What a fucking disgrace. Ulric, the S.S. Knight, is conversing with the Scavenger. Or, as he puts it, “interrogating.” It is not an interrogation. Interrogation requires pain. It requires that the prisoner suffer and spill out all they know, unless they spill all they have. I’ve gone down to the holding cell in the last few days when he wasn’t there. I did not see any new bruises or cuts on that ragged old body.
How can this kid tell me that I am not an ideal Aryan, and yet willingly spare an enemy of the Reich? As I sit here in my bed, I am unable to sleep. His audacity of a few days ago continues to slap me in the face. What is in that book he is reading? Surely Hitler spoke of what we must do to our enemies, how we must defend our people. I don’t remember him ever talking about what way to do so.
Eventually, sleep just does not come to me and I give up. As I roll myself out of bed and put on my things, I decide that I need to confront Ulric about what he did a few days ago.
With just a short walk through the hallway I reach his door and knock three times. I wait. Nothing. I knock again and there is nothing. Why is he not in his room at night? A thought manifests itself. He’s in the holding cell.
I march on, descending a flight of stairs. The prison quarters are on the lowest level of the ship.
Down here, you can hear the gravel and sand clinking against the bottom. As I turn a corner I stop, recognizing one of the voices bouncing off the walls as being distinctly Ulric’s.
When I walk into the room, I spot my brother sitting on a stool—the Scavenger sits on the other side of the cage. They are talking. The Scavenger is the first to recognize me and his head goes down to his knees. Ulric, in response, shifts his head toward me. His face is expressionless.
“What are you doing?” I quietly ask, moving closer to the scene.
“Interrogating,” Ulric replies in a dull voice.
“Doesn’t appear like interrogating, it seems more like a conversation,” I retort, attempting to hold back anger.
“Well it’s not,” he denies, “if you’re so paranoid that I’m fraternizing with the enemy, you are welcome to join me.”
“I’m not the paranoid one,” I correct him. “I’m concerned for you. We don’t want anyone thinking you’re being merciful toward them.” I point to the old man curled up at the other edge of the cage.
“Anything other than smashing their face in with your boot is considered mercy…” Ulric mutters, “I don’t think your lot has the best opinion on the subject.”
“Why have you gone soft on them?” I accuse.
Ulric puts his hands to his beard in the same fashion he always does, deep in concentration. We sit quietly for a few seconds, the shaken old man watching the charade in puzzlement.
“I haven’t,” he says. “I am just acting like a regular, civilized Aryan. Apparently it’s a bit of a culture shock to see that down here. What I want…is results. A Scavenger isn’t useful to me dead. We could get good information from him. Learn about what they think. If they think…so do you want to join me?”
I focus my attention on another seat in the room. I pick it up and place it next to him. We bring our seats closer to the old man sitting with legs crossed in the corner of the cell. Tattered black robes cover most of his small frame. His beard has become disheveled after days in this cell, yet his composure is surely anything but. In fact, he sits in front of us calm and collected.
“This is Haroun,” Ulric says, pointing to the man. The fact that he even knows his name catches me off guard.
“You know his name?” I ask, bewildered. “How long have you been talking to him?”
“A few days. We’ve actually been able to converse a lot about the Kiln and what it means for both of our people. Apparently, he is from a place of great stone mountains, he says they were built by man. You know…Egypt.”
I brush this little fact off, and immediately want to know one answer. “That’s nice,” I say to Ulric. “Did you ask him why the Jews attack us?”
“Scavenger,” I yell at the old man. “You are a Jew. A pest. Why do you attack our people?”
“Jew?” he says in a puzzled, raspy voice. It was as if the sand itself was attempting to speak. Grating and ancient. “Jew…Jew…” he mutters to himself.
“Yes that is what you are. A Jew,” I hiss.
“Oh! I know what that is, I read it one of your books.” the Scavenger exclaims in discovery. “No, no, in my home…we call…them Alyahudi. They…wear…similar clothing…to pictures…”
Ulric and I pause, taking in what he just said.
“What do you mean ‘call them?’ ” Ulric asks. “You are them. You are Alyahudi.”
This is met with a laugh from the old man sitting on the floor. He raises his arms in delight and I am tempted to stab them with the knife.
“I am not Alyahudi…or as you call them…Jews,” he chuckles.
“He’s lying.” I conclude. “He thinks we’ll set him free if he isn’t a Jew.”
“Then what are you?” Ulric asks, ignoring my statement. What is he doing?
The old man reaches into his black robe, and pulls out a symbol, a small metal object attached to his necklace.
“I am what we call…Masihuin.” he concludes, holding out the necklace. “We…do not follow…the Jews religion…I’m…trying to think…of German…word for it…”
I crouch down and take a look at the necklace. It’s a cross. My mind goes blank. How did this savage get ahold of a symbol of the Reich?
“No,” I dismiss. “You are not that different from them because of this. He has the same symbol too.”
I point to the broad German cross plastered onto Ulric’s armor. The German cross was a symbol that predated even the Reclamation. One of the few surviving relics of the first Aryans. It’s an offense for this old creep to say he is similar. I analyze the gold symbol. It’s thick like the German cross, but covered in elaborate engravings. I reach out and run my hand across the circle at the center.
“Let me continue, Ansel,” Ulric says behind me. My mind blank, I simply get up and sit back on the chair.
“How do Masihuin and Jews differ then? Aren’t you racially the same?” Ulric says.
“Oh no…Jews…are lighter skinned…just a bit darker than you…they are not…native to my land…they are from…across old sea,” Haroun says. “But our…disagreements…are more on…faith. Jews not…believe…that the Savior died…for us.”
“So the Savior was like a warrior then? Died in battle?” Ulric asks.
“No…Savior…gave himself up…as sacrifice.”
“No killing?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Haroun denounces, almost offended. “He was…not…a man…of violence.”
“This is ridiculous Ulric, come on,” I scoff.
“Did he die for your people? Your race?” Ulric pesters.
“No…he died for all…even you.”
“Why are we messing with this sort of stuff Ulric?” I ask, belligerent. “How can we trust anything he says?”
“We can’t…and we aren’t. But I still want to know what he is going on about. You know I’m curious.”
“Yes and stupid,” I say. “So your friends were Jews then? The ones we killed.”
“Killed?” the man says, genuinely surprised. “You…killed them?”
“Yep every single one,” I laugh. The man’s eyes begin to water and he looks at the floor.
“Stop it, Ansel, he is going to shut down,” Ulric demands.
“Good,” I say. “So we can be done with this. You wanted to smash that disc artifact because it was dangerous, yet here we are talking to a Scavenger who probably planted ones like it.”
“Why were you and your friends out there?” I demand loudly in the direction of the old creature. “Why did you attack us?”
The man wiped off his tears and collected himself again, straightening out his back and clutching the cross.
“I…did…not…attack you. You…killed those who attacked you,” he whimpers.
“What do you mean?” Ulric asks.
“I came along…to ask for Allah’s protection. I did…not fire a gun at your…ship.” Harroun stutters out. He raises up the cross and does a few strange hand signs.
“Allah. What is an Allah?” I ask.
“Allah is the…Creator…of all things…he sacrificed his…only son for us. That…is what my…people believe.” Haroun preaches. He takes out a thick novel, crumbling just like himself and places it into Ulric’s hand.
“It is in Greek,” Haroun says. “We have…a community…of them…in…my city…history tells us…they came…as the sea…began to wither. We…band…together for…protection from…the caliphate—”
“Wait, wait, you have history before the Reclamation?” Ulric asks.
“Before you get into this I want to know why his friends attacked us. Even if he said he didn’t,” I butt in. “Why did your friends attack us? Why do your people attack us?”
“My people…do not attack…of our own power…we are…forced—”
“By the Jews?” Ulric says.
“No, no Jews are…tiny…minority…maybe only one thousand…we…are forced by caliphate…”
“What is caliphate?”
“Muslim…state…control…everything…south of…big…towers to the seas.”
He uses his arms to form the shape of a crescent. That is a Jew symbol. I’ve seen it flying on Scavenger vessels before, and on Eagle Nests overtaken by raiders.
“Those are Jews,” Ulric says, which is met with a headshake.
“No…no…they…believe in Allah as well…like me and Jews…but believe…prophet instead…of son of Allah.”
My head spins in the confusion, I lost my patience five minutes ago.
“They…control…all not Muslims…and force us…to fight along in their raids…against towers…I come along…to give blessings for those…Masihuin on front lines. Most along with…Muslims…killed in your blasts…me and some…fled to aircraft…to escape.”
“So what do the Jews do?” I ask.
“Jews…are…not…even anything…they…are…only two or three…villages far east from my home. They…are…not…really…even thought…about.”
“So what are you people then if you are not Jews?”
“We are Alearab,” he says. “Our…people line the…great basin…what used…to be…the sea…the sea your…people took away…”
“Now wait a second,” Ulric cuts in, “we took away the sea for the good of the world. For peace.”
“Peace?” Haroun questions, “my people…tell how…when the sea disappeared…chaos reigned…children starved…entire communities vanished…wars erupted…perhaps it was peace for you…but it destroyed us…”
“Your region has always been at war,” Ulric says, “don’t blame that on us.”
The old man laughs once more.
“All regions have been…at war…that is what…man does…but…when the sea went away…it was not…just war…it was genocide against…my people…genocide and anarchy for all people…over any water that was left…but in the end…it did not matter…as we were left to the sand…now we barely survive…you ask why they raid your towers…it is because war is all they know.…”
“Was raping and killing our people all your people know too?” I mutter, my frustration growing.
Haroun looks at me and his head sinks into his lap.
“Barbarity is…what the caliphate has brought us…what they do to…your people…they do to ours all the time…your dams brought the caliphate…that…symbol…” Haroun points to the swastika on Ulric, “has brought the caliphate on us…you destroyed…our way of life…thousands of years ago. Just…as our soul died…you…killed…your own soul…you abandoned the son of Allah…abandoned the soul of Europe…gave into…immorality…and arrogance…in the end…all of us…wither like the sea…now both our people…rot in the desert.”
“What bullshit. The desert is the best thing to happen to me. The dams saved Europe. Why are we still listening to this shit?”
“The dams saved Europe,” Ulric says. “Our people fought a horrendous war over resources and power. Adolf Hitler, the Eternal Führer, constructed the Atlantropan dams to bring an era of peace. All united under the Reich soon after, that was the real soul of Europe. There hasn’t been fighting between our people since. The desert was a side effect, but it wasn’t like we could just destroy what brought us all together. The dams create energy for all Europeans. They keep the peace.”
“Dams destroy…both souls…you both are product of desert…product of the evil that has…corrupted…your people…corrupted my people…the raids are because of those vile dams…you are a result of those dams.”
I take out my knife but before I can reach for the calm man, a voice blares in my headset.
“Captain you are needed urgently on the Bridge.”
Ulric and I look at each other. I quickly get up and begin sprinting toward the deck. Once there, as I put my helmet back on and peer over the side, I take in the full view of something else. It’s another ship.