The Journals of Doctor Mormeck's Avatar–Entry #14

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Living on a far-distant planet, Doctor Mormeck works for strange beings that might or might not be angels by conducting surveillance across a hundred thousand alt-Earths. Complicating things are a transdimensional race of intelligent komodos wreaking chaos throughout the worlds. When an avatar of Mormeck is sent to a war-torn winter city to investigate a mysterious Presence, the doctor will become embroiled an ever-widening conflict.

Archive is here, Journals of Mormeck, and first entry is here. The full-on 34,000 words before this entry is compiled in one place, here.

Warily, I returned to Pavlov's House—the fortified building controlled by Sergeant Yakov Fedotovich Pavlov of the Trotsky-Soviet army. I was much different, of course, even though the avatar that manifested after I ghosted my way stealthily through the defenses, through a door, and then scuttled tiny along the walls of corridors to his office was the same Pavlov had always seen. More of Mormeck Mountain had been flensed away. Less of the giant komodo I came to him as was komodo-ish. And I had a speck of an alien civilization hidden in my body.

As I had avoided pitched battles between German and Soviet tanks in already blasted streets, buildings gutted, smoldering hulks, I had had—in the crisp, cold air, with the blue of the sky a kind of bright smile commenting on the limits of human absurdity—a sort-of epiphany: that I was finally becoming myself, and that I did not yet know what that might mean. I still had my mission, which was now to find my way back to Mormeck Mountain, but at the frontiers of my mind, I could sense outliers of doubt, of lack of purpose, and nothing to replace it.

But whatever it meant, I knew I had to get out of the city, and while I could do that blind, and could flee to any corner of the world, disregarding the intel from the Speck of the Remnant in my body, I preferred to travel to the Far East. A vastness of time and landscape awaited me before my self-rescue, but somehow I needed that. A century was more than enough time to find myself.

Pavlov didn't seem surprised to see me even though several months had passed, but, then, I had never seen him express surprise over anything. He had perfected the art of receiving information with a stoicism that, while learned, gave him the upper hand in most situations.

But I was surprised to see that standing beside him were Uri and Aleksei, the two soldiers I had saved from the threat of the Remnant outside of their strange domed building. Both of them looked astonished to see their reptilian benefactor again, and not in a good way. They reached for their weapons, but Pavlov barked an order form them to stand down. They did so almost with relief, as if their action had been reflexive and they had no real stomach for the task.

"Body guards?" I asked.

"I am their body guards," Pavlov said, "after what they saw."

"The impossible is real?"

"And maybe that, too," Pavlov said. His face seemed more worn but less wrinkled, as if he had been worn smooth like a stone by the extremity of his situation. His hands showed evidence of thwarted frostbite. He had lost some hair and some had turned gray. From under the table he sat at, I could see his boots were in tatters, bound in cloth. I knew from the history I had seen that the past two months had been the worst of the war for Pavlov's unit. He could have used a huge, invisible komodo during those dark days. But I had not been there. Though I owed him nothing, really, an odd guilt twisted inside of me.

"It's good to see you." And it was. A familiar face, someone I instinctually trusted even though I shouldn't have trusted anyone.

"It's an unexpected pleasure," Pavlov said, with what might have been irony. Uri and Aleksei had unfrozen from their positions against the far wall and Pavlov motioned to them. "Go get tea." Neither of them moved.

"Tea?"

Pavlov gave a weary smile. "All my vodka goes to the men, along with the local rotgut they make and put in used milk bottles. Now!" And in the strain in his voice ordering his men I saw further evidence of his fatigue.

Neither soldier seemed happy to have to edge by me and out the door, but they did it rather than face Pavlov. I could hear them running down the hall.

"Are they bringing more soldiers?" I asked.

Pavlov grinned. "No. Just tea," he said with disappointment, either feigned or real. "Only tea. But I am inappropriately curious: what happened to you?"

I thought about answering him. It was a simple question, but one with a complicated answer. What would be gained by giving Pavlov more of a glimpse into the truth of other worlds? Would it assuage his curiosity or simply enflame it? Would it leave him with the nagging sense he had missed something, for as long as he lived?

"I ran into…complications. I almost died. But nothing that happened has any bearing on your situation."

Pavlov nodded, but said, "Except that you are here again." His head held at an angle, as if spurring me on: "Complications, and…?"

"As a result, I need to leave the city. I need to head to the Far East. I need to find sanctuary there for a long, long time."

Uri and Aleksei came back nervously with the tea then, although they seemed to have regained some semblance of control. They shut the door quickly behind them, and Pavlov took over the ritual of preparing the tea, setting out the cups on the table cloth. His hands shook a little bit. I knew he survived this war, I knew he lived a long life after, but it still bothered me to see that.

"I know some people in the Far East," Pavlov said after a pause. "My family isn't from there, but friends of the family are. More specifically, I know of a place that you can stay and no one should bother you…so long as you…" He looked me up and down. "You are rather distinctive."

"I won't travel in this form."

"Of course you won't." But it was clear from the unexpected scintilla of surprise in his voice that it had not occurred to him that I might manifest as anything as other than a small or large komodo.

He wrote an address on a piece of paper. "The owner of this cottage is missing, presumed dead…It is a lawless place. The Chinese and the Japanese do not respect the border. You may find yourself in another war zone." Then he stopped writing, looked up at me, scribbled more words. "And this is a postal box where you can reach me now…or after the war."

I could see it in his eyes: Pavlov wouldn't risk giving me his home address, couldn't know I already had it from the files—wife, three children, Moscow—but he was willing to risk further contact.

"Thank you, Pavlov."

I'm not sure I can explain how that gesture made me feel. It meant something to me, something that took me yet further away from Mormeck Mountain. I had a sudden image of a graying, elderly komodo—monstrous—clothed in a sweater sitting in a rocking chair in a far-distant cottage and penning a letter to his old comrade from the war. Maybe one day coming to visit, catching up their separate lives.

Absurd. Impossible. Or was it?

As I took the piece of paper as gently as I could from Pavlov, my massive claws clicking together, I felt a welling up of affection I had not expected, mixed with an utterly devastating sadness. In this forsaken place, sent here by demons disguised as angels.

Pavlov was the closest thing I had ever had to a friend. And I was leaving him now. For his own safety as for mine.

"In return, there is one thing I would like you to do for me on your…on your way out of town," Pavlov said.

"Anything, Pavlov," I said.

I could hear the Scrap inside me vibrating minutely with laughter, and that struck me as sinister…

for hm

The Journals of Doctor Mormeck's Avatar–Entry #14 originally appeared on Ecstatic Days on September 19, 2011.