Yahweh squinted at me, confused. “Then what—?”
I frowned at the attica status, then rejoined Yahweh in front of Aela. I took his place on the stool and brought my fingers to her eyes, gently pushing down the lids. They remained shut. “She’s just asleep.”
*
I carried Aela to Adrial’s room, with Yahweh trailing close behind. He waited at the doorway, keeping the seal motion-transparent while I entered the room. At first, I’d set her in a seated position at the edge of the bed, taking care to fold her hands together on her lap. Halfway to the door, the sound of a loud thump, coupled with a subsequent wince from Yahweh, cued me to look back. Aela had fallen sideways and off the bed, now lying face-down on the floor.
I cursed, half-inclined to leave her like that, but returned and gathered her up again, this time stuffing her into Adrial’s study chair. I was unsure of what came over me just then, but I grabbed the closest book from the desk and placed it into her lap, opening it to a random page and set her hand on it to keep it from closing. I remembered seeing an off-world, clay pipe Adrial sometimes used for his malay somewhere around here. Wouldn’t it be funny if—?
“What are you doing?” demanded Yahweh, which tethered me back to reality. He was looking at us in a combination of shock and disgust.
“What,” I said with a smirk, “you wouldn’t find it amusing if you woke up like that?” I gestured to Aela.
Yahweh blinked. “No, I wouldn’t. And what if she never wakes up?”
I paused, repeating the last part of his question in my head a few times. Something clicked. “She will,” I said, nodding to the crude, lesser audio-machine on a shelf near the door. “Can you turn the music off?”
Yahweh looked at it, then back at me. “It’s not on.”
Well, shit. That wasn’t good.
He watched my expression fall, his own bleeding concern. “Are you… alright?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, retreating to the door, ignoring the orchestral music that was apparently all in my head. “Let’s have a cigarette.”
“You’re not supposed to smoke,” he objected as I passed him.
“So what, are you going to tell on me? Add something else to Adrial’s list of troubles?”
“… You’re a prick, you know that?”
I laughed. “Oh, look. Your vocabulary is finally starting to mature. It only took a century of being here. Are you coming, or not?”
Yahweh shook his head, shoved his hands into his pockets, and sulked after me.
It was a little past midday, and the sky was alit in monochromatic red. The air was still, the courtyard so quiet we could hear each crunch of grass whenever one of us moved our feet. I squatted, attempting to keep out of sight from the glass halls bordering us. Yahweh leaned on the wall adjacent to me. We both reached into our jacket pockets at the same time. Yahweh’s expression showed relief when he saw the package of Leid’s cigarettes in my hand.
“You thought I fell off the wagon?” I said, grinning.
“Those are slightly better than these,” he said, waving his own package. “But not by much. Any chemical can counteract with your medications.”
I hesitated with a response, lighting the cigarette and taking a long, hard drag. They tasted like shit. They also smelled like shit. I almost coughed. There was a brief, floaty feeling that moved from my chest to my head. It was a far throw from malay, but it was better than nothing. “I haven’t been taking them.”
Yahweh’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I haven’t been taking my medication.”
“Qaira, why—,”
“Because I don’t need them,” I said. “Ever since Poekka, I… I haven’t needed to take them.” Because it hadn’t been schizophrenia, I wanted to add. It had been Tae, or the part of my mind representing Tae and my guilt for her—although now I wasn’t so sure. The music hadn’t followed me out of Adrial’s room, but…
“Have you told Adrial?”
I shook my head.
“Are you planning to?”
“If he asks, yeah. I’m sure that’ll happen eventually.”
Yahweh looked away, conflicted. He smoked in silence, surveying the courtyard. I watched him, waiting for him to speak again, but he didn’t.
“He’s going to wake up,” I said.
Yahweh gave me a sidelong glance. “What?”
“Zira’s going to wake up.” I exhaled smoke. “He’ll be fine.”
The quizzical look on Yahweh’s face waned with cognizance. It didn’t take him very long to catch the meaning behind what I’d said. Even so, he tried playing it off with a disingenuous, “I don’t understand.”
“You think I’m fucking stupid?” I snapped. “Anyone with half a clue can see you’re upset. You do a piss-poor job of hiding it. You’re about as talented at hiding your feelings as my wife.”
Yahweh averted my glare, instead looking to the ground. He emitted a soft sigh. “What if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
His eyes returned to mine. There was ice behind them. “But what if he doesn’t?”
“Entertaining that idea is a waste of time, because Zira is going to wake up.”
“Mm.” Yahweh finished his cigarette, absorbing the waste. “You are so certain.”
I finished mine and stood. “Of course I’m certain. You’re in charge of somnia. He couldn’t be in safer hands.”
The hard edges of Yahweh’s frown softened with my compliment. He also seemed confused, because I didn’t typically hand them out.
“You brought Leid back,” I said. “It’ll be no different for him. How many times did you tell me to trust your method?”
Yahweh shifted uncomfortably. “I… I-I don’t—,”
“A lot. So, practice what you preach.”
He nodded gently, looking defeated. “I miss him already.”
Oh, boy. Guess it was time to have another cigarette.
I grabbed the pack out of my pocket. “Yeah, I know.” I lit it, remaining standing this time. I didn’t really give a shit if Adrial saw me anymore. Qaira Eltruan hid from no one. “It might get easier as time passes, but it might not. It never got easier for me.” I shrugged. “Then again, I didn’t really think she was ever going to wake up.”
Yahweh followed my cue, lighting up another malay cigarette. “Your behavior confused me. I never really understood why you and Leid acted so… rashly toward each other. But now I do.” He frowned, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “It’s annoying. I don’t like this feeling at all.”
“Love hurts. It’s part of life.”
Yahweh scoffed lightly. “Thanks for the insight.”
“It’s true. Love is eighty-percent pain. The other twenty-percent is worth it, though.”
“So I’m seeing,” murmured Yahweh.
“Just pretend he’s on a really long contract,” I said. “If that makes it easier.”
“It doesn’t. We would still communicate during contracts. The most I can do is visit him every few nights, if my heart can handle it.”
Poor kid. Also, I couldn’t believe I was about to say this. “I’m here, if you ever need to talk.”
He only stared at me, stricken. Apparently he couldn’t believe I’d said that either.
“I made a promise, in Akkaroz,” I reminded him. “And I always keep my promises.”
Yahweh let out a nervous laugh, looking back to the ground. “Stop it. You’re making me emotional, and I feel like hugging you.”
“Yeah, please don’t,” I said, cringing.
And then his attention drifted upward, toward the eastern mezzanine. “We have a spectator.”
I followed Yahweh’s gaze. Fresh Meat was looking down at us, not at all bothered by the fact that we were now staring back at her.
Yahweh waved. Fresh Meat’s return wave was pretty weak.
“She seems weird,” I muttered. “Is she weird?”
“Who isn’t weird around here?” retorted Yahweh.
“But yes, she’s… still processing everything. I imagine staring down at an angel and demon having a heart-to-heart over cigarettes is something she thought she’d never see.”
I snarled. “Who the fuck are you calling a demon?”
“Mehrit’s been studying the history of The Atrium.”
“Oh, great.”
“You’re basically the demon, in a technical sense.”
I finished my second cigarette, nodding toward the courtyard exit. “Yeah, yeah. Do you need more of a breather, or are you good now to head back with me to RQ4? I’d like to take another crack at the succumbence data records. See if there’s a way to wake Aela up.”
“But she’s not in succumbence. You said so yourself.”
“Right, but if we can map out a wave pattern of her cerebration, we might be able to determine exactly what kind of stasis she’s in. There are different—,”
“Wavelengths depending on your state of mind,” finished Yahweh, catching my drift. That lively spark reignited in his expression. He headed for the left-wing entrance. “Breather’s over. Let’s get to it.”
I smirked, then cast one more glance upward. Fresh Meat was still there, staring down at me with an empty expression.
I stared back.
After an uncomfortable, minute-long staring contest, I was the first to concede, thoroughly creeped the fuck out, and followed after Yahweh.
***
Pariah Andosyni—;
Word from Adrial was surprising, to say the least. Seldom were any of us called back while on contract, which meant something was very wrong. Again.
Always.
But this time, for whatever reason, they needed me. I didn’t know whether to feel important, or hexed.
It was a slightly inconvenient time for a project abeyance—I had finally been able to teach my clients the analogs necessary for understanding the language of the prior machine-race that had taken residence on their world, some three millennia ago. An archaeological dig in a previously uncharted territory had uncovered an ancient civ, which in turn created a lot of hubbub among the modern inhabitants; even more so once they realized the previous inhabitants were very different than them.
I promised that I would return shortly, if I didn’t die from whatever the Court was calling me back to do. And, if I did die, another scholar would surely replace me in a timely manner. My contractors seemed disturbed by this promise, as they should. We weren’t impervious to death, nor did we hide that fact any longer.
Adrial was waiting for me at the Khel’Hanna Scar. He murmured an absent-minded hello before asking me to follow him. He looked very concerned—more so than I’d seen him in a while, and so I kept quiet and walked with him.
The entire trip to the residential quadrant was held in silence. I waited eagerly for him to explain why he’d called me back, but such an explanation only came when I stepped into Adrial’s quarters. At first I didn’t notice anything amiss. Aela was at the study, seated at an angle where only a bit of her right side was visible. She kept her head down, reading a book that was placed on her lap—one apparently so interesting that she didn’t even bother looking at us when we entered.
My assumption was squashed when Adrial looked toward Aela, his face twisting into an angry scowl. “That fool,” he muttered, snatching the book from Aela’s lap and tossing it on his desk. She still didn’t move. That was when I realized something was wrong with her.
She wasn’t awake.
I took a step forward, concerned. “Is she—?”
“I don’t know what she is,” Adrial interjected. “Qaira and Yahweh are currently trying to figure that out.” He carried her to his bed and gently laid her down, placing her hands atop each other on her sternum. Her gold-colored hair hung halfway down the side of the bed, imitating a fancy sheet; usually it was twisted into a braid or bun. I hadn’t realized how long it really was until now.
The obelisk on Adrial’s desk was pulsing with a client request. He ignored it, pouring himself a shot of spirits in a glass from a top drawer. My attention shifted uncomfortably from the obelisk to Adrial several times, then to Aela. He offered me a glass, but I declined.
“Please excuse me for sounding so terse, but… why am I here?”
“See Yahweh in RQ4. There’s something we need you to analyze.”
I wasn’t the type too fond of surprises, but could read that my Noble wasn’t in the mood to talk much. I took another glance at Aela. She wasn’t awake, but she wasn’t asleep either. She was in stasis, which meant a cognition state much deeper than unconsciousness.
Adrial suddenly scoffed, and I looked to him in question. He was shaking his head, reclined in his seat, finishing the last of his drink. “Normally things don’t go so wrong,” he said, laughing dryly. “Yahweh had the gall to say that. Can you believe it?”
I smiled in sympathy. “I’ll check in with him.”
*
The Research Quadrant wing felt heady, rife with the familiar sounds of squabbling that always scored a cooperative effort between Yahweh and Qaira. Home, sweet home.
I entered RQ4 as one might a danger-riddled frontier. Luckily the worst of any conflict had now passed, and the two of them stood side-by-side at the analytical console, right in front of a very crude-looking metal chair with straps on the arms and legs—something akin to a torture device. I tried not to show my confused horror as I approached, but I was never very good with facades.
They both nodded to me in greeting as a sidled with them, taking notice of the slight chaos of the room around us. Things were knocked over on other desktops, as if a strong gust of wind had come through. “What have you two done now?” I asked, trying to break the tension.
Neither of them seemed amused. I never knew when to quit.
“You know what? Don’t tell me; I’ll try to guess.”
Again, neither of them responded, but this time their expressions were curious, as if they were actually humoring me. Very well.
I glanced at the console monitor. They were looking at attica’s cerebration meter. Aela’s, to be exact. One of the smaller screens showed an idle resonance-linking program. The chair wasn’t for torture, but succumbence. I’d been close, at least.
And then there was that delectable thrum from the built-in headset on the chair. The signature song from an athanasian shard, embedded into a selium-obsidian halo.
“Aela went to Eschatis and now she won’t wake up,” I concluded.
Yahweh looked impressed.
Qaira was also impressed, but his expression showing as much was fleeting and it quickly fell into a scowl. “You’re here to tell us something we don’t know, wise-ass.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “What do you have so far?”
THE WARNING
Pariah Andosyni—;
THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS WERE SPENT between RQ4 and Euxodia, trying to determine exactly which level of the cerebration profile Aela was in. I was by no means a subject matter expert on sentient cognition going in, but certainly felt like one now.
Adrial and Yahweh spent a lot of time deliberating currently-unfounded concepts of conscious states. It was well known by Enigmus that levels of consciousness (or the lack thereof) were actual locations in the Multiverse’s quantum-scape. It was not known, but strongly supported, that the behavior of consciousness was particle-driven, Eschatis being one of the heaviest forms of evidence discovered. The capabilities of succumbence mind-temples (our term for Framer apertures) was also another strong piece of evidence. The data stored in attica, shared by us within our conscious stream, was now hypothesized to be somewhere in the quantum-scape.
I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to quell the stabbing pain behind them. My regimen of very little sleep and a lot of stimulants wasn’t faring well. But I didn’t want to crash; no one else seemed to need any rest. I wasn’t going to be that Scholar.
Today, Qaira and I were focused more closely on the signal captured by Aela’s cerebration meter. To everyone’s di
sappointment, I could not immediately identify any transmitted data in the wave patterns. But there were a few other details I could garner—a meager first step, but a first step nonetheless.
“It’s cyclical for the first four seconds,” I remarked, listening to it for a third time as attica’s sensors parsed through the troughs and amplitudes. “Then it splits off into three different threads. One is the same as the first four seconds, the others are faster, higher. Both cyclical, as well.”
Qaira analyzed the graph on the screen. “It was coming from her.”
“Through cerebration?”
“No, from her mouth. She was screaming it.”
I balked. “She was awake?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so; but if she was, it wasn’t for long. She looked scared.” Qaira crossed his arms, frowning in thought.
“From how the room looked when I arrived, that’s a colossal understatement,” I said.
“It reminded me of that one time,” Qaira went on, snapping his fingers as if to call a memory out of thin air, “when you absorbed an athanasian shard and had us show our asses to the Framers. Same kind of sound.”
Not a laughing matter, but the way he’d said it almost made me grin. “It’s definitely organized. There is something being transmitted, but I don’t know what.”
“How could you not? I thought you could translate any media of data in existence?” demanded Qaira, incredulous.
I stared at the graph, watching the waves move silently on loop. “So did I.”
Adrial pinged us from his office. We sighed in unison.
“We have nothing for him,” I muttered.
“Maybe we would, if he didn’t keep calling us for updates every fucking hour.” Qaira stormed toward the exit. “You want to hang back? I’ll take this one so you can continue working.”
“No, I’ll come,” I said, rising from my seat. “I’d like to hear if Yahweh’s made any progress on his end.” I was also too tired to think straight anymore, but no one needed to know that.
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