[Author’s note: we have returned to modern times, immediately after the events of episode 28]
Daryl was alone outside the gate. He wasn’t dead or in prison, but he was frustrated. All the risk and effort of the last few months had come to naught. Not only had he failed to meet with Karkov, but it was likely the man had long since vanished.
As he slowly walked along the road from the Capital, Daryl pondered his next move. Even if Rin’s suggestion had been facetious, perhaps he should try to enlist the woman who pursued her. Especially if Rin considered her a threat. Yet, something about the idea disturbed him.
It felt like a betrayal, though that made little sense to him. After all, his own avowed purpose was to kill Rin. Besides, this little game was her idea. She had demanded that Daryl find her again, even going so far as to threaten his life. He had the right to do whatever it took.
Daryl wondered who gave him one right or took away another. Why was justification even necessary? Maybe he was forever doomed to play the good soldier, doing as he was told. Was Rin now his authority, even in-absentia?
It took a few minutes before Daryl realized what really bothered him. The problem wasn’t betrayal. It was cheating. Rin had created a game, and for some inexplicable reason he felt the need to play by her rules. He found this extraordinarily frustrating. She would have no compunction about changing rules or breaking them. Wasn’t that what she was? A violation of the rules.
However, the idea of deviating from the proscribed boundaries of the exercise disturbed him. It wasn’t that Rin would hold such a thing against him. Quite the contrary, he was certain she would appreciate his initiative. There just was something that didn’t feel right about it.
Daryl was uncertain why he had qualms about seeking out this woman but not Karkov, who clearly was Rin’s enemy. Was it because she was a woman? Maybe it felt like cheating in another sense, but that would be even more ridiculous given how Rin had ended things.
Daryl realized there was a much simpler reason he hesitated to find the woman: he had no idea how to. If it was difficult to find Rin, whom he knew intimately, what chance did he have of finding someone he knew nothing about? Even Karkov eluded him, and Daryl had been pretty sure where to find him. There was a certain absurdity in solving the more difficult problem as a step toward the easier one. Maybe he should just go home as the sergeant and Fervent Leader had admonished. Had either of them realized the irony of telling him that? Daryl had no home, if not here.
He stopped. The sergeant just had parroted what he imagined to be good advice from the Leader. But what if it hadn’t been intended as a hollow dismissal? What if the Leader had meant something more? A soldier’s home was at his post. That was one of the military’s slogans. Daryl doubted it was anything this artful, though. The man who ran the country surely didn’t have time to play childish games with some random caller. But it was a worth a shot. Besides, he didn’t have anything better to do.
Daryl was driven less by the quixotic hope of success than a lingering desire to visit his old station. Best of all, there was no extra effort involved. It was right off the main road, a couple of miles outside the Capital. Given the expansive renovations to the road, he wondered whether anything remained of the modest checkpoint.
The walk was shorter than he remembered, and Daryl was astonished that the guardhouse still stood. It was in dire need of repair, and he doubted he would have spotted it from the road if he didn’t know precisely where to look. Apparently, the new highway ran parallel to the old road rather than over it. The abandoned detour to the guardhouse was visible a few dozen feet beyond the berm.
Daryl lingered a moment before entering the cabin. This was where he first met Rin, where it all had started. Why had she spared him, but made corpses of his comrades? He hadn’t been able to ferret an honest explanation out of her. It just was one of the many questions he probably never would know the answer to. Especially now. While he trod his own improbable path the last fifteen years, their journey had been much simpler. They got to decompose in wooden boxes.
Lost in thought, Daryl opened the door and stepped inside. The windows were filthy, and little sunlight made its way in. He instinctively flipped the light switch, but nothing happened.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. A couch was the first thing to emerge from the shadows. He remembered that couch and quietly sat on it, releasing a puff of dust.
A deep voice broke the silence. “Bring back memories?”
Daryl barely could make out a figure at the table in the center of the room.
“I thought you would sit here instead,” the voice explained. “Preferably not on me, of course.”
Despite the masculine voice, Daryl suddenly had the impression Rin was in the room. If so, it seemed likely she would try to kill him. Her parting words had expressed a clear inclination toward that. Despite this, Daryl’s heart raced at the prospect of seeing her again.
“Rin?” he blurted out.
“You really must be desperate if you think I sound like her,” the man laughed. He flipped on a lantern which was sitting on the table, and light flooded the room.
“Sorry for the drama,” he offered, smiling at Daryl. Though dressed differently, it unmistakably was the man from the picture.
“You’re Karkov,” Daryl declared. He realized how banal those words sounded after all the trouble he had gone to.
“And you’re not a complete idiot, despite appearances to the contrary,” the man grumbled, obviously disappointed. “I was hoping you’d greet me more dramatically, perhaps with something like ‘Karkov, I presume.’”
“You’re sure you’re not Rin?” Daryl asked with an earnestness that made Karkov burst into laughter.
“I see she’s as gentle as ever,” he commiserated.
“The Leader said you were dead,” Daryl observed.
“Fervent Leader,” Karkov corrected. “You know, I picked that name,” he added while dusting his coat.
“It’s enthusiastic,” was all Daryl could come up with.
Karkov didn’t seem to mind the half-hearted attempt at a compliment. He certainly was different than Daryl had imagined. For one thing, he looked a lot more like Rin. On reflection, this made sense since they probably were from the same country. The name had led Daryl to expect a big Russian — or maybe even a little one — and he said as much. The man seemed to find this amusing.
“Karkov is derived from my original name,” he explained. “That language is long dead, but every time I adopt a new home I try to keep some piece of the original name, a reminder that I still am me, no matter where I may be.”
After a moment, he laughed. “This said, I certainly don’t mind confusing people into thinking I’m some pulp Russian villain. Rin, since that’s apparently what she now calls herself, used to do the same — or so I’ve been told. I think she also styled herself Olympias at one point.”
“A Greek god?”
“Goddess,” Karkov corrected. “And you’re thinking of Olympus, a place. Olympias was Alexander the Great’s mother.” He gave a wry smile. “You know, the one who roasted her rivals and their children alive.”
“Rin did that?”
“Of course not. Rin can’t have children. Or rivals. Besides, only a human woman feels such hatred for other women. She probably just heard the name somewhere and thought it sounded imposing.”
“What is Rin’s real name?” Daryl wondered aloud. Why did he care what her real name was? Any answer would be a disappointment. She was Rin to him. But for some reason, he still wanted to know.
Karkov shrugged. “There’s no such thing as a ‘real’ name, just what some pair of idiots called you. I have no idea where she got ‘Rin’ from, to be honest. It bears no relation to her original name. But at least it’s easy to pronounce, and doesn’t bring to mind a big bearded Cossack.”
Daryl didn’t reply, and Karkov turned down the lantern a little. “A bit bright for such a small place,” he noted. “You probably thought we choose clever aliases, or they have some deep meaning. I’m sorry to disappoint. We use whatever suits our fancy. We have no need for subterfuge.”
This struck Daryl as an odd claim for a man who governed from the shadows, but he knew better than to point this out. However, he couldn’t curb his general curiosity.
“But do you know Rin’s real name?”
“As I said, does anyone have a real name? I’d advise you never to tell your true name to someone. It can give them power over you.”
In response to Daryl’s credulous look, Karkov chuckled. “Of course not. How would knowing some symbols give you power over somebody?”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Ah, I see. So she told you about those. Well, those are special symbols. They’re not names. Names are invented words, written in invented glyphs. The symbols of which you speak are not. They are written in the language of the universe. They have representations in any language we may create, but the symbols themselves are pure forms.”
“As for my name, the closest approximation in your language would be Aahi Krkwi,” Karkov explained, spelling the name for Daryl. “It would be unpronounceable because you lack the phonemes present in the original tongue.”
Hearing it spoken, Daryl understood what Karkov meant. There certainly were sounds he imagined having great trouble with. He wondered whether this was true of the other ancient languages, but with nobody left to demonstrate it.
“As for Rin’s name, you must ask her,” Karkov continued. “It is not for me to share it with you.”
“Because it has power?”
Karkov smirked. “Because it would be rude. I already told you it doesn’t have power. Do you think we were a bunch of monks sitting on mountain tops speaking the language of the universe? Nobody knows that language and, if they do, they aren’t telling. We spoke a human language just like everybody else, and we lived in cities — well, more like large towns. We certainly weren’t saintly or wise.”
He paused for a moment in thought. “To be frank, it was a very limited and annoying language. You may not realize this, but much of the ability to engage in advanced thought derives from language. My understanding has expanded considerably with each new language I learned over the years. Except for Portuguese. I don’t like Portuguese.”
Karkov toyed with his tie, scrutinizing a specific spot. If there was a stain there, Daryl couldn’t see it.
“I expect man will advance once again when languages evolve to encompass new modes of thought. But that’s the problem: current thought never is adequate to envision future thought or it would be future thought.”
Karkov suddenly looked up. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, an old man rambling. You probably have a reason you sought me. Something critical and important and of overwhelming urgency to you. I’ll bet you didn’t risk your life to discuss epistemology.” Before Daryl could respond, he added, “a life which may indeed be forfeit depending what you ask.”
"There's no such thing as a real name. Just what some pair of idiots called you." Good stuff.