Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

‘Excuse me, sir.’ Du Bois looked up at the soldier. To his eyes he seemed far too young to be in uniform, though he himself had been much younger when he had first joined the order as a squire. ‘There’s a woman here to see you, sir.’

Du Bois wasn’t sure what irritated him more, the mere presence of his brother here while he was working, or the fact that he had ridden his motorcycle. He decided it was the riding of his motorbike. The 1949 C series Vincent Black Shadow gleamed black and silver in the sun. The bike, along with his piano, were the possessions he prized most, the two things that gave him genuine pleasure.

Alexander, though it was difficult to think of him with that name looking at his distinctly female body, was leaning against the bike wearing leathers. His jacket was lying over the bike, and the tight black strapped top was causing a number of the soldiers on guard at the gate to stare. Knowing his brother, he had been flirting with them before du Bois arrived.

Alexander was taller than him, his long hair dark where du Bois’s was light, finely featured, his cheekbones were V-shaped slashes that could either make him look like a goddess or completely wicked. They had the same blue eyes though. Alexander’s body was full and statuesque. He would not have been out of place on a catwalk.

Even as a child, Alexander had been effeminate; du Bois had to protect him. He remembered his lack of comprehension when he discovered that Alexander liked to dress up in female servants’ clothes. He remembered nightmarish times travelling across Europe, Alexander disguised as a woman, fear of his brother’s proclivities being discovered, du Bois down on his knees morning and night praying for forgiveness for himself and deliverance for Alexander.

He had sought a cure for him, so he would not be damned to hell; instead he had found the Circle. Their access to L- and S-tech meant that Alexander could be whatever he wanted. Alexander had finally become a woman in the early nineteenth century. Du Bois had tried to accept it, envious of the way his younger bother could embrace each new age, disapproving of how he could embrace the excesses of each age as well. During a particularly bad argument in Marrakesh in the 1970s, Alexander had screamed at him that he was a fully functioning hermaphrodite. It had been too much for him. Du Bois had fled the argument, the Red City and North Africa.

Fully functioning hermaphrodite or not, Alexander was female-identifying now and wanted to be regarded as a woman. In this age nobody seemed to care, and even du Bois with his background could not see the harm and felt that God had greater sins to judge than Alexander’s. His own, for example.

‘Malcolm!’ Alexander cried happily and threw herself into her brother’s arms for a hug. Du Bois returned the hug uncomfortably.

‘What are you doing here, Alexander?’ he whispered. He was not pleased that she had even been able to find him. Someone in the Circle must have told her. He didn’t like the security ramifications of that. It smacked of a loss of hope.

Du Bois had become the good servant; Alexander had reaped the rewards. His service had been on the condition that they look after Alexander. She had access to all the benefits and none of the drawbacks, as far as du Bois could see. She had thrown herself at immortal life with a strong appetite. Du Bois both admired and resented her for that.

‘Alexia, I’ve told you.’ There was just the slightest flash of anger in her eyes as she released him from the hug, a reminder of countless arguments in the past. Even du Bois had eventually been forced to admit that she was happier as a woman.

‘What are you doing here, Alex?’

‘I brought your bike.’

‘You stole my bike and then I’m guessing you had it transported.’ There was no way du Bois could see his sister riding the bike all the way from their family home, a castle perched precariously on the edge of the stormy west coast of Scotland.

‘I know how bad it is,’ she said.

Du Bois just shook his head. He didn’t want to think about how she had found out. It was a cold but sunny day. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. A brisk wind caught Alexia’s long hair. Looking at the day, it all seemed so ridiculous, but he couldn’t help wonder how much longer they had.

‘Want to go to Brighton and get fucked up?’ Alexia asked brightly.

‘I really don’t,’ he answered.

‘Want to flagellate yourself and worry about the weight of the world on your shoulders?’ Alexia asked with mock seriousness. He had to laugh. It worried him how much her suggestion appealed. Actually he wanted to smoke, drink whisky and brood.

‘I’m working.’

‘Will it do any good or are you just going through the motions?’ she asked, concern in her voice. He had to think about that. He genuinely wasn’t sure. He was grasping at straws but anything was better than nothing. ‘We lived longer than we should have, much longer. We’ve seen and done extraordinary things – well, that was mostly me; you’ve been consistently maudlin, grumpy, too serious and sarcastic – and it’s all right to let go.’

‘I’m the sarcastic one?’ he asked, but the humour was gone and she was just looking at him with concern. ‘It’s not for us. You’re right – we’ve lived too long – but if there’s even the slightest—’

‘Okay fine. Is there anything that you can do at this moment?’

He thought about that. He had arrived at a dead end. Natalie was almost certainly dead. He had no idea how her blood was being circulated but it wouldn’t be enough anyway: they needed her, or at least a reasonable amount of her blood or a significant genetic sample. He shook his head reluctantly and then looked at his bike.

Across the South Downs, taking the bike as fast as it would go with the two of them, leaning low on the bends, du Bois was actually smiling. He heard the sound of Alexia’s laughter snatched away by the wind.

They were somewhere north of Winchester, du Bois knew. They were on a hilltop outside an Iron Age fort. He had ignored the signs on the way. He could find out exactly where he was if he accessed his systems but he had decided to pretend to be human today. He was trying to remember what that was like.

Alexia had produced a picnic lunch from the bike’s saddlebags, and having eaten that they were now leaning against a tree as they sipped champagne, sitting in high grass looking at a small herd of sheep. Du Bois would neutralise the alcohol in his system before he got back on the bike. He knew that Alexia wouldn’t. The day was cold, though that didn’t bother them, and a school day, so the only other people they saw were the occasional dog walkers.

Most of lunch had been Alexia talking about things he either couldn’t relate to or was trying not to be judgemental about.

‘Have you been here before?’ she asked out of the blue. He had drifted off, not concentrating on what she was saying. He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time, trying to take it in.

‘I don’t think so. It’s difficult to be sure.’ They were quiet.

‘Thank you,’ she said after a while.

‘For what?’ du Bois asked, surprised.

‘For taking me to Outremer. I know what you did and what it meant.’

Du Bois thought back. He had taken her there because he had heard that the rules that governed Europe at the time were not as strict there. That you could reinvent yourself. That you could lose your past. Or at least Alexander could. They had been one step in front of the Church authorities that had wanted to burn Alexander as an abomination in the eyes of God. He wondered about a god that would do that, except that now he knew there was no god. Though somehow that had never stopped him praying.