Dysphoria- Permanence

by Terra Whiteman

  I, on the other hand, knew something was wrong.

  “I’ll talk to Leid,” I assured him. We had finished assembling the shell of the instrument and now moved on to its coils and string-apparatus. “This is unlike him.”

  “Is it?” Pariah asked, though his tone conveyed that it was hardly a question.

  I sighed, not bothering to defend Qaira any further, as it was not my place to tell Pariah what I’d seen or heard of him recently. I would talk to Leid; surely she’d noticed his duress.

  After a better part of an hour, we finished assembling the instrument. No bigger than the desk on which it lay, it would send varying sound wave frequencies through a chunk of Lelain’s head. I had cut off my finger earlier this morning and took the obsidian fragments from it for reference. The instrument could have been quite larger and more complicated to build, if not for Pariah’s special talent. Still, the risk of his involvement—touching Lelain’s remains while being blasted with sonic waves—was very real. That was part of the reason why we’d needed Qaira to comb through any and every possibility of what might happen.

  But, as Leid made it very apparent, time was running out. The risk would have to be taken.

  “You’re sure?” I asked, although I’d asked this about a dozen times throughout the machine’s assembly.

  “Yes,” said Pariah, not at all impatient with my incessant need for his assurances. “Let’s use yours first to make sure everything is in working order.”

  I nodded, glancing toward the window as dusk began to settle across the valley. We had been at it all day, and I was growing tired. “Let’s break after the calibration.”

  Pariah yawned and stretched. “No objections here.”

  *

  There wasn’t much edible food left, only broth that Leid had boiled from bones of the azgan carcasses and other types of leaves thrown in for garnish. A bowl of clay slabs were served for sides, obviously intended for consumption by other means.

  I sipped the broth from a mug in one hand and absorbed a slab in the other. Zira wasn’t around, off scouting for food supplies with Aela somewhere in the forest across the lake. I spotted Adrial and Leid seated on a log at the shore beyond the bridge, their silhouettes illuminated by the crimson moon overhead. They weren’t arguing, but I could tell by their postures that their conversation was one better left undisturbed. It was not a good time to discuss Qaira.

  Qaira.

  Fine, I would talk to him myself. Not like he wouldn’t have badgered me if our roles were reversed.

  I walked along the portico, allowing the wind to freeze me awake. In the residence hall I could hear Qaira’s voice beyond his bedroom door. I paused, listening.

  No, that’s not right.

  Stop fucking talking to me! I have to finish this!

  Stay in the corner, I don’t have time—

  … What in Heaven? Who was he speaking to?

  I cracked the door and peered inside, cautious.

  The first thing I saw was all the writing. Equations, prime equations and random numbers covered nearly every inch of his room. Qaira was standing at the furthest wall, screaming profanely at the corner adjacent to the window. There was no one in the corner. Nothing.

  He looked really bad—thin, under-slept and unkempt. It was clear he hadn’t eaten for more than a day, and with our metabolisms that could lead to serious complications.

  And then Qaira spun, spotting me at the door. His eyes went wide, wild.

  I gasped, backing away.

  “N-No, wait,” he breathed, lunging for me.

  I staggered backward into the hall and attempted to flee. Despite starvation, he was still lightning quick and caught me in a beat, trying to pull me back into the room. I struggled against his grip.

  “Get the fuck back in here,” he snarled. “Where are you going?”

  “You’re not well,” I hissed, resisting still. The only thing that kept me from being wrenchd into his room was my iron-fast grip on the frame. “I need to get—”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  With one violent tug he ripped my arm from its socket. I yelped, releasing the frame, and just as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, I turned and hit him in the face.

  The blow knocked him sideways and I froze, stunned that I’d been strong enough to lay him out. Qaira didn’t get up; only sat cross-legged on the floor with his face in his hands, rocking back and forth. At this sight, guilt clenched at my insides. My shoulder throbbed. I reminded myself that he needed help, and I could not help him alone.

  I whirred down the hall, leaving him on the floor amid the chaos of his room. It was well past time to interrupt our nobles.

  *

  “It’s his sister.”

  Leid hung her head and closed her eyes, as if what she’d just said was some sort of terrible betrayal.

  Qaira was subdued, but it had taken all of us to get him to that point. Both Adrial and Leid had held him down while I injected him with somnia, twice. His body was so deprived of nourishment that every clay piece we had placed into his hand was absorbed unconsciously. All of us now gathered around the bonfire, frazzled, trying to understand what had happened.

  “His sister?” I asked, shocked. “Tae?”

  Leid nodded, shifting uncomfortably. “I… didn’t realize this was still a problem.”

  “Leid, stop tip-toeing around and explain,” sighed Adrial.

  She raised her head and looked at Adrial, narrowing her eyes. “This isn’t relevant to everyone here. Qaira deserves some privacy, at least to an extent.”

  Adrial hesitated, then nodded. “Everyone not directly involved in Sanctum’s collapse, vacate the room.”

  “You weren’t directly involved in Sanctum’s collapse,” said Zira.

  Adrial leaned forward, shooting Zira a menacing look. “Yes, but I’m the fucking King, and this is my court, so you will leave.”

  Zira conceded with his hands and eyebrows raised. Aela and Pariah left with him, saying nothing. Once their presence was no longer detected, Leid deflated.

  “Tae’s sister was killed by angels as a revenge tactic for his past crimes,” she told Adrial, which I was certain he’d already known. Alas, a story had to start somewhere. “It was a decade after Sanctum and Heaven formed an alliance. As far as anyone knows, her murder wasn’t sanctioned by Archaean Parliament.”

  “It wasn’t sanctioned by Archaean Parliament,” I confirmed, slowly, making sure she knew not to rebuke.

  Leid regarded me in silence for a moment, then her gaze returned to Adrial. “Qaira was forced to watch. After that, and leading up to Sanctum’s collapse, he started seeing Tae.”

  “Seeing her?” asked Adrial, frowning.

  “Yes, everywhere. She wasn’t real, but he thought she was. He claimed she was telling him to kill Lucifer.” Leid winced, and she broke eye contact for a moment, choosing instead to gaze at the wall. I could feel her pain as she spoke; it fueled my own. Revisiting that dark place was not something either of us wanted. “I didn’t know until it was too late. I believe everything that happened was because of what he saw; what he thought she wanted him to do. He even started using malay again to make her go away, and to deal with the guilt of it all.”

  Adrial was nodding in understanding, but I was reeling.

  I hadn’t known any of this. I’d been there, right in the middle of it all, but hadn’t known…this. Even worse was everyone’s assumption that Sanctum fell because of his savage need for vengeance. If only someone had noticed. If only we had been able to—

  “Qaira is a proud man,” Leid said, as if reading my mind. She gently held my gaze, having sensed my shock. “He did his very best to hide it from us. Any form of mental illness was stigmatized as a weakness among his kind.”

  “Why would it manifest again now?” I asked. But as soon as I’d said that, I knew the answer. “Sobriety.”

  “And stress,” added Leid. “It hasn’t been the calmest of times around here.”
<
br />   I could no longer hold in my distress and held my face. “This can’t happen right now. Qaira is critical to our work. Without him we’ll never reach our goal.”

  Leid abruptly stood. Our eyes followed her as she wrapped her shawl across her shoulders and headed toward the bridge. “Yahweh, come.”

  “Where?” I asked, confused.

  “We’re going to The Atrium to get Qaira some drugs. It’s not a permanent fix, but you’re right; we don’t have time to fix him properly.”

  I stood, still confused, and followed her. “Leaving the shield might alert the Framers of our presence.”

  “That’s a risk we’ll take, for Qaira,” said Leid. “Adrial, guard the fortress until we return. Reach out to me if something happens.”

  Adrial bowed his head. “Of course.”

  Leid crinkled her nose at him. “Are you alright? You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

  “I’m fine,” Adrial assured her. “Elated, actually. For the first time in over a hundred years I get to put my expertise to use. Try to be quick, though. I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt Qaira if he wakes up and takes a swing at me.”

  V

  HIGHER EDUCATION IN TELERAM

  Regalis Sarine-376—;

  IN TELERAM, THE AUDITORS GAVE US A COMPENDIUM found at the bottom of the cliff-face, near the Exodian ruins. We were informed it’d been sensed by a Section Fiver. Along with the massive book were fragments of petrified Vel’Haru remains that were sent for extraction. It had been a fruitful last-attempt, to say the least.

  Dracian and I stood in front of the entrance to the Auditor Vector. I held the compendium in both hands, turning the fragile, delicate pages, having not seen a physical book in ages. What was the point of having something like this in addition to an integrated conscious stream? Not even the mid-civvers relied on sheeted script anymore. Also, why were these items found at the bottom of the cliff? It almost seemed like they were… discarded.

  The Vel’Haru discarded their dead? If that was the case, there should have been more remains than what Section Five had found.

  Dracian didn’t concern himself with our findings yet. He gazed out beyond the effervescent cloister of Teleram’s multi-vector. It, too, was powered by the Section Five engine. Dozens of Framers moved along the gallery, tending to their business, whatever that was. Their names, cycles and titles hovered above their forms, which created a convoluted and often confusing mess until I focused on them exclusively.

  I had never been to Teleram. I had never been to Halon I. I had never been where so many Framers congregated at once.

  I was envious of Dracian’s composure amid the chaos. I hoped to one day be like him, in this regard. He looked at me, and I felt embarrassed being caught admiring him so. Dracian only flashed his signature smile.

  “Would you like to do some sight-seeing?” he proposed.

  “But…” I held up the compendium.

  Dracian waved his hand. The book vanished from my clutches. “It’s on our console in my vector. We’ll review it later.”

  “I thought this was a time-sensitive operation,” I said, incredulous.

  “It is,” he murmured, looking back out across the cloister. “But you should see some things, now that you’re here.”

  I hesitated, uncertain what he meant. What could I possibly need to see in Halon I?

  Dracian sensed my unease and gestured with a nod of his head across the gallery. “Follow me.”

  Above us the vector sky-theme was a luminous wash of magenta, with colossal starships—both organic and inorganic, one in particular representing an anamorphic sea creature—oscillating slowly overhead. Teleram’s multi-vector meandered and forked into an expansive ocean of routes that seemed endless, the furthest vector doors sparkling in the distance like stars. It was overwhelming.

  I followed Dracian into the gallery, melding with the other Framers bustling to and fro. Halon I residents were remarkably different in design than what I was familiar with. Reds and golds were worn on their carapaces instead of the blues and violets of Halon IV. Even their face-markings were different. Silver and green stardust, drawn in curves instead of lines. The gender ratio leaned toward male, others completely androgynous. Halon IV trended female, and had done so for the past thousand years. It was all for aesthetic purposes as we did not breed with each other, though at one point in history it’d been crucial. A carapace now was all about expression. Or boredom. And due to the latter, sex was still very much a thing.

  Dracian slowed at a shimmering rectangle; a door-frame etched from translucent shale, covered by an awning. The awning moved like liquid metal, plasma, and when I stopped beside him a placard materialized over the frame:

  INNOVATION

  I looked to Dracian in question, and he said nothing at first, waiting for me to figure out why we were here. Of course I couldn’t, and eventually he sighed in disappointment.

  “Do you remember the Story of the Twelve?” he asked, though the glimmer in his eyes assured me that he already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It isn’t pertinent to my role,” I said, surprised by the abruptness of my tone. I wasn’t used to feeling inferior, and this elderly Framer in a child carapace was definitely rubbing my nose in my own ignorance. “What does this have to do with our investigation?”

  Dracian gestured for me to follow him with a sideways flick of his head. “Nothing. Everything. Let’s retrain you, shall we?”

  Inside the vector, Innovators were scattered amid the framework of Grid that ran in segmented scripts along the walls. The walls were mostly bare, save for running lines of neon light carving paths around each Innovator’s aperture. Few other Framers save for the innovation-designated were here, and even they seemed to have some business in the vector—two Architects and a lower member of Halon I Security. We were the only tourists.

  “Drace—” I mumbled, feeling awkward about being in a place obviously not intended for the public. Before I could convince him to leave, one of the Innovators turned and noticed our arrival. His framework window faded and he bowed his head.

  “Inspector Dracian-786,” he greeted my partner formally, in little more than a monotone. Grid told me his name was Innovator Etann-429, and although the carapace he wore was androgynous, his voice was definitely male. Painted spirals radiated scarlet and silver across his face, and his hair was tied back in a knot. “It’s been a while since we saw you last.”

  Dracian bowed his head as well. “Leisurely visits are a commodity as of late. I’ve been busy.”

  “Regulation has placed you on the Breach, then?” asked Etann, unmoved. Then, his eyes slid ever-so-slowly to me. “Hello, Regalis Sarine-376.”

  “Hello,” I said, matching his dispassionate tone.

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Etann sprang back to life, returning his attention to Dracian. “What can I do for you today, Inspector?”

  “Sarine needs retraining on the Story of the Twelve,” he said.

  Etann frowned in confusion. A bit of personality, finally. “That’s an odd request. Can’t you retrain her yourself?”

  Dracian shook his head. “It needs to come from the legacy source. If I share my stream, it might not be objective.”

  Innovators were the erudites of legacy information released to the Grid-cast. In a way they were the gatekeepers of what may or may not be publically accessed. Framers birthed at the progenitor facilities within the Halon superclusters were automatically given information pertaining to their history and directive. Depending on their designated role, certain information was filtered into their newborn conscious stream. The information was unbiased, which was from the legacy source. The information then grew and bent with their blossoming personalities. Of course, some information fell into the abyss of disuse, or in my case, never-use.

  I did not understand why I was here, and the thought of leaving the Insipian Qualification
Directive under the leadership of Authority even a second longer made me apprehensive. I had been forced to relieve my primary role to them in lieu of our situation. The sooner I dealt with the Vel’Haru, the sooner I could return to monitoring the Breach.

  Innovator Etann nodded in an attempt to convey understanding, but it was evident in his face that he did not understand. “Certainly, Inspector.” To me, he said, “Please, Regalis, this way.”

  I followed Etann to his aperture, looking back once at Dracian. He only smiled assuredly, which didn’t make me feel any better.

  *

  Legacy Lore ID 002

  Distributor: Innovator Etann-429

  Recipient: Regalis Sarine-376

  Reason for Redistribution: N/A

  The Novitiates, selected for their intelligence, plasticity and physical purity became the twelve tonal engines for the basewave. Decades of research and resources were poured into these engines, chiseled from energy, hope and despair as their billions of subjects looked on, knowing they would be the last of their kind.

  As the Formica-II galaxy collided with their own, shredding everything that the Novits had created and known in the wake of a final Great Filter, their engines were propelled into the far-reaching. Their legacy lineages were shattered into thousands thereafter, sent to the far-reaching superclusters in order to exact their charge—to discover the code that would unify Insipia.

  They found it soon after. And, soon after they shed their fledgling titles and wore the collective crown of the Framer. Many forgot their origins, for it was no longer relevant.

  *

  The retraining process left me feeling… off. There was nothing within it that moved me, although knowing we were all assimilated from a line of twelve ancient individuals as the last resort of their survival was captivating. But something else lay under this captivation. Sadness. Anxiety. It felt like there were pieces missing from the foundation of that legacy source.