SHATTER STAR PRESS
© 2021 Terra Whiteman. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Thea Nicolescu
*** For character glossary, series lore, and Multiversal location info, please refer to the Hymn of the Multiverse Comprehensive Guide, available here:
https://exodaius.blogspot.com/p/hymn-of-multiverse-comprehensive-guide.html
0
AELA
THE COLD METAL SENT PRICKLES UP MY SKIN as I leaned back into the RQ4 examination chair. I faced a console at which Qaira brooded, his expression illuminated by its glowing blue screen; the faintest traces of white script scrolling across his skin in reflection of the diagnostics underway. Behind me, Yahweh tinkered with his own project—a haphazardly constructed apparatus, designed to formulate a rejuvenation source as substantial as osmium. Neither of them spoke directly to me, leaving me instead to stare perilously ahead as they muttered to themselves, lost in their own thoughts. Apparently all of our STEM specialists had a strange habit of thinking aloud.
I felt like a test subject. Technically, I wasn’t wrong.
“Do you have a sample prepared yet?” Qaira called to Yahweh.
There came a clink of glassware behind me. I couldn’t turn to look because the crude trial headset I wore prevented any motion of my neck. “I think so,” Yahweh finally said. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, and the way he said that made me believe he wasn’t ready at all.
Yahweh moved into my field of vision, kneeling and handing me a little vial of gold liquid. It felt oddly warm. “Alright, we’re going to see if that will sustain you once you’ve crossed over. Are there any questions before we begin?”
“Yes,” I said. “A million. Where will I end up once I’ve crossed?”
“We don’t know,” Qaira said. “The shard that Laith gave us has specific coordinates, allegedly, so probably nowhere dangerous. But that doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter if I end up somewhere dangerous?”
Qaira seemed annoyed. “You’re not there to explore. You’ll show up, injure yourself, and use the vial. Once you report the results, we’re pulling you out.”
“If you’re sending me there subconsciously, how is the vial supposed to come along?” I asked, incredulous.
“It’s not totally subconscious. We’re making a copy of your resonance in your current image, and sending it there.”
“So, it’s an avatar.”
Qaira nodded. “Yeah, exactly.”
“The Framers called it fracturing,” added Yahweh. “Somewhat akin to succumbence.”
“Minus the hangover, hopefully,” said Qaira.
These explanations were giving me anxiety. “All of this sounds very incredible. And theoretical.”
Qaira smirked, returning to the console. “Sure does. We’re snapping a picture of you and placing it into a realm we know little about.”
I shifted in my seat. “And what if something goes terribly wrong?”
“Then, you’re fucked. And so am I, because you’re Adrial’s paramour.”
I didn’t respond, trying to ignore my fluttering heart. My fingers tingled as my nervous inclinations heightened; if only I could rub my hands together.
Yahweh frowned, studying me, sensing my fear. “If you have any reservations, I’d be happy to go instead.”
“Yeah,” scoffed Qaira. “No one cares about what happens to him.”
Yahweh shot him a look.
No, not a chance. I’d wanted this for too long; the first to explore a new frontier and collect tangible data. Finally make a mark on our archives. I was so sick of business as usual. I simply had to remind myself there was no danger here, only uncertainty. “I’ll manage.” And to his evident disappointment, I added, “Haven’t you had enough excitement for a decade?”
Yahweh only shrugged, returning behind me, out of view. Such a glory-chaser. He’d had numerous merits already. First somnia, now a mecha-civ alliance. It was my turn to shine.
“Speaking of excitement,” Qaira said, eyeing the console screen. “Your boyfriend is bleeding all over the Toh field.”
“Stop calling him that,” snapped Yahweh.
Qaira looked past me, brows raised. “Is that not what he is?”
Yahweh ignored the question. “He’s going under, after evening meal. Relax.”
“Are we doing anything celebratory for it?” asked Qaira.
I couldn’t see Yahweh’s expression, but could tell it was severe. Qaira raised his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just didn’t know if we should do a proper send off or something. I’m trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake.”
“Zira has requested it to be private,” murmured Yahweh. “No witnesses, no send-off party.”
“How very Zira of him,” said Qaira. “Alright, everyone ready for Stage One?”
He didn’t wait for a response. I felt the sudden hum against my temples as the trial headset began calibrating. A wash of heat fell over my body, and my eyes involuntarily closed. Attica’s mainframe filled my mind, our present time unhinging from reality. There was an energy flux from both Yahweh and Qaira’s resonance—they had activated their own headsets, tuned to stay connected with mine.
I found myself in a vacuous, white-washed sprawl. As I turned in place, wondering what had happened, the scenery began filling in. Lush vegetation, smattered with pink and teal flowers. I stood on a cobblestone path that led to proud, silver gates. Only half of the environment had formed, and I already knew where I was. The Emporia Courtyard, a remnant of my past life.
Was this succumbence? It must have been. I’d never experienced it before. According to archives, Framers had used their succumbence capabilities almost exclusively. Apertures, as they’d called them.
Can you hear me? asked Qaira.
You’re choppy, but yes. Where am I?
—Think of it as the waiting room. I’m placing a piece of Laith’s shard in your hand. I don’t know what you’re going to feel, but you’ll feel someth—
I felt nothing, only blinked, and then suddenly I was lying in a fetal position in a cavern. I started and staggered to my feet, trying not to hyperventilate. There was a fire in the center of the cavern, creating a dome of orange glow in otherwise complete darkness. There was nothing that fed the flames—no wood, no other source of kindling. It was just fire in the middle of the ground. I couldn’t help but freeze, and marvel.
I switched my vision to a lower light refraction. There were markings on the walls, like cave-paintings. A kind of illegible script. A gust of wind forced my attention leftward. There was a tunnel, black and nebulous all at once. From it, a chorus of whispers seeped.
—Hello?
Qaira’s tone made it sound like this wasn’t his first attempt to get my attention.
I can hear you. I’m… somewhere else now.
—What do you see?
I’m in a cave. There’s a fire and a tunnel. I think other people are here, too. I can hear them.
There was a moment of silence from the other end. My description seemed to have taken Qaira off guard. A ping from attica forced my attention to the thread Zira had created about Eschatis, when first encountering it during his contract with the Ophal System Confederacy. A description of this cave was one of the first entries. The rebirthing cave, he’d coined it. After skimming his experience, I decided to steer clear of that tunnel for now.
The warm, tingling of the vial suddenly reminded me why I was here.
I don’t have anything to hurt myself with.
—Get creative. Run into a wall, or
something.
If I knock myself out, what good will it do? I looked around, my attention then settling on the fire in front of me. I took a few steps forward, holding my free hand over the flames. My flesh began to singe and I grimaced, fighting the pain. Once my skin began to bubble I retracted my hand, wincing. Okay, do I drink it?
—No, it’s a suppository.
I said nothing, horrified.
—Of course you fucking drink it.
I loathe working with you, I seethed, removing the cap with my thumb, downing the warm liquid in a single gulp.
I could feel its heat all the way into my stomach. It tasted terrible; a bitter, metallic tinge that briefly left my mouth numb. Then my throat. Then my chest.
Needles and pins in my wounded hand signaled me to look. The solution was doing its job nonetheless, the singed skin healing at a pace comparable to regeneration. But, the numbness.
My heart fluttered. I was going to be sick.
Could we be sick? I didn’t think so.
When my surroundings began to spin, I knew something was very wrong. My body stiffened. I had trouble moving my neck.
I can’t breathe, I panicked. The tingling now dominated my upper abdomen. The whispers from the cavern seemed to magnify. I moved to cover my ears, but my arms felt like lead.
—What?
I drank it, and now I can’t breathe. I can barely move. I-…I-I—;
—Shit. Hold on, we’re pulling you out. Stay conscious.
I was on my knees, but couldn’t remember collapsing. Tremors plagued every movement, every labored breath. What is happening to me? W-What did you make me drink?
The darkness crept in, surrounded me. Consumed me. The whispers reverberated my audio-periphery, the treble making me flinch. I wanted to scream, yet it felt like I no longer had a mouth.
—Aela? Aela! Stay conscious! You’ve got seconds left!
Qaira’s voice was barely audible over the whispers. I did the only thing I could, and returned in front of the fire, re-curling into a fetal position. I cradled my head, parsing Qaira’s instructions to stay awake amid the gouges of treble-riddled whispers. They were far worse than screams.
And then, there was only my pounding heart.
*
“Leid peer-reviewed my work,” protested Yahweh, his cheeks flushed with both frustration and shame. That anyone would ever call his results into question was unacceptable. At least, to him. Qaira stood behind him, silent for once—arms folded, wearing a contemplative frown.
I sat in the chair across from Adrial’s desk, drinking a calming tonic that wasn’t working at all. My hands still shook and the mug rim jittered against my lips. The fire and the whispers still permeated my forethought, as if I’d never left the cave at all.
“It wasn’t tested prior to entering a stage environment?” demanded Adrial.
Yahweh bowed his head. “We should have, I admit. Normally things don’t go so wrong.”
Adrial raised his brows. “They don’t?”
“Leid peer-reviewed my work,” he said again.
“Leid is not the final say,” said Adrial. “I’m the overseer of this project, not her. A peer review is fine, but using it as the only method of validation for proceeding forward is bad science.”
Qaira cringed, having anticipated Yahweh’s reaction to that statement.
Yahweh didn’t let us down, and threw up his hands. “There is nothing wrong with my serum. There is something wrong with the patient. This was a manufactured error.”
“Excuse me?” I said, feeling my pulse elevate.
“Are we really going to stand here and pretend that you’re not the most anxious person in our court?” he went on. “And that place isn’t for the faint of heart. The first thing you did when we brought you back was run here, crying to Adrial.”
“Yahweh—,” Adrial interjected, but was ignored.
“If you can’t get your nerves under wraps, this expedition will never work.”
“My nerves are fine,” I rebuked. “They were fine until you made me drink your serum. Conveniently you’re using it now as a point to prove I’m not ‘fit’ for this mission.”
Yahweh stared at me, abashed. I regretted the accusation almost immediately, but held my tongue. Before any more damage was done, I opted to vacate the room, leaving my colleagues in uncomfortable silence.
*
“Qaira thinks it’s because you’re too square,” said Adrial, leaning back against the poolside, the steam around him blurring his image. I’d taken evening meal in my room, not wanting to distract from Zira’s final hour with any residual qualms. Adrial had found me while I was washing. “Yahweh wishes to apologize, but doesn’t know if you want to speak to him.”
“He doesn’t need to apologize,” I murmured, cupping water in my hands and wetting my face. “He is right. And dare I ask what square means?”
Adrial scoffed. “Uncontaminated by vices.”
I stared. The confusion was evident on my face, because he said, “Drugs, my dear. Substances. The serum has a few psychoactive properties to stalwart against any dysphoria caused by Eschatis. Your brain isn’t used to perception-alteration, and in turn thought it was being poisoned.”
“Is that why I felt sick?”
Adrial nodded. “You had a panic attack from the sensation. Qaira thinks that if you spend the next couple of days ingesting small amounts of the serum, in increasing doses, you should be ready for staging again.”
I sighed and leaned back against him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. “And here I thought vices were a weakness.”
“They are, typically. Just not here, or for us. Can’t blame you, though. You were a vestal.”
I nodded, saying nothing. Neither did he. We simply sat there in warm, comfortable silence. Yet the silence was only comfortable for a fleeting moment, until thoughts of the cave and fire reemerged. Adrial felt my posture stiffen, and said, “What’s the matter?”
“Yahweh is right,” I repeated. “I’m not cut out for this mission. I’m costing us time already.”
Adrial sighed. “Aela, for the Cosmos’s sake—,”
“I’m going to worry myself right into failure,” I continued, hugging my chest. “Even the thing that was supposed to keep me sane nearly undid me.”
“You worry too much, I won’t argue that,” said Adrial. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t adjust. We’re malleable.”
I didn’t respond, letting his words seep into me, like ointment through skin. I lifted a hand out of the pool, watching steam waft from it, partially mesmerized.
In my peripherals I saw Adrial study me, aloof. “If you don’t go, you’ll regret this,” he said. “And so will everyone else.”
I looked to him in question. He leaned in and pressed his lips to my forehead, and I closed my eyes.
“You’re the Scribe,” he murmured gently against my skin. “You need to be the one to write the story of Eschatis. No one else will be able to articulate it the way you can. Yahweh is too formal, Qaira is too informal, Pariah is…well, he might do okay, but all the nuances will be overlooked.”
Adrial often said my threads were like poetry; that I reminded him of someone. I’d never asked who. I didn’t want to know. I bowed my head as he swept damp hair from my face. “If you think so, then I will go.”
He grinned. “Good. Now, why don’t you find Yahweh and make up, hm?”
*
I’d spotted Yahweh crossing the mezzanine later that evening, seeming more solemn than usual. That was understandable. It was easy to guess where he’d been. I lingered in the archway, trying to decide if now was the best time, but the cosmos made that decision for me. Our newest recruit emerged from the hallway leading to Adrial’s office, both of them meeting halfway inside the mezzanine.
This was the first time I’d seen her. Such a little thing, nearly as little as Leid, with a mop of long, black coils and dark brown eyes that glittered, even from whe
re I stood.
A human. I’d never seen one before.
There was something strange about her arm. It was… black. Stone, almost. A prosthetic?
They began toward me, and I walked quickly away, disappearing around the corner. I hurried down the quadrant hallway, hoping to vanish before they spotted me. I kept my head down, focused only on my thoughts—;
And then ran smack into Qaira.
My face made direct impact with his chest, and I flinched. He only stood there, looking at me with a lifted brow. As the surprise wore off, I felt my blood begin to boil.
“How long were you standing here?” I demanded.
Qaira smirked. “A minute. Why?”
“Didn’t you see me coming?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t think to step out of the way?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to see if you’d notice there was an object in front of you.”
Just then, Yahweh and Mehrit rounded the corner, disappearing through the Euxodia doorway. Qaira watched them with a look of mild confusion, then cognizance. His eyes returned to mine. “Want me to ping you when he’s free?”
I flushed. “I.. I don’t…” And then decided to give up the act. “Yes, thank you.”
He nodded, stepping by me, heading for the mezzanine without another word.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“To Sort,” he said over his shoulder. “Because my life fucking sucks.”
Qaira stayed true to his word, and pinged me some time later. I’d spent most of the evening studying Zira’s thread on Eschatis. It was the fourth time, but there was always something I’d missed on previous read-throughs. Part of my study time was dedicated to staring at Zira’s grayed out resonance, his status in STASIS on the attica user log.
He may not have realized it, but he would be missed. For whatever reason, seeing his stasis made me feel a bit hollow. One day—far, far in the future, albeit imminently—my status would be the same. As would all of ours.
Adrial was next, and he’d acknowledged it already. Never outwardly, but it was clear there was something amiss behind his gaze, only half-hidden in the smile he wore. Being without him for fifty years was a daunting thought. I could only imagine how Yahweh felt right now. It wasn’t fair that I’d accused him of intentionally poisoning me.
Covenants: Quantum Dream (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 11) Page 1