Covenants: Savant (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 10)

by Terra Whiteman

  I felt cold all over. “But…” I began, shaking with disbelief. “But if you are real, then how—?”

  “I am real,” he repeated, sternly. “But I am no different than you or your kind. I am not omniscient. I am not the God you revere me to be. I came from a world just like yours, with other people just like me. We are more advanced than your kind, but that is all.”

  “Your machines,” I said, looking around the room, wincing in disgust.

  “They are not my machines,” he rebuked. “There are other types of civilizations out there, beyond this world. I was called here by Pedagogue when their attempts at keeping your kind alive started failing miserably. They did not mean you harm, even though they did harm you. They did not know, because they are not used to humans and the way humans think. But your kind would have been dead long before now, had they not been here.”

  I could no longer process any of this. I held my head, trying not to be sick as the room spun.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” I heard Yahweh say. “If you need a minute, I can leave.”

  “No,” I gasped. “No, do not leave me.”

  “Alright.”

  I spent the next few minutes with my eyes closed, steadying my breathing. The flips in my stomach subsided. Everything subsided, and then I was numb again. I was actually thankful for the numbness. Yahweh watched me through all of this, never straying his gaze.

  Biri was gone.

  Ema was gone.

  Everything and everyone were gone.

  I was sitting at a table across from God, who told me he was no more powerful than us. That wasn’t entirely true. I’d seen his wounds heal. But he definitely was not what our Holy Book or the Vestals had proclaimed him to be. He was barely older than a boy—just a pale boy, looking as tired and defeated as me.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Now you have a choice,” he said. “You can stay here and turn into history like the rest of the humans, or you can come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere nicer than this,” said Yahweh, looking thoughtful. “Where you will learn more than you could ever currently fathom. It’s not Paradise, but it’s the highest on the chain of existence you can get.”

  “This isn’t real,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I’m either already dead, or still unconscious.”

  Yahweh smiled. “You are very much in reality, I promise.”

  “Why would you choose me?” I demanded. “After everything I’ve done.” I pointed to the decaying body in the corner. “I killed that person.”

  “Because ethics and morality are always shaded in gray,” he said. “You didn’t want to kill that person. None of the things that happened to you were really your choice. You were responding, not initiating. And, even if you had initiated, you are still of value to us.”

  “…Us?”

  Yahweh’s attention drifted to the door. I followed his stare, but saw nothing. “What is your choice, Mehrit?”

  “I don’t deserve to survive if my family is dead.”

  Yahweh tilted his head. “Dying isn’t a very efficient solution. Using your experience and some education, you could stop what happened here from happening to other worlds—to other people. Would you choose to die instead, then?”

  Other worlds. Other people. What was he saying? “I… Is that true? Is that what I will be doing?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  I looked down at the table, conflicted. A part of me still felt selfish for surviving. I didn’t deserve to live, to go with God; not when so many people far more innocent than me were gone.

  “Survivor’s guilt,” said Yahweh.

  I looked up at him, surprised. He smiled sadly at me.

  “You feel guilty for being the only survivor. I can’t help with that, but I can tell you choosing to stay and die won’t help anyone. No one is here to care what decision you make. Not anymore.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “Alright, I will come with you.”

  “That’s great,” he said. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  Behind him, a form appeared from out of thin air. I nearly jumped out of my seat, and then stared in awe as a woman looked on at me with a stoic expression. She wore a black uniform like Yahweh; but was not nearly as pale, with straight black hair, twisted in a bun. There was lightning in her eyes.

  “Hello, Mehrit,” she said, her voice a soothing melody. “Welcome to the Court of Enigmus.”

  16

  YAHWEH

  THE FLAMES OF WEREDA WANED BY the coming daybreak. The fire had consumed nearly all of the camp, rendering it to ash— and with it all of its inhabitants. A blanket of dark smoke lingered above the smoldering ruins, giving the morning an illusion of twilight.

  Savant and I stood on the cliff-face where we’d first met, watching an orbital ship descend through the hazy cloud-cover. It was much like the rest of Pedagogue’s architecture, jagged, tower-esque, like a floating series of conjoined, horizontal spears. Savant informed me there were two hundred others, having long since moved on to other worlds where their probes had landed. They assured me none had been inhabited by sentient life so far.

  The orbital ship would recycle Pedagogue’s nerve-center to build the structures necessary to gather the remaining resources beneath the camp’s remains. There would be a crater in the aftermath. Seismic events were a possibility. Perhaps the environment would shift enough in another thousand years to harbor new life. Because that was how life was. Cyclical.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “The Court of Enigmus welcomes you as its newest clientele.”

  “Thank you, Yahweh,” said Savant. “And Pedagogue thanks you for your counsel.”

  I nodded, wincing against a sudden violent torrent of wind, generated by the ship’s descent. “We have drawn up a new contract, one with similar terms.” I handed Savant the tiny fragment, engineered by Pariah with a backward encryption to protect our conscious stream. “There is one new clause, however. Should you ever encounter another sentient civilization on a world where resources are necessary, it is imperative that you contact us right away.”

  “Pedagogue has added logic to our probes, to ensure detection of sentience in our future endeavors.”

  “You may find yourself one day with no choice but to cohabitate once again,” I warned.

  “The probability is low, but you are correct,” said Savant. “We agree to your clause.”

  “There is an added bonus,” I mentioned. “We have a subject matter expert on ethics and philosophy that is willing to educate you in areas where your AI sentience still lack.” I hadn’t told Adrial this yet, but he was more qualified for this role than anyone.

  There was a moment of silence as we watched the Nerve-Center collapse, as if it’d been made of sand all along and someone had just doused it with water. From it formed colossal tripod-looking drones that marched toward the Wereda mines wreckage.

  “What have you done with Mehrit?” asked Savant, and I realized for the first time the question had been inflected as such. An expert system, indeed.

  “Our organization has a use for her,” was all I said.

  More silence.

  “In a way, Mehrit has helped you indirectly achieve your directive,” I added.

  Savant only looked at me.

  “Your directive is to discover all there is to know about your universe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where Mehrit is now, that directive will expand upon much more than the boundaries of this universe. And she has taken a piece of you with her. You are the first recorded machine race to have ever created a new form of life. You’re as much a god as me.”

  Savant lowered their head, as if taking all this in. “I must recycle myself now. Pedagogue hopes to work with the Court of Enigmus again.”

  Before I could respond, Savant’s shell collapsed much in the same fashion as the nerve center, except the material billowed up and snaked away, d
own the cliff, toward the forming tripod drones, like magnetic sand.

  I watched until the first quakes were felt beneath my boots, and then I knew it was time to leave.

  *

  “Insurance,” I said, exhaling malay smoke into the open, Exodian air. “And, I couldn’t find you.”

  Adrial had just demanded to know why I’d convinced Leid to recruit another scholar, without first consulting him. My explanation did little to quell his irritation.

  “Insurance against what?”

  “We have someone now that can directly combat Pedagogue, should they ever renege on our terms,” I explained. “Don’t you find that assuring?”

  Adrial’s expression softened. He considered my reasoning. “And why else?”

  I tilted my head, feigning ignorance.

  Adrial smirked. “That wasn’t the only reason why you brought her here.”

  I sighed. “If you know the other reason, why must you make me say it?”

  He laughed lightly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Fair enough. You did well, Yahweh. Thank you for your service.”

  As he moved up the steps to return into Enigmus, I called, “By the way, I’ve volunteered you to be their ethics and philosophy SME for future projects.”

  Adrial froze at the entrance, keeping his back to me. Then, without reply, he disappeared into Enigmus’s halls.

  I finished the rest of my cigarette alone on the steps, quite satisfied with myself.

  17

  LEID

  QAIRA STOOD ON THE MEZZANINE OF THE bridge connecting the residential sector and research quadrants. He didn’t notice me at first, staring out the window at the newest member of our Court. His frown, albeit subtle, was a wary one.

  I came behind him, wrapping my arms around his midsection. He jumped, but relaxed once realizing it was only me. I followed his gaze. Mehrit was standing in the middle of the courtyard with her back turned to us, taking in Exo’daius’s scenery, still as a statue. I could feel her; overwhelmed, confused, excited.

  “Another human,” he muttered. “Were you hoping to replace Zhevraine?”

  I tsked at his negativity. “Not just another human. The very last of her kind. And I wasn’t the one who requested her; it was Yahweh.”

  “A final act of penitence for his guilt,” remarked Qaira, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “I reviewed his thread. She can control Pedagogue machinery.”

  “I think with a bit of teaching and expertise, she might be capable of controlling more.”

  Qaira turned and looked down at me, intrigued. I could practically hear the cogs of his engineering prowess turning over in his mind. “I assume you’ll be tasking me to work with her?”

  “In time,” I said. “She needs a bit of therapy, and a lot of situating.”

  “Understatement of the millennium,” he scoffed.

  “I’ve tasked Yahweh as her mentor. She seems most comfortable with him.”

  Qaira nodded, his gaze drifting past me, his smirk falling to a conflicted frown. There was something he wanted to say. “Leid, I saw Zira’s nose bleeding earlier today.”

  Ah, yes. “Did you confront him?”

  He scowled. “Fuck no. You really think he’d want to discuss that with me? But he’s expiring and someone needs to intervene, because he’s clearly trying to hide it. I don’t know why.”

  “I’m already aware, don’t worry.”

  Qaira relaxed, nodding. He seemed more tired than usual.

  “Have you rested since your return?” I asked.

  “Yeah, a couple of hours.”

  “You need more than that. You look weak. Have some food, and then rest for the remainder of the day.”

  Qaira lifted a brow. “Sure thing, your Majesty.”

  I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, turning to leave. “No need to be snide. You’ll need all the energy you can get for your rotation on Sort.”

  “What?!” he exclaimed. “What the fuck did I do now?”

  “Nothing,” I chimed. “But Aela’s left for Eschatis, Zira will be indisposed for at least five decades, and Yahweh and Pariah have been given other assignments. You’ve skirted your rotation long enough.”

  I heard Qaira mutter several curse words under his breath as I left for the residential sector. Sort was his least favorite duty, but a duty nonetheless. He was my favorite, obviously, but I did not play favorites.

  *

  Zira was doing his best not to look deathly ill at the Sort podium. Even if Yahweh hadn’t confessed to Adrial and I about his expiration, everyone would have certainly known about it now. I came around the podium to face him. He kept his thousand-yard stare past me, obviously in communication with either Aela or Pariah. There was a sickly sheen of sweat across his forehead, dampening the threads of black hair that dangled dramatically across the bridge of his nose.

  I continued to stare at him, and he continued to ignore me. After a minute or two, when he realized I wasn’t leaving, we locked eyes. I smiled.

  “I’m relieving you of Sort,” I announced, heading for the hall. “Come, we need to have a word.”

  Only Zira’s eyes followed me at first, his expression briefly switching to one of dread. Then defeat. He followed me to my room, and I sealed the door behind us. Zira chose to stand in the center of the room, his posture guarded, while I reclined in my lounge chair and lit a cigarette.

  I studied him with an amused smirk. “Sit.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  I exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. “I command you to sit.”

  Zira’s jaw set, but after a moment he took a seat beside me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He refused to look at me, only ahead.

  “When were you planning on telling someone?”

  He sighed. “Soon. I’m not sick enough to go under yet.” He looked at me then, almost pleadingly. “Don’t put me under yet.”

  Zira’s sudden vulnerability softened me. I offered him one of my cigarettes, and he shook his head. Then I offered him a pack of malay, and he obliged. “You’re afraid,” I said, watching him light the smoke with tremored hands. “Why?”

  Zira laughed dryly. “You’re asking me why.”

  “Prior to somnia, I could understand. I don’t understand now.”

  His gaze drifted from mine, thoughtful, dubious. “And when I wake up, will I be like you?”

  “I don’t know. I certainly hope so.”

  Zira hesitated some more. “And what if I never wake up?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “How do you know?” He locked eyes with me, narrowing them. “You’re the only one having ever undergone it.”

  “Because I know,” I said. “You’ll be with us again.”

  “Another silver noble. How will Adrial feel about that?”

  I raised my brows, surprised by the question. “Why would it matter how Adrial would feel?”

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “I don’t really believe that’s true. I think he’s reserved around you because you’re reserved around him. There are so many walls to you, Zira, that you’re a walking labyrinth.”

  “Look who’s talking,” he muttered.

  I ignored his quip. There was some merit to it, after all. “If it makes you feel any better, Adrial has never said one bad thing about you.”

  And then I leaned in against him, resting my head on his shoulder. He jumped, startled at the touch. I felt his entire body stiffen. “I need you to trust me,” I whispered. “Don’t you trust me, after everything? I’ve never meant you harm. No one here is against you. I want to see you on the other side with us. Do you understand?”

  Zira began to relax. I felt his shoulders descend with a slow exhale. “I understand,” he said, matching my tone. “I just don’t want to wake up and find everything… gone. So much changes within years here, what if—?”

  “I can’t promise you that nothing will change,” I said. “In fact, I’m sure it will. But that doesn’t change
what will happen if you don’t undergo somnia.”

  He bowed his head, conceding silently.

  “Yes, you’re still well enough to walk around, but don’t drag out a few more months with crippling pain just because you’re afraid. Vomiting blood and constant migraines aren’t worth such limited time. Yahweh is already preparing the isolation chamber. I’ll give you a day, and then you must go under.”

  Zira finished his cigarette, absorbing the waste. He didn’t respond to my direction, but I knew he would follow it. He stood, adjusting his coat. “Promise me one thing, then.”

  I watched him rise. “What?”

  “Keep Yahweh safe. Don’t let anything happen to him while I’m gone. If you want me to trust you, then promise me this.”

  That was something I couldn’t guarantee. I could not predict what obstacles or threats the Court of Enigmus might face while Zira was incapacitated. But the desperation in his expression made me relent. In this case, a potential lie was better than the truth. “You have my word.” And I would do my absolute best to keep that promise.

  Zira nodded, heading for the door. I lifted the block. “What do you plan to do for your last day?”

  “Play Toh,” was all he said, slipping through the door.

  0

  YAHWEH

  I WAS IN THE PROCESS OF FILLING A SYRINGE when Zira appeared in the doorway of RQ7, the newly-designated Metamorphosis Antechamber where I was preparing for his fifty-year stasis. He lingered in the doorway, eyeing the syringe in my hand, a smear of pink beneath his nose that indicated blood, freshly wiped. A dark vein began at his jaw, extending down his neck, disappearing into his shirt.

  I paused, syringe-in-hand, and we shared a long look. There was fear where our eyes met. Fear of the unknown. All of my fear was placed in knowing how long I’d go without seeing him again, and whether I could bear it. I would have to.