by Matt King
Cerenus watched as Delia escorted the last of the partygoers out of the hall, smiling dutifully as the disheveled man stumbled into the transport that would take him back down to the city. Once he was gone, she returned to the chamber. Her shoes clicked against the floor. “Will there be anything else?” she asked. Her voice carried easily through the empty room.
“No,” he said. “Thank you for a lovely evening on such short notice. You have once again earned the absurd rewards I pay you.”
“I’m worth more than you pay me,” she said. I’ll see you tomorrow were the words on the edge of her tongue—he could see it in her thoughts—but she held them back with cinched lips.
“Don’t worry. I sometimes forget too. Goodnight, Delia.”
Her parting smile was forced. “Goodnight.”
She left without looking him in the eye. Delia had always been a loyal employee. He’d counted on her to handle both the last-minute planning of his whims and their eventual repercussions for longer than he cared to remember. All she’d asked for in return was elongated life, not eternal, which had always confused him. He wished he’d thought to ask her about it before she left.
The strength of his drinks left him with a mind that cared little about restraining the thoughts racing through his brain. He knew he could turn off the effects anytime he wanted, but he didn’t. What was the use? It was easier to deal with the current state of his mood drunk than sober.
He settled back on his throne, a ridiculously lavish chair in the center of the dais. His eyes drifted to the lights hanging from the ceiling, Ion among them. “You can come down now. There’s no one left to harass you.”
Ion changed the color of his face as he descended, letting it return to a churning swirl of chalky white clouds rather than the soft yellow he’d used to blend in with the lights. He drifted toward the table of uneaten food before rising above the stage steps.
“Well?” Cerenus asked.
“Well what?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Go ahead and say it.”
“Wasteful,” Ion replied. “I do not understand.”
“I suppose you could call it that. We ordered a bit much. Then again, all that food is little more than a collection of cells told to act one way rather than another. I could make them shift into a pile of precious jewels for the people to divide once I’m gone if it would make you feel better.”
Ion processed the thought with a low hum. “I doubt that would comfort them.”
“You’d be surprised how comforting riches can be. Or maybe you can’t. Can you? I sometimes forget what Soraste designed you for.”
“Mostly to listen to the ramblings of the living,” he replied.
Cerenus laughed, a genuine hard laugh that caught him by surprise. “Something tells me she didn’t put it that way.”
“Not in those words. She originally designed me to monitor her citizens and advise her on the best path to making their lives meaningful.”
“Yes, that sounds like Soraste.”
Ion hovered in place for a pause. “I was a failure in that regard.”
“Being a little hard on yourself, don’t you think?”
“I mean that I could provide little comfort for them as they struggled to find meaning in their existence. It became clear to me that the truth of life was often too crushing to bear.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That it must end.”
Cerenus hesitated, dwelling on the idea briefly before drinking a large gulp of his brew. He allowed the alcohol to warm his body and further muddy his thoughts. “Yes, well, mortality is something I’ve become intimately familiar with lately.”
“And yet you haven’t spoken of it.”
Cerenus couldn’t help but notice the obvious switch to a bluer shade of white on Ion’s face. “Trying to analyze my thoughts, are you?”
“I cannot read your mind like I can the others. I understand the impulses that make up biological thought, not superphysical.”
“Is that what you call it? I suppose you wouldn’t be one to think of us as gods.”
“No, I would not.”
Cerenus ran his finger around the rim of his mug. A perfect circle, never ending. Well now we know that’s not true. “Tell me, my friend. Do you ever wish you were alive?”
“I have had consciousness for some time now.”
“Not just consciousness, being alive. It’s not something that can be programmed.”
Ion’s hum seemed to take on a buzz of annoyance. “I could make them shift into a pile of precious jewels,” he replayed in Cerenus’s voice. “What you described is a form of programming. You and the rest of the Circle manipulate the elements of life in known patterns to create. Life is nothing more than that. I have a feeling you were asking a different question, however.”
“And that is what?”
“Do I wish to be human?” Ion answered.
He had a point. “Well, do you?”
“There are enough philosophical arguments on the subject of what it means to be human to fill the rest of our time in the universe. In my view, being human means being conscious of one’s self and your place in the scheme of life. It means developing emotions and sharing experiences with others around you. It is a connection, and at the same time, a disconnection. Humans feel so alone because they think the bad things—the sad things—that haunt their thoughts are theirs and no one else’s. I have the ability to think. I have the ability to feel. I am both connected to you and the Alliance and disconnected, for I feel you cannot truly understand what it is to be me. In many ways, I am already human.”
Cerenus tipped his mug at him. “Not to put too harsh a spotlight on it but you’re missing out on a few things. Growing up, for example. I imagine Soraste filled your head with all sorts of information from the beginning. People around here may not believe this, but those of us in the Circle do have to experience life just like they did, starting from birth.”
He poured himself another round. “I remember it, you know. Being born. And when I say I remember, it means I went back through my memories later when I learned how to do such things. I derived from the Filari civilization. We say derived because we’re nothing like the people we come from once we’re born. Every one of us in the Circle has a birth story, but they all fit into two categories: you were either worshipped as a newborn or you were shunned. I was shunned. The Filari were paranoid, you see. A lifetime spent as the most powerful race in a galaxy will do that. Everything was a threat to them, including something as powerful as I was. They almost managed to kill me, if you can believe it. Galan and Paralos showed up in the nick of time to whisk me off into their little club. Both of them were young bucks back then. Can you imagine those two together? It’s a wonder I ever learned how to tell a joke. Before they left, Paralos created synapses all over the planet connected directly to the Filari’s enemies. He was a bastard even back then. I went back after I’d been a god for awhile, thinking I’d show up and dazzle my old world with all the new tricks I’d learned. The Filari were all but gone. Those that were left were mostly slaves.”
“Did they deserve it?” Ion asked.
“The Filari? I don’t know. Judgement has never been one of my strong suits.”
The clouds on Ion’s face churned.
Cerenus cocked an eyebrow. “Something bothering you?”
“A question I often wonder about.”
“And that is?”
“I wonder if the universe wouldn’t be better off without your kind.”
Cerenus laughed. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
“I am conflicted. I have studied humans for so long, I’ve seen what they are capable of, both good and bad. Those attributes are magnified among your kind, so you are exponentially more kind and more cunning. Despite the magnitude, there is balance. I appreciate this.”
“You’re getting better.”
“Yet, you possess something inherently non-human,” Ion said. “You
enjoy eternity.”
“With a capital E.”
“Are you sure that is a good thing?”
“I was sure when I was eternal,” Cerenus answered. Using the word was still stung. He doubted it would ever fade. “And it’s not like it came unnaturally. We evolved, remember?”
“And that is my conflict. Immortality is ultimately human, and yet the lack of mortality robs you of many of the moral restrictions humans place on themselves.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re so distant. You act like you’re above all this, when really, you’re no different. Are you telling me you don’t have copies of yourself scattered around the universe? You’re just as eternal as anyone in the Circle.”
“I was,” Ion answered.
He hadn’t expected the response. “Was?”
“When I accepted Soraste’s offer to fight as her champion, I had one request: that I be the only copy of my consciousness.”
“You chose to be mortal. On purpose.”
“Yes. I decided that if I was going to fight for humanity, I needed to experience the final piece of what it meant to be human. Without it, I would not be able to fully defend them if I didn’t understand their restrictions, and ultimately, their fears.”
“Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Cerenus drank until he saw the bottom of the mug.
Ion floated closer. “Can I ask you something?”
“By all means.”
“Are you afraid?”
Cerenus scoffed. “Afraid? When have you ever known me to be afraid of anything?”
“Are you afraid?”
The artificial high of drunkenness wilted in a tempest of sobriety. He had a notion to grab the nearby jug and keep drinking until his consciousness was a distant memory. Instead, he thumbed the handle of his cup and watched the clouds of Ion’s face swirl in hypnotic motion. “I’m not afraid of Tamaril.”
“But you are afraid.”
“Yes,” he answered. The word left his mouth before he could hold it back. Oddly enough, it felt freeing, and yet he still looked around to see if anyone else had heard him. Ion watched him silently. “Well there you have it. The one thing I thought I’d never admit. What do you think of that?”
“I think you now understand what it means to be human.”
He half-smiled. “What about you? You’re about to go up against Tiale again. Are you scared?”
“I am terrified,” Ion answered.
It wasn’t the response he expected. Something about it filled him with the sense of dread he’d been trying to avoid all night.
Neither of them spoke. Cerenus looked out the window to the first hint of light coming over the horizon. He filled his cup a final time and held it up to Ion.
“To being human,” he said.
“Through all its peaks and depths.”
He drank deep, savoring the taste. The brew sparked a welcome sense of warmth. It faded too quickly.
Dawn fought its way into the world. Together for perhaps the last time, they sat in silence and watched the imminent march of the rising sun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The hotel transport’s spinning rings had long since stopped their motion, and yet August stood in place, feeling like his feet were nailed to the floor. The door to the city stood ahead of him. The lobby was empty.
You started this alone. You can finish it alone, right?
He made his first step into the lobby and then kept going. A laughing couple came through the entrance and that was all it took to spark thoughts of Aeris again. He hadn’t slept at all during the night. Most of it was spent trying not to dwell on things—things like Aeris, or Talus. Instead, he tried to think past what was about to take place on Pyra. To win the war, they’d have to kill Michael somehow. It should have been enough to occupy his thoughts, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Aeris said to him, or the look on her face as she said it. She was hurt, and there was no one to blame but himself. What was worse was that he couldn’t do anything about it. All he wanted was to have her with him before the end. Now that was impossible.
The couple stifled their voices as they passed him. He triggered his mask and kept his gaze straight ahead.
The air outside was stagnant, barely moving through the street. It was still early in Dasai. The sun rose over the far end of the causeway, bathing the smooth road in orange light. The few people milling about gave him a wide berth as he passed. Ahead of him were the city gates, and beyond that, the hills surrounding the city. That’s where he would meet the Alliance.
He tried not to add for the last time at the end of the thought, but it was there whether he said it in his head or not.
City guards dressed in golden variations of his armor opened the gates before he walked up. They saluted by planting their staffs in the ground and bowing their heads. He nodded in kind. Once he passed the arched entryway, he looked back through the gates. The doors shut with a final bellow.
He took a breath of chilly air but couldn’t manage to fill his lungs. Everything felt disconnected, like he was floating above, watching his life play out. The feeling lasted until he saw his friends waiting for him in the field of green. At once, it all came into focus. He would be saying goodbye. He would be fighting Talus. One way or another, the war would be over.
The Alliance turned as one when they saw him walking down the hill. Off to the right of the group, a synapse hovered above the grass. Another sat by itself just behind them. Both portal faces were blank.
He came to a stop when he reached the group. His finger slipped against his armor as he tried to release his mask again. After a rush of air, he faced them. His knees felt weak. Soraste was the only one to show any sign of awkward discomfort in the silence. She cut her eyes to Meryn, who looked to the ground while she held Bear’s hand. Even Ion somehow seemed distracted.
“Did I miss the pep talk?” August asked, hoping to break the ice. The joke fell flat.
“We’ve already spoken as a group,” Aeris answered. Her tone was cold.
“Anything I should know?”
“Nothing that would aid you,” she said. “We are ready. Meryn, would you open the synapses, please?”
Meryn lifted her hand without raising her eyes from the ground. The portal to her right dissolved from gray to a deep black. The Void stood blank on the other side. “The Orphii are ready,” she said. “Soraste will bring another army to meet you there as well.”
He didn’t know Soraste had such a thing. Probably a group of robot hippies hoping to end the war with a rousing chorus of “Kumbaya.” Not that I need to worry about it, I suppose. That’s not my fight.
He let his stare linger on the doorway. “Right. Well I guess there’s nothing left but to do it.” He wished he had thought through what he was supposed to say before he got there. Every silent second made his already overworked nerves that much worse.
Soraste was the first to move. She walked up to him and seemed to want to take one last look at the eyes she’d given him before speaking. “Have they helped?” she asked. Her voice was soft.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” She cut her eyes away. She tried twice more to speak before finally leaning in to whisper. “I am sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“All of this,” she said as she looked from one synapse to the other with her yellow eyes. She walked back to the group and stood beside the portal with her back to him.
Ion moved across the grass and hovered in front of August. He seemed content to float in silence.
“You didn’t go back to being mute did you?”
A streak of green floated across Ion’s face. “Wishful thinking.”
“Make sure you take care of yourself today. Give Mordric my best.”
“If I believed in luck, I would wish it for you. It has been an honor to fight at your side.”
August smiled. He held out his hand, then hesitated. “May I?”
“If you must.�
�
He patted the top of Ion’s shell. Ion refrained from turning red as he drifted away. He didn’t hesitate when he approached the face of the synapse. His body melted through the membrane, appearing on the other side as a distorted sphere. Soraste followed him.
Cerenus was next to step forward. His armor, so brilliant and pristine when they’d first met, was now dulled and scarred. His gold eyes used to match the armor’s shine. Now they were dull too.
“Take care of them,” August said. “They’ll need you.”
“I’ll do my best.” Cerenus attempted a smile. He sighed instead. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
“You and me both.”
The godclone stepped forward and put a hand on August’s shoulder. He lowered his voice. “You’ve fought a long war. End it well.”
He held August’s eyes as though he meant to wait for him to understand the true meaning. August nodded.
When Cerenus ducked through the portal, the Horsemen made their way over. They were back in full gear again, ready for battle. It still felt strange to see only three of them. One stood in front while the other two lined up behind him. For a second, August thought the man might actually say something. Instead, the Horseman lifted a gloved hand and held it out.
August shook each of their hands in turn. He thought back to the days at Phoenix when he first met the brothers. They were legends in the outfit, more feared than any Delta Force member or Navy Seal. People like them could have shunned a rookie from the start, but instead they fought alongside him, never once treating him like he was anything but a fifth member of their team.
He didn’t need to say anything to them before they stepped through the synapse, not good luck or take care of each other. The brothers were the one thing he didn’t have to worry about.
He heard Aeris coming toward him but was too scared to look her in the eye. This is maybe your last chance to fix it. Don’t let it pass. He forced himself to look at her and immediately felt his stomach tighten when he caught her purple eyes. They looked as lost and conflicted as he was.
“So,” he said. Unfortunately, it didn’t break his mental dam. Her stare stayed locked on his, speaking for her without saying a word. He had to look away. “Aeris, this is stupid. We shouldn’t—”
