She said nothing and I walked to the door. Just as I stepped into the hall, I heard:
“Cassima.”
I turned, waiting.
“Promise me that everything will be alright if we do this,” she said, pleadingly.
I hesitated, uneasy. “I promise that if anything goes wrong, I’ll fix it.”
*
Our handlers escorted us to our living quarters later that evening. There was still no word from the researchers, and Mia was still under observation. Asepoei tried to ask the handler, Karr, if they’d heard anything about the program, but he shook his head and said nothing else. It was unclear whether he didn’t know or was simply reluctant to say. It made all of us nervous.
While the researches undoubtedly toiled over their options in the conference room on the floor above the calibration chamber, the eleven of us held a meeting of our own within the gathering lounge.
I told them of my visit with Mia; the change of her hair color, the voices she and I heard during the calibration, and her theory of where the voices were coming from.
“The shard,” Kima repeated, incredulous. “It’s a piece of metamorphic rock.”
“You heard it, too?” asked Asepoei.
I nodded. “While she didn’t outright say it, Mia seems to think that the shard is alive and wants to take over the program.”
Kima crossed his arms. “That single shard at the researcher’s console? Or all the shards?”
I didn’t know, so I shrugged. “Whether you believe her or not, there’s obviously a risk in enmeshing with the shard. None of us could stay conscious.”
“We need to re-tune is all,” said Asopoei.
“Re-calibrate,” echoed Vekera, another of us.
“Will Mia rejoin us?” asked Kima.
“Yes, but are all of us willing to risk the enmeshment again?”
“Yes,” said Aseopoei, without pause.
“Yes,” said Kima not a second later.
“Yes,” said everyone else.
It was unanimous. If the researchers allowed it, we would try again.
An hour or so later, Karr returned to the living quarters and announced that the program would continue first-thing tomorrow morning. He then suggested that we get some rest, so we could be at our best for the recalibration.
XV
THE WARNING
Qaira Eltruan—;
“HOW IS THE MEDICATION WORKING?” asked Adrial, notepad at the ready.
“I don’t know,” I said, picking at my nails. I was more than annoyed at being summoned for therapy while the world was hanging in the balance. Then again, when wasn’t the world hanging in the balance? It was no wonder I needed a fucking shrink.
Adrial raised a brow. “Are you still having hallucinations?”
“No.”
“Then I would say it’s working.”
“I hear music sometimes, though.”
Adrial’s pen paused on the paper. “Music.”
“Yeah, like orchestral music. It’s annoying.”
“Hm,” was all that he said.
“Hm?” I asked, waiting for him to elaborate.
“It appears your hallucinations switched courses,” he said. “Tae—your visual hallucination—has morphed into an auditory hallucination.”
“That’s why I said I didn’t know if the medication was working.”
“Is hearing music better than seeing your sister’s mangled corpse?”
“…Well, when you put it that way.”
Adrial grinned. “Let’s call it progress, then.”
I broke our gaze, shooting a look toward the grandfather clock still situated beneath that giant Latin map of the human world. We’d shifted course and had this session in the library, which was both a comforting and harrowing feeling. A lot had happened here, many of the situations involving people no longer alive. Every time I turned my head I half-expected Zhevraine to be at her usual perch, reading a poetry book and sipping tea.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“Has the journaling been of any help?”
“I don’t see the point of writing down my feelings,” I said, not really answering the question.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid. It doesn’t achieve anything.”
Adrial shrugged. “Journaling is supposed to be an effective way of releasing your feelings without suffering the consequences of acting on them.”
“So instead of punching a wall, I write, I feel like punching a wall, and that’s supposed to make me not want to punch a wall?”
“Despite your combativeness toward the practice, your entries are quite eloquent.”
“You said you weren’t going to read them,” I snapped.
“Well I had to read the first passages to make sure you weren’t just filling the pages with insults about me.”
The joke was on him. The insults were in the middle. “Whatever.”
Adrial closed his notebook and set it on the table. “Since things are going better for you, why don’t we skip the syllabus?”
“Meaning?”
“Sometimes the best therapy is to talk. You used to come to me, maybe you should again.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Even so; we still have half an hour to kill,” said Adrial. “Tell me about anything that’s troubling you. I may not be able to help in every case, but sometimes simply talking about it is help enough.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to journal anymore?”
“No.”
Sigh.
***
Yahweh Telei—;
“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” I said, bowing my head in respect. “I don’t know how I can repay you, but I will.”
Seyestin moved a pawn two spaces on the board. “Consider this our repayment to you and the Court of Enigmus.”
“I was simply doing my job,” I said, studying the board. In the fifty-six years since I’d left, my former General had grown very skilled at this game. I was pleased to see that the celestial tradition of chess had not died with Lucifer and I. Though, I suspected Seyestin learned the game out of respect for me than anything else. Finally, I decided to move a bishop.
“No more talk of repayments. Consider us even now. Your newest institution is always of more help than burden to the celestials. How far off is that slaver civilization you warned me about last time we spoke?”
I paused, consulting attica. “Fifteen lightyears. They’ve approached 0.16 lightyears since.”
“Well, we’ll definitely need to keep your kin alive for that.” Seyestin smiled, and so did I. Then he ate my bishop with a knight, and I vowed to destroy him.
His office—my old office—was quiet. I’d always heard activity out in the halls and through the walls of adjacent offices, but now only footsteps would pass by every twenty minutes or so. Crylle parliament had shrunk considerably, as the cold war and the ever-lingering threat of active war were no longer. I’d never known this. While I was happy for them, it was also a stark reminder that I didn’t belong here anymore. Heaven was moving on without me; I was a foreigner. I imagined Ixiah had suffered the same feeling.
Seyestin noticed the change in my expression and his smile faded. As if reading my mind, he switched subjects. “Since Enigmus is destroyed, Belial and I are planning to restore Cerasaraelia. Once all this excitement has died down, you are welcome to make it a secondary headquarters, of sorts.”
That was a thoughtful gesture, but there was no way that Leid would want to stay here longer than she had to. I could feel the toll it was taking on her already; Qaira as well. I couldn’t express this to Seyestin, so all I said was, “That’s kind of you.”
Heaven’s setting sun cast an orange light through the window and over the skyscrapers of Upper-Crylle. Seyestin was cast aglow, his cerulean eyes muted with gold. I relished the warmth across my back. Before anything else could be said, a knock at the door invaded the silence.
Seyestin seemed mildly annoyed at the interruption. “Come in.”
It was Nephilim Schoen. She had been promoted to Chief Secretary of Theosyne. “Sir, I know that you said not to disturb you—”
“Yes,” sighed Seyestin. “Yes, I did.”
“—But there is an alien in the lobby asking for the Vel’Haru. I thought this was worth disturbing you about.”
Seyestin shot out of his seat. “What?”
“Oh dear,” I muttered. “Is it a child?”
Nephilim frowned. “No, it’s a woman, I think. She’s very slender and looks a bit robotic.”
“None of the guards thought to stop her?” shouted Seyestin.
Nephilim flinched. “Well, she just sort of appeared at the front desk, so—”
“Just her?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Nephilim. “She doesn’t seem threatening, but should I tell her you’re unavailable?”
“No, point her toward Cerasaraelia. I’ll fetch Leid.” I left the room, the comforting silence of parliament’s halls now marred with Seyestin’s rant about shoddy security.
*
We gathered around the Framer in the statue-riddled garden as she turned in place, studying us. Her eyes rested on Leid. Something in them flickered for a moment. The look they shared was one of mutual recognition; mutual distain. Her hair was long, halfway down her back, streaked silver and white. She was as tall as Adrial and so slender that it seemed anatomically impossible.
“Leid Koseling,” she greeted in an automated fashion. “So we meet again.”
“Sarine,” said Leid, folding her arms. “You’ve come to talk, then?”
“What?” exclaimed Qaira, glancing at Leid. “I thought you killed her.”
“She did,” said Sarine, while the rest of us just stood there, confused. “I am here to talk, but on Cassima’s behalf.”
Leid raised a brow. “You’ve switched sides.”
“The Insipian Qualification Directive is amassing a task force to put the Vel’Haru down,” said Sarine. “I am here under the guise of a scouting envoy for them.”
“They know we’re here?” asked Adrial.
“No. Cassima gave me the coordinates. He would have come himself, but it’s not safe for him right now and he has other things to do. Once I return, I will have to justify coming here, and will be forced to hand over your transporter activity map.”
“Our what?” asked Zira.
“The obelisks,” said Leid, her expression darkening. “You’ve tracked our obelisks.”
“Yes,” said Sarine. “Telling them you’re not here might hold them off for a while, but as soon as they figure out how to interpret the data they will know that the obelisk on this world was the last one active. This is your warning.”
“How long do you think we have?” asked Adrial, fearful.
“I’m not certain. Several of this planet’s days, maybe five, but I would not wager that.”
Adrial looked to Qaira, as did the rest of us. He was frowning.
“Not enough time,” he muttered. “Our project won’t be complete for a few weeks at the minimum.”
The placidity of Sarine’s face broke with surprise. “You are building arms as well?”
“I found your basewave,” said Qaira, sneering, “and with a little more time we’ll see who’s afraid of who.”
“We’re already afraid,” said Sarine, unfazed. “That’s why we’re coming for you.” She looked at Leid. “I have something, from Cassima. It might help.”
Leid considered Sarine for about ten seconds, exhaling smoke from the last of her cigarette before putting it out on the ground. Sarine watched as she mashed it into the pavement with her shoe. I flinched at the utter disregard for our lawn.
“What is that?” asked Sarine.
“Stress relief,” said Leid, nodding toward Cerasaraelia’s back door. She’d apparently decided to trust the wispy Framer. “This way.”
As Sarine followed Leid inside our manor, gingerly climbing the steps to the porch (probably her first time using stairs), Pariah appeared at my side and whispered, “Isn’t she the one who kidnapped Qaira?”
I nodded.
***
Leid Koseling—;
Adrial and I led Sarine into the library. I activated the attica-cast so the others could watch our conversation in real-time, should they feel so inclined. Qaira had huffed about not accompanying us, but having so many here might make the Framer feel threatened—more than she probably did already.
“Thank you,” said Sarine once the three of us were alone.
“For?” I asked.
“The hospitality. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to me being here instead of Cassima.”
“Yes, well,” I cleared my throat, taking a seat at the desk in the center of the room, “we’re not a violent, hasty bunch.”
Sarine took my punch with tact. “I’ve never claimed that you were. Although there was a brief moment that I really wanted you dead.”
“I can imagine,” I said, slight-of-smile. “What is it that Cassima has brought?”
“I’ve stored it in an encrypted thread. Can you still sense grid?”
“If I try really hard.”
Sarine took a step forward, reaching toward me. It looked like she wanted to shake my hand. “There are no consoles here, so I must transfer it this way.”
Adrial visibly tensed, standing sentry beside me at the desk. I studied Sarine, then her hand, and then rose from my seat. “Just remember what happened last time you crossed me. Now you’re in our territory.”
She remained statuesque, hand still outstretched. Her lightning-streaked eyes held me as I approached. “There is no scheme in this, Vel’Haru. Only a gift from Cassima.”
Sarine was double my height; her hand twice the size. Our fingers entwined, and closed. Static and heat shot through my arm. Attica flickered and waned as my hand rippled with silvery threads. I closed my eyes, shuddering, as attica alerted me that a new fragment was available in the stream.
Zira was the first to attempt access, but the signature was still encrypted. It required the basewave tune, to which Vel’Haru resonance was only a third in synch. I wouldn’t tell Sarine it was unreadable; she knew that and it was up to us to decipher it. I was only able to read grid language in Grid, not grid language in attica.
“That should provide you some defense when they come,” she foreshadowed.
“Why are you helping us?” asked Adrial, suspicion in his tone.
“Hasn’t Cassima told you?”
“He says he admires us and that we are the better race,” said Adrial. “Something tells me you aren’t in agreement with that.”
Sarine hesitated. “I am helping you because Cassima told me to.”
“Is Cassima your direct report?” I asked.
“No.”
“Is he blackmailing you, then?” asked Adrial.
Sarine tilted her head, not understanding that term. Adrial asked again, this time substituting ‘blackmail’ with the Exodian word for ‘exaction’. Sa-see-ka. Still, she did not understand. It wasn’t a language barrier, only a cultural one. There was no such thing as bribery or blackmail in their society. Obviously we weren’t the better race.
“Cassima has his own reasons, and I have mine,” she said before we could make a third attempt. “Cassima believes that helping you will help us.”
“And what do you believe?” I asked.
“I believe that the Codemaker’s Law needs revision.” Sarine turned toward the library exit. “I can’t mask my grid-capture much longer if I’m to pretend it’s a program abnormality. I hope Cassima’s gift will be of some use to you. We will try to soften the blow on our end. If all of us are still in one piece once this is over, perhaps we can talk again.” Sarine stopped at the door. “Goodbye, Vel’Haru.”
And then her body burst into sparkly dust; left behind were a cloud of fractal butterflies that swarmed around me and I instinctively waved them away. Adrial watche
d me, confused.
“What are you doing?”
He couldn’t see the butterflies, of course.
“Nothing,” I said once they, too, disintegrated.
Adrial cast a puzzled frown at the library doorway. “And why did she walk all the way over there if she was just going to poof out of existence?”
Because butterflies. “Round up the others,” I said, ignoring his question. “We have much to plan.”
XVI
DEADLINE
Qaira Eltruan—;
OUR WINDOW OF TIME HAD JUST BEEN REDUCED from several weeks to several days. That meant no sleeping, no eating, and no talking unless it was relevant to our project. Yahweh, Pariah and I were on day 1.5 in the weapons research laboratory. Sleep-deprived, starving, and understandably grumpy, we toiled with bolometers and oscilloscopes while Seyestin was kind enough to have staff send us coffee and refreshments every so often. Nothing substantial, though.
Leid, Adrial, Aela and Zira had split into two teams and were currently scouring the Multiverse in search of a suitable place for our last stand. Better us than them.
“Are you ready?” asked Yahweh, and both the volume and tone of his voice suggested he’d had to repeat that question several times.
Sarine’s ‘gift’ was a codec for attica. Using the basewave formula and Pariah’s talent of wave translation, Framer resonance was compressed and transmitted as a new spectrum lens. That meant all of us could sense them now, not only Leid. Once I completed our armor upgrades, there would be no more surprise appearances.
I made some final touches to the curvature of the metal disc, which would serve as the newest piece of our uniforms. A small fragment of the Framer’s corpse-shard was nestled in a notch at the center, meant to sit right between our eyes. Jokkovan strings, used to amplify sounds and waves in celestial musical instruments and machinery, were woven around the shard and into the frame. The strings were pulled and shaped by calculations made into the bolometer from Framer-Vel’Haru resonance differentials.
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