot in a few revolvings”-seasons-“anyway,” she said, which was true.

At first I thought I was just opening up to her because I was lonely, but I have to admit I got to liking her. Obviously she reminded me of Marena in a lot of ways, except Marena was all screwed up and sassy-talking and flashily brilliant, and Koh was graver and about a million times more spiritual. Koh had a stately centeredness that would seem chilly. To twenty-first century Westerners, she’d have made Gong Li look warm. As exceptional as she was, she was totally Maya.

Which did ultimately become a source of friction between us. At one point when she’d dropped by late in the afternoon with some accounts she wanted me to look over she’d mentioned that two villagesful of Ocelot partisan captives were going to be offered at a “racing feast” that night, that is, just for entertainment. It meant that everyone was going to get popped, including the smallest kids. And if I knew anything about the behavior of victorious bloods, Rattler or not-who were mainly just pumped-up corn-beer-soaked teenagers, after all-the civilians were going to be in for a bumpy time. One thing they were doing lately-that is, one of the trendy torture fads-was making the captives swallow little bags of bean flour, one after another. Then they’d force water down their throats and the poor bastards would puff up with beans and gas and explode. Another one they’d probably do at the same event was this thing where they’d tie the subject on top of a stump and force him to kill himself with a little hook, ripping at his own veins. The idea was that if he wasn’t dead by sundown they’d stake him up and leave him for the birds. Anything where the subject was given a choice was considered more interesting.

Anyway, I told Koh I wished she’d tell them to just cool it. She said I could make humanitarian laws when I was in charge.

I said it didn’t matter what I did, that she should do what she oughta do. I started laying this whole trip on her about personal responsibility and innocence and everything.

She asked how many people I figured had died in agony in this k’atun. When I didn’t answer right away she asked how many I figured had died badly in the seventeen hotunob between ours and yours?

I said between ten and twenty billion, but that it didn’t make it all right. One does what one can, I said.

She just said it sounded like the so-called twenty-first century was a lot worse, and without any dignity besides.

I agreed but said it wasn’t my fault.

Fault is treachery to your own family, she said. Not doing the ordinary thing with your enemies.

I said maybe she had too many enemies and not enough family, but the minute I said it, it sounded like Deepak Chopra or something. Anyway, I wasn’t going to change her on this issue anytime soon. Koh wasn’t a cruel person, she was just from her own patch of the space-time curve.