6
YAHWEH
I SET THE SPHERE DOWN ON THE TABLE, THE ROOM SO SILENT the ensuing tap was like thunder.
“I would like out of this contract,” I declared.
Neither Adrial nor Leid said anything for a moment, eyeing me, then each other. At my side, Zira crossed his arms, an eyebrow lifted in surprise at my request. The four of us were the only Vel’Haru present in Exo’daius at the moment.
“The contract was signed by you,” said Adrial, finally.
“I don’t care,” I rebuked. “No one is taking my concerns seriously, therefore I am obviously not a good fit for this assignment.”
Adrial sighed. “We cannot renege on a contract, once it’s been signed.”
“And why not? What higher forces are constraining us from voiding a contract that was formed under false pretenses?”
Leid looked up at Adrial. “What is he talking about?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Yahweh, could you please cut the theatrics and tell us what’s bothering you?”
“They know too much about us already,” I said, terse. “Have any of you reviewed the recordings of our conversations, or checked the updates of the thread?” No one said a thing. I sighed. “Demerits, all of you. Are we running a business, or a circus?”
“Yahweh,” said Zira, quietly. It’d been a gentle warning to simmer down. It had come from a good place, but right now all I could think about was how he’d dismissed my urgent plea to Sort.
“What are you even doing here?” I muttered.
He stared ahead without response, yet the tiny cinch in his jaw made it evident that I’d bruised him. There was some satisfaction in that. I was courteous enough not to show it.
“I’m not going to repeat what I’ve already placed into attica,” I went on. “If none of you can take the time to keep up to date on our current contracts, then you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot abandon.”
I didn’t wait for a response and stormed out, leaving the little black sphere on the table between them. The awkward, shameful feeling came soon after; I felt justified and silly at the same time.
“Yahweh,” Zira called, just as I heard the doors to euxodia slam shut. His footsteps hurried after me. I stopped in the mezzanine, looking sullenly out at the red and gold landscape. He took his place at my side. “Don’t be angry with me.”
“Don’t I have the right to be?” I demanded.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You do. I’m just asking you, as a favor, not to be.”
“Help me understand why you pretend to be such a coward,” I said, turning to face him. He was taller than me by only a little. “Because I know you’re not, but honestly the act is getting infuriating.”
“Act?” he said, scowling. “You’re calling me a coward for staying in my lane?”
“What lane? I didn’t realize we were driving on a road.”
Zira smirked, yet his eyes flashed with anger. “Of course you didn’t. The lane is designated to me only.”
I squinted, confused. “What are you—?”
“The rest of you can come and go; do and say as you please. Not me. Never me. It’s amusing that you haven’t noticed.”
I said nothing, pondering his words. Zira shook his head and looked away. Then, I recalled our last conversation. “Why were you benched?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Stop avoiding conflicts. Tell me why.”
“Because I didn’t want to kill someone on my list,” he said. “Killing them entailed killing more people than I was comfortable with in the process.”
I blinked.
“I told them that, and they benched me. I was punished for it. Do you understand, Yahweh? I am not one of you. I cannot speak my mind to Leid or Adrial without repercussion. You all were friends before the Enigmus reformation. I don’t have the same rapport; I’m the bastard, silver guardian of the enemy. You might be able to outburst at them, break up their private matters, demand to be taken off an assignment—all without consequence. But, not me.” He enunciated the last two words, leaning in, lips curled into a snarl.
I flinched.
“So please, call me a coward again.”
I didn’t, only stared at Zira, searching his face. I didn’t want to believe it, but he was right. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”
The anger deflated from him. He leaned back against the glass. “I don’t need an apology. I just need your understanding.”
We said nothing for a moment. Then I asked, “So what about the rest of your list?”
“Qaira took it. He had no problems with completing it, of course.”
I only nodded, looking down. “I need some time to think.”
“Sure,” said Zira, parting from me. “I should be back at Sort anyway. Come and find me la—” He froze with a flinch. In the ensuing seconds I watched a small trickle of blood run from his nose, pooling at the indention of his upper lip. He wiped it away, turning.
My heart stopped. “Zira, you—?”
“Say nothing of this to anyone. Not yet.”
“… How long has this been going on?”
“Not long, I promise. I just… need some time to prepare, alright?”
Zira looked frightened. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Given everything he’d just told me, how comfortable would leadership be with another Silver Noble? No, Leid and Adrial would never…
“Alright,” I conceded. “But not for too long. We aren’t going down that path again.”
“Agreed,” said Zira, saying nothing else before turning and practically fleeing the mezzanine.
I watched after him, conflicted.
There were too many things going on right now. None of these issues were familiar, either. I was not equipped to handle them. So, I retreated to RQ3. Until the nobles got back to me, I’d drown myself in backburner project research. I’d simply pretend the world didn’t exist, and nothing was amiss.
Yes, that sounded perfect.
But the (brilliant) solution I’d devised for dealing with my problems didn’t work as seamlessly as planned. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to read a thread in its entirety; images of Zira and the hurt he’d worn at the mezzanine kept getting in the way. The blood from his nose, the paleness of his skin…
I grimaced and massaged my head, leaning an arm on the desk. This did nothing but shift the imagery to Savant, seated at the table in the heart of Pedagogue’s nerve center, telling me it was ‘sorry’.
All the idolatry in that post-civ metropolis.
What had they done to make humans work for them?
How had they done it?
Why did Zira think our nobles were targeting him? What did he actually think they’d do to him, should he reveal his expiration?
And now I couldn’t say a thing about it; I’d promised him I wouldn’t. My shoulders were aching from this burden already.
“Stop,” I said aloud, and for a second my brain stilled, and everything went silent. Then, as if in retaliation, it flung at me the memory of my grand display aboard the Ezekiel’s watch tower—arms spread, exposed to swarms of enemy jets as they sprayed the bow with artillery; all of this to let my army know that I felt no fear, so neither should they.
‘Who were you, then?’ mocked my conscience.
And then another one—me atop my father, the real one, at the Plexus Clinical Trials laboratory, my face twisted into a bloodstained sneer as I smashed a test-tube rack against his skull, again and again; the needle in his neck bobbing with each blow, the broken beaker shard he’d used to steal half my sight loosing from his hand.
‘And right there; who were you?’
I stood abruptly, staring vacantly ahead, listening to the staccato of my pulse.
Who had I been?
I’d been someone who faced their fears. I’d been someone who made sacrifices and never hid from difficult situations. Back then I’d only dangled on t
he thin thread of lesser mortality. What was my excuse now?
*
Zira wasn’t in the reliquary. The Sort station was vacant, which…was somewhat concerning for operations. Especially since there was a call pending from Qaira, the rhythmic pulse of the obelisk’s beacon morsing his signature, each beat changing the baseline energy from blue to violet. I looked around, unsure of what to do, and then conceded toward the desk with a sigh.
Yes, Qaira, I telepathized.
There was a moment of silence. It went on for so long that I added, Hello?
—What the fuck are you doing there? Where’s Zira?
I bristled at his greeting. I don’t know where he is.
—You didn’t answer the first part of my question.
Because that part is none of your business.
—Fine, be like that. I need a query for the OR Initiative facility locations.
…The what?
—For the OSC. I need to know where their main facilities are.
The Ophal System Confederacy. Of course Zira wouldn’t have wanted that task. One moment, I said, toggling over to the conscious stream databank. It made sense that Leid would have tasked Zira with handling the OSC athanasian research erasure—he knew the details better than any of us—but it was also a heartless move. In her defense, she’d never known how hard that contract had hit him. After all, his house had many walls.
—How long is this ‘moment’ going to take? I’m literally standing in the middle of a fucking warzone over here.
I’ve just set your colony map to include every known OR Initiative location within the system, past facilities as well. Good day to you.
I severed the line before he could respond, leaving the Sort thereafter. Qaira’s mood had been more grating than usual lately, but I knew better than to ask. Ever.
The walk to Zira’s room felt like an eternity. Halfway there I realized it wasn’t just my anxiety; an entirely new annex between the residential area and the northern wing—our main area of operations—had been created in my absence. Now Enigmus was fused together by mezzanines and bridges on both sides of each building, the outside courtyard framed by obsidian slabs and windows. I appreciated the convenience of not having to walk in a full square from the research quadrants to the dining hall any longer, but it certainly made for a disorienting first-stroll.
Zira’s room was the second-right door in the residential quarters. The area began as a narrow hall, then fanned out into a circle. At the center of the circle was a lounge area, with sectional couches, small tables and a euxodia remote headset. I’d never seen anyone use those facilities. I reckon it was simply decorative. My room was at the halfway point of the arching hallway, between Pariah and Qaira. The latter tenant was never really in his room; more often than not, he was in Leid’s.
Another recently added feature (one that everyone was very happy with, mind you) was the installment of differential chromatophores on our doorways—meaning we could actually change the color of the luminescent entrances. If we wanted privacy, it was red.
Zira’s was not red.
I still didn’t feel comfortable walking in, unannounced. There wasn’t yet a definitive color for absent, which meant I could be walking into an empty room. That seemed intrusive.
So I stood outside the door, shifting from one foot to another, trying to think of what to do. It wasn’t like him to abandon post, even if the post was Sort.
Zira? I called, and waited.
Nothing.
I was left with no choice but to locate him via attica. The ping came back a nanosecond later, which surprised me. It wasn’t uncommon for Zira to block the tracking function in attica, calling it a ‘violation of privacy’. But there it was, his beacon, relaying that he was, indeed, in the room.
I hadn’t built myself up and come all this way just to be frightened of how Zira might convey a breach of privacy. I took a deep breath, and crossed the swirling threshold.
I’d entered with my hands clenched, ready to defend myself for an unwarranted entry; instead I was greeted with the sight of Zira hunched over the edge of his bed, with his head between his knees. Droplets of blood pattered to the floor between his boots, and he clutched his head, completely unaware that I was even there.
I hurried to his side, kneeling in front of him. “Zira? Zira?”
He craned his neck to look up at me, the anguish in his expression turning to horror. Immediately Zira turned, wiping his nose, stifling the migraine that I knew afflicted him by only a clenched jaw. “What…” he gasped, the pain momentarily stealing his breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I looked for you at Sort. You weren’t there.”
He winced, coming to full stand, pretending to be fine. “I just needed a second.”
I looked at the blood on the floor, then back at him. “You need more than a second. You’re in no condition to go back to work.”
There it was; that irritated frown. “Yahweh, I’m alright. You shouldn’t have come in here without calling first.”
“I did call,” I snapped. “Qaira pinged Sort, and no one was there to answer him.”
“I was ignoring him on purpose. He’s called five times in the past hour,” muttered Zira, wiping away the blood by smearing it around with his heel until it seemingly dissolved into the floor. “If he wants to take my assignments, he should do his own research.”
“You need to tell Leid and Adrial that you’re expiring,” I said after a moment of silence, watching as he composed himself. “You lied to me, didn’t you? You’re a lot further than you said.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I only started having these… episodes last week. I don’t know why they’re already so severe.”
“I can’t keep this a secret for you. You’re only hurting yourself, and I won’t be a part of it.”
Zira regarded me coolly, then shrugged. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
As he started for the door, I said, “Do you feel like you’re alone?”
Zira froze, keeping his back to me. I continued, “I’m sorry for what I said in the reliquary. I came all the way over here to tell you so.”
“You already apologized.”
“I know, but I don’t think you believe me.”
He turned, regarding me with a conflicted frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell them you’re expiring,” I pressed. “I’ll stand right beside you. And if they ever unfairly bench you again, I’ll demand to be benched as well.”
Zira sighed. “Yahweh, I don’t need—,”
“You don’t bloody know what you do or don’t need. You’d rather sit alone in your room—in pain—than seek any help. A part of me believes you like playing the outcast.”
He said nothing, only stared. That placid look in his eyes only roiled my frustration.
“What are we even doing, then?” I demanded. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you. If you can’t confide in me—,”
In an instant, Zira had whirred right in front of me and clutched the collar of my coat. Our noses nearly touched. He didn’t seem angry and the grip wasn’t hard, only impactful enough to startle me into silence. His expression still relayed nothing, but his eyes searched my own. “You walk on eggshells of your own making,” he said, hushed. “There’s nothing you can say to me that will ever change my feelings for you. You want me to tell the nobles about my expiration?”
“Yes,” I said, after some hesitation.
His grip remained. “Alright, I will. What else?”
“I’m… sorry?”
Zira tilted his head. “I’ve upset you. What else can I do to make it right?”
My pulse quickened, and I was sure he felt it. I didn’t know how to answer him, so I didn’t.
“Do you want me to let go of you?” His voice was even quieter now, slightly above a whisper.
I took a sharp breath. None of this had been intended, yet now was completely unavoidable. Even the way he looked at me was a
rousing. “No.”
Zira smirked. “Then I guess Sort can wait a little while longer.”
In my peripherals, I saw his doorway turn red.
*
Our endeavor was swift, but efficient. Zira re-clothed, murmured something in parting, and dashed out the door, leaving me to follow suit, clumsy and breathless.
I’d only stepped out into the hallway, still straightening my jacket, when Leid invaded my mind.
—Could you return to euxodia? We’d like to continue our conversation, now that we’ve properly educated ourselves.
My gaze wandered down the hall, toward the mezzanine that Zira had taken back to Sort. I exhaled. Yes, I’ll be right there.
I ventured in the opposite direction.
Leid and Adrial stood side-by-side at the euxodia lectern, the contents of my thread displayed in the attica holosphere behind them. Leid had been honest when she said they’d educated themselves; the air inside the room was pensive now, and both nobles’ expressions were grim. I stood several paces from the lectern, waiting for them to speak.
“Pedagogue knows of Felor,” began Leid. “And they’ve recognized Felorian markers in human genetic material.” Her tone was calm and concise, as if trying to offer further evidence that she’d read everything in my thread.
“Correct,” I said, folding my arms. “I find it puzzling that they are calling us for help now, what with all the progress they seem capable of achieving on their own.”
“Allow me to fill in some of the missing pieces for you, then,” she murmured, turning toward the illuminated thread. It shifted into a cosmic map of the Khota-6 Supercluster, alit with an array of glowing circles. “According to the timeline given by Pedagogue’s legacy code, along with clues from your recorded conversation with Savant, I’ve mapped their most plausible course of travel since leaving their home world. Take a look.”
On cue, a line began to trail across the map, connecting each circle along the way. I tried to suppress my awe of how quickly she’d managed to accomplish this task. A few hours, at most.
Covenants: Savant (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 10) Page 7
