by Garon Whited
Tort needs me. That’s enough. That’s always been what mattered—I’m needed. By Tort, by Shada, by Tamara, by Tianna... or by Kelvin, Torvil, Kammen, Seldar… a mountain, a city, a kingdom, a world. I’m not so moved by people who want something from me; I’m moved by people who need me.
Does it matter that she only thinks she needs me? Someday she’ll realize I’m not the person she built me up to be in her head. Maybe I’ll disappoint her. But if I do nothing, nothing will change. She’ll go on wishing and hoping and longing and waiting. That, I will not have.
I put my arms under her and stood up, carried her to the bedroom. She kissed me as I stood, held it, and I responded in kind. I set her down on the edge of the niche that served as a bed and tried to undress her slowly, but she was having none of that. She wriggled free and started right to work on shucking me out of my own clothes.
Never argue when she makes what she wants that clear.
Tort was a little disappointed at my undead disability in the bedroom, but I think I made up for it in other ways. I can recall a number of interesting alternatives from the whole length and breadth of the Empire; I did everything I was physically capable of to please her. It worked. Repeatedly.
And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
While Tort slept, I dressed and went down to the gate room. I made a detour to gather a few things: the supplies I’d asked for and Thomen. Bronze met me down in the gate room, which I did not expect. Well, the doors and halls are deliberately enlarged to let her go wherever she wants. I shouldn’t be surprised when she does.
I walked Thomen through the basics of gate work; he caught on quickly. Wizards do have to be pretty flexible-minded to do what they do. This time, I was going through the arch from the gate room directly to the library. Bronze stood next to the arch, as though expecting to go with me.
What did I say about arguing with a lady who makes her desires clear? Oh, that’s right.
After Thomen was briefed on how the thing worked, I motioned him to sit on the rim of the central pool. We settled there and I wondered how to begin.
“Thomen, we already discussed that you and Tort have—or had—some sort of relationship.”
“Nothing of consequence, Your Majesty,” he demurred.
“To whom? To you? To Tort? Or to me?”
“I don’t… that is, the Lady Tort and I once had a certain level of intimacy,” he admitted. “She has chosen not to continue it.”
“I see. Well, I think I know why.”
“As do I, Your Majesty.” He tried not to sound bitter. His spirit looked less than happy, though.
“Here’s the problem,” I told him. “She doesn’t want me.”
Thomen blinked at me, eyes wide.
“It’s true,” I continued. “She wants the guy she’s built me up to be in her thoughts. I’m not him. No one could be him. And that’s where I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yep. See, when I fall short of the mark—inevitably so—she’s going to realize that the man she wants isn’t me. She’s going to need someone to be there for her. Someone who she understands and likes, someone she accepts as a peer, an equal—not a god-made-flesh that she can worship. Get me?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty.”
I hate having these discussions. Worse, I hate having to spell things out for people. Worst of all is when they have to spell it out for me, though.
“I like Tort. I’m very fond of Tort. In many ways, I love Tort. And if you ever hurt her, I’ll rip your lungs out of your body and then start being unpleasant to you.” I shook my head, sighing. “Most people would take that as hyperbole—that I don’t really mean it; that I’m just trying to make a point. I’m not. I really will take pointy fingernails, jam them up under your ribcage, and scoop out gobbets of your lungs. Then I’ll start to make you suffer. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Good! Now, with that out of the way, I also want you to understand that I’ve picked you to be a good man to my Tort. I’m a blood-drinking monster. You are a good man, and you care deeply for her. Am I wrong?”
“No…”
“Even better. So, if and when Tort is sad and lonely and unhappy about how I’m not the gleaming sword of the night and godlike king she thinks I am, will you be there for her to cry on?”
“Without hesitation, Your Majesty,” he said, and he looked me in the eye. I could see him do it deliberately, and that it took every bit of willpower to do it without flinching. I liked him even more.
“I am very pleased, Thomen. See, I’m planning ahead for Tort’s sake. I know I’m going to be inadequate; I am terrible with relationships. Oh, she’s going to be very happy with me for days, weeks, maybe months… but then the shine will wear off and she’ll start to see just how much of a jerk I am, and she’ll eventually question her own belief in my perfection. When she finally realizes that she’s made a colossal mistake, I want you there so she can see what she’s been overlooking all this time. How’s that sound?”
“I’m not sure,” Thomen admitted. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but let me see if I understand.”
“Go for it.”
“You are planning for the end of Tort’s affections, but you will accept them until she no longer desires you?”
“Pretty much. See, if I remain the unattainable king, she’ll never get over me. If she is with me, and sees me for the flawed creature that I am, she’ll start looking elsewhere. Not to say that I’m not a pretty good catch, you understand. It’s just that she’ll be disappointed that I don’t live up to her expectations—no one could. And then she’ll need someone of whom she has realistic expectations.”
“So, I’m her second choice,” he said, flatly.
“No, you’re my choice for her,” I told him. “If you have to consider yourself second best, realize that her first choice is both a mistake and a god. I can’t live up to being her god, and that’s the mistake.”
Thomen looked thoughtful. He ran his fingers through the water of the pool, watching the ripples. I waited while he thought.
“How do you know she will… hmm.”
“How do I know she’ll think of you?” I asked. He nodded. “I don’t. I can’t see the future. I can just plan for possibilities. I’m trying to give her as much opportunity for happiness as she can get, because her happiness is the thing that matters.”
“Even knowing that you’ll disappoint her?”
“Especially so. That’s what makes having a backup plan so important. I know I’ll screw this up. She’ll need someone, and you’re already relationship material, apparently.”
Thomen stood up, then knelt before me.
“I misjudged you, my King.”
I’ve been working on not being embarrassed by this sort of thing. I’m not quite there, yet.
“In what way?” I asked, trying not to show it.
“I thought you were… less noble than a king should be. I only went along with everyone else, but I still believed you to be a monster. A friendly monster, perhaps, even a helpful monster, but a monster nevertheless. I was wrong. You have just shown me that you do know how to love, and that you love the Lady Tort. What else is love, but to give someone else happiness when you know your own is impossible?”
“You may have a point.”
“That is a noble purpose, my King, and my doubts about you are resolved.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not marrying you yet. We’re just setting you up so you’re in a good position. She’s got her own heart and head, and she may surprise us both.”
“That is a far better chance than I once could hope for,” he told me. “More important are your reasons: not for yourself, but for her sake. You may be wrong, but you are attempting to be good. I do not know if what you say is true, but I choose to believe you.”
I gestured him up and he returned to his seat on the pool rim.
“So, we’re agreed that, whatever happens,
you’re going to be there for Tort?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Yes, with all my heart.”
“Do I have to tell you what will happen to you if you mention this conversation to her?”
“She’ll do something gruesome to me. Then I’ll have to answer to you?”
“I suspect I’ll be the one trying to put you back together, but that’s only if she doesn’t do something gruesome to me, too.”
“As you say, Your Majesty.”
“And you’re on the King’s Council. Call me ‘Sire,’ or something.”
“As you say, King.” He smiled at me.
“Har. Har. Har. Now help me with this gate.”
“Sire?”
I explained that I was taking a trip and that Bronze was apparently coming with me. His job was to mind the gate and, at the first sign of any contact, activate it from this end. The surviving prisoners were still charging it, so it was in good shape on that front.
“And, if you would be so kind, give the prisoners a good going-over. They’re a valuable resource, and I’d like them to be in good health. I think Kelvin has been in charge of their feeding schedule. Get with him—later—and make sure they’re doing well.”
“I will be honored to assist you, my King.”
Bronze and I took our places in front of the arch.
“Ready?” Thomen and Bronze both nodded.
I pictured the arch I’d built, reached into the arch before me, pushed power and desire into the matrix of the gate, and the way was opened.
Same Day, Three Days Later
After about two hours here, I chucked a plaque through the archway so Thomen wouldn’t get too worried. It had a note scratched into the surface to let him know I intended to stay a few days—that is, about four or five hours, for him.
Since then, I’ve been here for about three days. I’ve accomplished a lot.
First, I’ve got a very basic version of an Ascension Sphere around my makeshift gate arch. It’s not what I’d call super effective, but it is some of the finest, most careful work I’ve ever done. It is drawing in power, and it is concentrating it around the arch, but it’s only a tiny trickle compared to the rivers of power available in Rethven. I may need to bring over something with a real magical charge in it if I plan to use the thing at all often.
Second, Bronze and I have discovered that golems do not like low-magic worlds. She’s fine, in the sense that she’s intact and unharmed. She’s very tired, though, and has been grazing almost constantly since the second day. I’m not sure how that helps—doesn’t the fuel she burns need to be converted with magic? Or is that a case of initial setup costs vs. ongoing processes? She seems to think it helps, though, so I’m not arguing.
I did offer to send her back through the gate. She refused. She wants to be with me.
Third, I’ve been exploring the rest of the city. Bronze is still faster than I am, especially during the day; she just spends all her non-running time eating. It’s almost like having a flesh-and-blood horse.
We found a number of things that seem likely to be useful. A car showroom had some vehicles relatively shielded from the elements; they don’t run, but they have solar panel bodywork for power. The panels seem to work; I’ve salvaged a number of them. The dealership had tools, which helped, and spare parts, which I promptly swiped.
Likewise, I’ve found a number of plastic bottles that seem intact and a stream that seems to be drinkable. I’m no fool; I save that water until nightfall, then run tendrils of death through it to kill any microorganisms. I may not have much magic, here, but a filtration spell doesn’t take much energy. Afterward, I have drinkable water.
The local wildlife generally avoids me. I’ve seen things at a distance that are definitely animals, but only rarely. More common are large bugs. Ants the size of my fist, for example. I do not like them. Not at all. They have big mandibles and stingers. They don’t seem to know what to make of me, either; they just wave freakishly huge antennae at me and sit there.
I plan to avoid them.
Fortunately, I have a library covered in carnivorous vines to hide in during the day. The ancient furniture is still relatively comfortable, although obviously not designed for sleeping on. I doubt that deterred students, but I applaud the attempt. Outside, the plant seems much more active in the daytime—sunlight, you know—so I’m trying to get something out of the library computers while the sun is up and the solar panels are powering things.
The books aren’t books; they appear to be plastic of some sort. Most of them seem to be defunct for reasons I can’t explain. A few still work, though, despite being useless.
That’s something I hadn’t expected; the library doesn’t have a lot of books. It has a lot of places to sit and read, study, and work. The “books” are plastic rectangles that, according to the legend on the edge, belong to the library.
Is everything on a central computer? I think so. I think this library is a computer complex with some sort of wireless networking and these plastic books are local-use-only, proprietary tablet computers for data access.
I have found the main computer, I think, in the library basement. It was behind a few locked doors, so that’s a good sign. I haven’t managed to power it up, though, and without that, even the working plastic rectangle book things don’t seem to have any data. The main computer does seem to have a battery backup power supply—what I would call an “uninterruptible power supply unit” that takes in standard line power and makes sure it’s solid and steady, rather than subject to surges, brownouts, lightning strikes, and the like. I’ve got the panels hooked up to that and charging it. We’ll see if I can fire it up later and access the main computer.
And I really want to look a few things up. Mainly, I want to know more about the other stuff I’ve salvaged. For example: A suit of armor.
It’s clearly labeled with the word “POLICE,” so I’m pretty sure it’s not the cutting-edge stuff—maybe a generation or two behind this place’s “modern” armor. Still, it’s a whole suit: black, lightweight, and would be very well-padded if the padding hadn’t suffered awfully over time. I like the helmet, too; good visibility, a thick, clear visor, built-in points for attaching filters, and defunct electronics—presumably communications gear.
I think the armor itself is a laminate of several materials. Carbon fiber? Plastic? Kevlar and related polymers? I don’t know, and that’s a problem. I need to know if I want to make more of it.
Oh, technically, I suppose I don’t. It would just make everything so much easier. See, I can make a diamond grow by giving it carbon and telling it to crystallize in the same face-centered cubic crystal formation. Since I know what it should do, making it do that isn’t all that difficult. It’s time-consuming in the way I’m letting them sit and grow, but I could do it a lot faster if I needed to.
For this composite armor, I could simply throw down a lot of carbon, water (for hydrogen), and silica, allow it to use nitrogen from the air, and say “Whatever that is, make another one!” I could have a spell just copy an existing piece of armor—or the whole suit—but it would only work through main strength and awkwardness. If I can at least find the molecular structure of the stuff that makes the armor, I’ll be way ahead of that brute-force method.
Still In The Library
My guardian carnivorous plant seems to have noticed that something is coming and going. I’ve dragged the concrete-based arch into the library proper to get it away from the creeping growth of thorny vines. I took care to examine the floor from the basement angle, first; I don’t think it’ll be a problem, but I’m keeping the arch by the outer wall to minimize the stress.
As for the carnivorous ivy, the entry vestibule would be covered over, possibly filled with the stuff if Bronze didn’t munch her way out every night, cropping back the vegetation. She clears the whole area in front of the doors.
Yes, I could do it faster. No, I don’t. I never liked mowing the yard, and if she wants to trim the thorny, carnivo
rous lawn, I’m all for it.
Meanwhile, I’m frustrated and angry and really want to break something.
I wanted to shout and swear, but restrained myself; this is a library. Then I realized that it was my library, and no one was in it, so I went ahead and shouted and swore.
The computer is centered around a clear widget.
Yes, I taught computer science in another life. Apparently a couple of centuries ago. And, yes, “clear widget” is about all I can tell you. It looks like a crystal, but for all I know it could be an advanced plastic.
The architecture of the rest of the machine looks at least vaguely familiar in purpose, if not in design. The clear bit is probably a central processor of some sort. The rest of the machine is there to put information through the clear bit. I haven’t identified the hard drives—or whatever the hell they used for hard drives in the twenty-third-and-a-half century.
I’ve charged the battery backup with all that it will hold. I’ve rebooted the computer. I’ve made sure that the backup isn’t trying to power the whole library. I have a book-thing sitting close at hand. I’ve checked all the connections I can identify. And that damned thing won’t even boot up. I don’t get an error message on the clear part that I presume is a screen. I don’t even get an in-progress symbol. The computer seems to come on, but nothing is happening.
I haven’t broken anything, yet, but I’m getting ready to punch something.
I’m going to go out and scavenge some more. Maybe a break will let me re-think the problem.
Makeshift Shelter, Somewhere North of Town
Bronze helped me build the fires. She keeps chomping loose branches and dragging them over. I place them in the walls of flame. It seems to be working, but I’m not sure we can keep it up. I hope we can manage until nightfall. Then I’ll have a decent chance of getting out of here alive. Alive-ish.