I kept existing.
I kept quiet.
Cassima stole looks at me from time to time, I sensed this too, but my body language made it clear that I wanted to be left alone. He sat at the table adjacent to mine with Kima and Asepoei, their conversation—though scarce—was hushed.
Cassima, dear Cassima; with his warm eyes and cold ambition, he preached our ‘obligations’ as engines while wishing to be anything but. I wouldn’t blame him and only hoped the best for him—for all of us—yet his dream would not be found here, not like this.
As he’d held me and promised to take me sight-seeing through the cosmos, I’d wept on the inside knowing none of it could ever happen.
Because I was going to stop it.
Break it.
That satellite would never see another recalibration.
And Cassima would never forgive me.
Chew, swallow, chew, swallow.
For the final minutes of our meal, I stared out the window, imagining I was back on Litha, in the Garden.
*
As the researchers fixed my limbs with braces and wires, fastening me tight into my lattice tower, I looked ahead unflinchingly; even after a prong bit through the base of my neck. The others regarded me with concern, though inconspicuous as it was, as I was not often an apathetic creature but I’d yet to give any facial expression throughout this exercise.
They could read me, just as I read them.
I was just tired, they thought. They were not wrong.
The hum of synchronization was felt by a tickle down my spine. Our lattice towers—totems—were activated, the spheres above them levitating to attest to this fact. The researchers left our circle and filtered into the observatory room. My eyes flicked to the glowing shard encased in synth-silica just to the left of the circle, the thrum of its resonance now steady with my heart.
Cassima’s tower was directly across from mine, his voltaic eyes alit with blue sparks as the athanasian surge moved through him—through all of us.
Our gazes locked. He smiled.
I did not.
His smile faded and there was just enough time to see the puzzlement surface behind his gaze before my field of vision was replaced with the shard stream. Grid, the researchers called it. The shard allowed us a form of conscious integration.
This was where we’d failed last time. Two of us were still failing—not anywhere near strong enough to power Grid—but Cassima and I both shouldered their workload and offset the deficits. Asepoei and Kima helped as well.
The Novitiate cheers could be heard through the glass pane of the observation room. Behind my eyes the gridmap came to life, locating the satellites light-years away. If we could do this, then we might be able to move larger things; organic things. We would be self-sustaining, have absolute power. Lithia’s legacy.
The exercise began as expected. The shards within the satellites responded to our inquiry. We bowed our heads in strain, trying to make it move. It did. Just a bit. Again, the two weaker engines were holding us back. Again, Cassima and I shouldered the burden.
My grid began to falter—flicker—and through the hum of the shard came that toxic voice.
Submit, it boomed, spreading over my consciousness. Obey.
Burn, I seethed, pushing back.
And then I turned on the satellites. With all of my strength I forced myself into them, through their shards, riding the thrum of their chorus in attempt to throttle them out of tune. Cassima realized what my intentions were and fought me.
Alarms from the observation room blared.
Our lattice towers trembled; quakes rippled through the station.
I kept at it, and he pushed against me, his gaze no longer warm, but narrow and furious. My eyes remained on his, even as I heard the researchers screaming at each other to shut it down, then that they couldn’t shut it down. The only things existing in my world right then were the satellites and Cassima.
The other engines thrashed with both pain and fear, trying to free themselves of their totems. They all fell limp eventually, thrown unconscious by our power struggle. We were locked in a stale-mate seemingly forever, but then another party entered the battle. The presence was foreign, sending chills down my spine. Cassima felt it, too. His eyes widened with surprise.
Its force was stronger than ours combined. We didn’t even have time to band together before the hum of the shard’s resonance turned to a deafening six-fold amplitude, threatening to crush our skulls.
I cried out in pain, just as the silica-encapsulated shard that powered our circle shattered. Fragments flew in every direction—no, wait, the direction was intended— and pierced the center of our chests.
Cassima’s suit blossomed red and he hung his head in succumbence. I screamed his name, my vision blurring with tears. Threads of silver spanned from his wound, bounding him in a shimmering web. The black of his hair faded to silver, then to white. The other engines followed suit.
The same was happening to me—I could feel it.
I had failed, but wouldn’t go down without a fight.
As the station rocked itself out of Litha’s orbit, sailing into the black unknown, I began to set rules into grid while I still had some semblance of control. Whatever this was could not escape. It could not get free to perpetuate whatever dark prime directive it carried.
It had us, yes, but it would not have anything else. As I sank into permanent unconsciousness, I set the rules in grid to stone.
And so became the Law.
XXI
CASCADE OF SORROW, II
Mia Shard—;
I STAGGERED AGAINST THE WALL, HOLDING MY face as the memories poured into me so quickly that I couldn’t breathe. All the other Regals had collapsed to the ground, their carapaces lifeless, like toppled dolls. Their eyes were empty, milky white. The Feelers remained upright, statuesque, watching me. They’d been absolved from the program long before it was deactivated. So had I, and so had—;
Cassima.
The Vel’Haru had stepped back, confused by what was happening. Leid watched me like the Feelers, almost as if she knew; almost as if she’d seen everything. Her expression was conflicted, sad. She had seen.
I sank to my knees with a sob, wishing it away. All this pulsing time, everything that had happened. No.
“I made a promise to fix this. A large part of our imprisonment is my fault. I have to do right by it.”
No.
“I promise that if anything goes wrong, I’ll fix it.”
Shatterstar, no.
I tried to feel Cassima, but only the cold black answered my call.
He was gone, and I’d never felt so alone.
XXII
PERMANENCE
Qaira Eltruan—;
“YAHWEH IS WORKING ON ANOTHER form of medication,” said Adrial. “For now, let’s raise your dosage.”
“What?” I yelled, in jest. “I can’t hear you over this music.”
Adrial frowned. His eyes swept to the office door, lingering there. “Well, that’s all for today. See Yahweh tomorrow. He should be done synthesizing the new med.”
I followed his gaze. Aela stood at the entrance, waiting.
As I left and she stepped in, I asked with a smirk, “Need me to shut the door?”
“Please,” said Adrial, nodding.
With a shake of my head I proceeded down the stairs into Cerasaraelia’s dining room. Leid and Pariah were in there, sharing a bottle of wine. Leid had reacquired those gross non-celestial cigarettes, and I waved the foul smoke from my face on the way to the kitchen.
It’d been a little less than a week since the incident on Gantzt. I still didn’t really understand what had happened, only that the conflict was over and the Framers were… gone.
Leid couldn’t feel them anymore, and grid was inact
ive. They weren’t all dead, as we’d left Sarine on her knees in the midciv ruin, staring numbly at nothing amid a pile of her kin. Those bald-things weren’t dead either.
Leid had ordered us to stand down in the tunnels. We hadn’t heard anything since, and she assured us they were no longer a threat. When we’d asked how she knew that, she promised to make an entire thread detailing their story and situation. Some of it was already up, but I was waiting for the whole thing. I hated cliffhangers.
There was already talks of rebuilding Enigmus. Exo’daius was ours again, although now with our tech upgrades Alpha-Insipia was simply uncharted territory waiting for us to explore. We would stay in Exo’daius until we found greener pastures, as everyone agreed a world with better resources and less history would be good for us.
Until then, I was forced to eat bland Archaean food and endure side-eye from Commander Trede whenever he visited. In an effort to cure my boredom I spent most days in the weapons research lab trying to tweak our visors so they couldn’t be damaged so easily. There was also a question as to how we would acquire more shards once Lelain’s head was all used up, but that was a later problem. I’d probably take a trip back to Gantzt (ugh) and collect pieces of the dead Regals at some point. Doing so in front of Sarine would have been too insensitive, even for me. Respecting the dead was a multiversal practice. Except if you were a proxy. Then your corpse was just tossed over the side of a cliff.
I grabbed leftovers from the fridge and looked idly through the window, spotting Yahweh and Zira in the garden, by the gazebo. Their backs were to the manor, haloes of violet smoke hovering above their heads.
***
Yahweh Telei—;
I’d just finished giving Zira the latest update on Leid’s Framer thread. Her most recent addition detailed how they became Framers—and, ultimately, how their ancestry was passed on to us. Zira had been on Qaira’s side, claiming he ‘didn’t like cliffhangers,’ but then asked me to give him a summary whenever Leid added new material. So unlike Qaira, Zira was just lazy.
Zira absorbed what I’d told him for a minute, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Wild,” he said finally with an exhale of purple smoke. “The thing inside the shard that infected the engines; did Leid mention what it was?”
“No. I don’t think she knows. I’m not sure that the engines or the Framers knew, even.”
He gave me a daunted sidelong glance. “Do you think whatever was in there is now in us?”
“Probably remnants, yes. Whatever kind of power it held made us what we are, what the Framers are—or were.” I wasn’t certain of their current situation.
Zira hmm’d, then nodded matter-of-factly. “That means the case isn’t closed.”
“Beg pardon?”
“The Framers weren’t our progenitors. They were the first ones to get hit by our progenitors.”
I groaned. “Zira, don’t tell Adrial—”
“Why not?” He grinned, devilishly. “Everything’s more exciting with an overarching goal.”
I puffed the last of my cigarette, absorbing the waste. “No,” I muttered. “No, it’s not.”
***
Leid Koseling—;
My fingers twisted at pegs C and D; they were still slightly out of tune. It was evident this cello had gone un-played for quite some time. The first one Belial had given me had a warped neck. Fortunately he was able to acquire another one posthaste.
It was bigger than the last, and it’d taken a while to find the base a comfortable position between my knees. I dragged the bow across the strings, then winced.
No, still not right. Now G and A sounded wrong.
As I twisted the pegs some more, Adrial appeared in my open bedroom doorway. He leaned on the frame, folding his arms with a smile.
“You know, I’ve never actually heard you,” he said.
“No?”
“I’ve heard of you. Apparently there’s no greater cellist in the Multiverse.”
Now I knew he was teasing. “Well, perhaps you’ll hear me if I can ever get this horrible thing tuned. Have you seen Qaira?”
He glanced down the hall, furrowing his brows. “No. Should I have?”
“He’s supposed to be here.”
Adrial glanced at the violin case on the couch next to me. “Ah.”
“Has he seemed better?” I asked, hopeful.
“He hasn’t seemed worse.”
I nodded, resuming my tuning.
“I’m heading in for the night.” He used air quotes, as there was no night or day in Purgatory. “I’m calling a meeting after morning meal.”
“Regarding?”
“I think it’s time to go home,” said Adrial. “Reconstruction will take a while, and we’ll need contracts to fund supplies.”
“The Court of Enigmus’s grand reopening,” I said, caustically.
He smirked. “Good night.”
“Sleep well.”
Adrial disappeared down the hall.
Once the instrument was sufficiently tuned, Qaira still nowhere in sight, I started without him. I closed my eyes, allowing my hands and emotions to work reflexively. The song was new, as was the source of its inspiration. The chords took me back to the tunnel system of Gantzt’s alpines.
I still wasn’t sure why I’d seen Mia’s memories; perhaps it was because I had linked to Grid. But I was very sure of how she felt as she sank to her knees, sobbing invisible tears. Realizing you’d destroyed everything when your intentions were only virtuous… that was something she and I held in common.
And so this song was dedicated to Mia, wherever she was. I could only hope one day she might find a way to live with herself.
I lost track of time, the song must have extended longer than I discerned, as when my bow fell limp and I opened my eyes, Qaira was in my room looking down at me with a guilty smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, holding up two bottles of wine. “I thought we’d make a night of this.”
I set the cello aside and embraced him, pressing my cheek against his chest. He jolted in surprise, still holding up the wine.
“I love you,” I whispered.
He wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “Because I brought wine?”
I laughed.
That night we played hard, and fucked even harder. For the first time, the idea of living forever wasn’t terrifying. Everything was right in the Multiverse.
For now.
O
THE INVARIABLE STATES OF DECAY
Mia Shard—;
AMID THE BUTTERFLIES AND FLORA I SIT AND carve you with care. It’s the same stone bench we used to bask in Litha’s morning sun so long ago. I don’t know if I got all the details right, but I tried my best for you.
The Feelers like this place. They sense it as familiar. I made it large enough to hold the thousands of us left and they keep adding more pieces—today a wall of winking vines appeared on the perimeter wall. I think I remember those; they must, too.
The program is gone and so is everyone that was still under its thumb. Our synchronization has been severed, and there is no longer a conscious stream. All we have left is this pocket of (un)reality. Without grid I can’t bring you back. Was that your intention?
I gathered all the shards I could find, but they don’t sing our hymn anymore. I carved a carapace in your Nov likeness, all the way down to the line in your chin and the scar on your shoulder from the anode that hadn’t shut down properly.
You look at me but don’t yet see.
I’ll change that, somehow.
Without the program I am nothing; a crownless ruler amid wandering mutes. Cassima, it’s so lonely here without you. There were so many places we were supposed to see; you promised to take me exploring, don’t you remember?
Cassima, I’m sorry.
After everything you’ve done, I’m not sure that I’m happy with it. You promised to fix it, but did you really? Could either of us have perceived the consequences of such an oath? I
will ask you this when you return.
Until then I will keep your carapace safe, tucked away in the hanging vines of our Thasadem aperture. The ever-sun makes your body shimmer and whenever I sit with you I remember our better—albeit brief—times. I think the Feelers know how to bring you back, but they won’t tell me. I’ll convince them; you’ll see.
If bringing you back takes until the end of our universe, then so be it. You never gave up on me.
And so I won’t give up on you.
TITLES IN THE HYMN OF THE MULTIVERSE:
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(THE ANTITHESIS)
1 – INCEPTION
2 – HONOR
3 – FALLEN
4 – WAR
5 – VENGEANCE
(DYSPHORIA)
6 – RISE
7 – PERMANENCE
(COVENANTS)
8 – ELEGY (TBD, 2019)
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Dysphoria- Permanence Page 16
