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110: Black City West     111: Ambushed, Captured, Imprisoned
112: Before The Sphek     113: Naked Examination
114: The Empty Throne    115: It Took Two...Here's The Other One

Post: 03.06.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

Black City West

The sight of the city--a cluster of domed structures--below us takes my feet from under me. Not sure if I slipped or if I'm just so glitched tired that I can't stand anymore. Maybe both. Really, doesn't matter when it comes down to the glitch of it--I'm on my knees regardless, ground threatening to tear a hole or three in the skinsuit. When I go down, I leave myself there. The others, caught up in the spectacle before us, make no moves to help me. That's fine. In some ways, it's better down here. Knees hurt more, but my calves and heels thank me. Static's gone, but it wants to come back. Feeling a little queasy, and my lower back is shooting me pain pulses. 2-85 helped me out with that a couple hours ago, so I can't ask him to do that again so soon. Actually, I could. He would do it for me if I asked, but I'm not going to. It would be nice though. His hands can do wondrous things with my aching muscles. There are times, when the pain is great, that I wish he'd never stop. In those moments, I have a hard time disliking him. Part of me is frightened of that feeling.

Part of me isn't.

According to Kiiziiziixii's reckoning, we're about midway between the Wastelands that lie to the northern and southern borders of the Free States, and dead center between the eastern and western shores of this continent. The Black Vales were located along the western shore of the Free States--at least Black Vales One through Five were. Nobody's sure about Black Vale Six, so we're going under the assumption that we can find some clue to its location along the way. We're this far north because we've been trying to avoid a dangerous stretch of desert which runs along the southern border between the Free States and the Wastelands. Kiiziiziixii hasn't been able to give me much detail, but she speaks of mutated creatures which defy description and of landscapes which are just as deadly as the monstrosities which walk across them. None of the wirewitches have been in that region, but they've all heard rumors of the terrible beasts which roam the Wastelands, and if those beasts roam those hostile, decimated lands, then what's to stop them from crossing into the Free States?

So, we drift north.

Kiiziiziixii has been a true guide, helping us to avoid hazard on occasions too numerous to recount. Without her, I think we would all be dead. The wirewitches are lethal, but even they aren't invincible.

     (eoas remember the eoas never forget what the eoas did)

Thinking back to the island, a chill goes through me. The midday heat is beating at us, but the cloaks keep us cool. I have my AquaSucker mounted on my shoulder. I take the end of the tube in my mouth, and a warm trickle of water slides down my throat. I put a hand under the swell of my belly, supporting the weight there. It won't be too much longer. No more than a couple months. Not sure how far along I am, but with the help of the wirewitches and Kiiziiziixii in determining the date, I calculated that it's been at least seven months since I woke up. It could be eight or closer to nine months since my child was conceived though. It's a waiting game now.

Actually, it's a guessing game. Like much of my life.

Crouching, I think back, to the day I discovered that my marking had grown, and my unsatisfying questioning of Kiiziiziixii which followed. After the initial shock of it all, I pulled her aside, and confronted her.

I fixated on those lidless eyes when I spoke. "Back on the island, when we first met, you saw the mark on my back. You warned me against displaying it. Why? What do you know?"

Kiiziiziixii shook out her hair, her gaze unwavering. "Displaying too much of yourself in the wrong situation can be dangerous--no matter who you are. I was simply counseling you."

She was lying. "No, there's more to it than that. You recognized my mark. How?"

Her face turned hard. "I've seen several like it before."

"Where?"

Kiiziiziixii bowed her head and sighed. "I can't tell you that. I almost wish I could."

"What the glitch is that supposed to mean? You'll either tell me or you won't."

"Don't swear at me, syl. It's disrespectful. I don't like it."

A blaze of static roared into me. I struggled to contain it, to prevent it from overwhelming me. "You know something, and you're not telling me. Back on the island you told me that you'd never hurt 'one of my kind.' What did you mean by that? Exactly what kind am I?"

"When I said that..." Kiiziiziixii said, faltering.

"What?" I asked.

"...I meant...this isn't easy for me, syl."

"Why? I don't understand. I don't want you to be in any pain, but if you know anything that might help me remember my past, I want to know about it."

"It was a hard part of my life. I don't talk about it. Not to anyone."

"I won't ask then. Just tell me anything you know that could help me."

"I have seen marks like yours before. The race who bore them were called Atharans."

Atharans... Could I be? My mouth went dry, and I couldn't make my tongue work.

"Your marking is similar, but your body isn't."

"What do you mean?" I asked, finding that I could still talk after all.

"The were a deformed race. Nothing like you. Except maybe in hair color hues."

Involuntarily, my eyes dropped to my belly. I'm deformed. Got a deformity growing inside me too. "Where do the Atharans live?"

"I don't know."

"Is that the truth?"

Kiiziiziixii's clear eye casings go dark for a second, and I think she's going to grab me. She doesn't. "Athara was annexed by the Free States. Most likely before you were even born. The Atharans were hunted down and killed. The ones that managed to survive were scattered across the continent. I haven't seen one for almost twenty years." Kiiziiziixii laughed then. "Till I met you that is."

"If I'm even one of them."

"Yes. If."

"When were you going to tell me this?"

"If and when you asked."

The static lowered a notch at that, but something nagged at me. Was she telling me the truth? I couldn't figure out what was pricking me, so I let it drop.

"You know what the dots mean, don't you?" Kiiziiziixii asked then. "I saw your face."

I turned away. "Don't ask me about that. Besides, I'm not sure what I know."

"You're a mystery," Kiiziiziixii said, then did something I didn't expect. She reached out and brushed hair back from my forehead. It was such a tender, unexpected action, that I could only gape at her. "Even to yourself. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. That's why I'm trying to find all of this out. I know why JACK and her coven are with me, but I don't know why you're here, helping me."

Kiiziiziixii turned, hair tubes clicking against each other, swinging, and I got a brief glimpse of the control unit at the base of her neck. In the morning light, her skin etchings stood out against the deep brown hue of her skin, black patterns furrowed into her body's surface.

In a way, I'm no different than her. She's marked. I'm marked. Wirewitches. Modies. Phoenix. Me. Everybody's marked. Just more evidence of how this glitched planet's scars its citizens.

"Sometimes situations bring people together," Kiiziiziixii said. "Our paths have crossed, and when they uncross themselves, we will never see each other again. Until that time, I will walk the path I'm on. I did not choose it entirely of my own will, but I will walk it nonetheless."

"Aren't your employers going to be upset?"

"They, like the island they lived on, are probably dead. If not, I will deal with the situation. I never leave a job unfinished."

"Back on the island you did. You told me so yourself."

Kiiziiziixii laughed. "Do you have instant recall of everything? Your memory's too sharp. God help any man you let get close to you. He'll never be able to get away with anything. Your memory's much better than mine. Me, I tend only to remember the bad times--my mistakes and my failures." Her face turned sad at that point, as if she were remembering something, or someone. I don't think she would've let me see that emotion willingly; I don't think she could help it. What in her past had cause such sadness? Normally, she suppresses it. Now, it bubbled over, and her face has betrayed her. I'm seeing her laid bare. Not sure I like this.

"So, you didn't kill him. Was that a failure?" I asked.

"No. That was a mistake."

"Not killing him, or accepting the job in the first place?"

"Perhaps neither. Perhaps both."

"Sounds like you haven't resolved this in your own mind."

"I made the right choice for that situation. If our paths cross again, I may choose differently."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Disgusted--for reasons I wasn't even sure--I turned and walked away. Since then, I've kept our conversations to a minimum, cordial, but chilled.

Later, none of the wirewitches, not even JACK, asked me any questions about the three dots. I know JACK wanted to, still wants to. She's waiting for me to tell her myself.

Which I won't.

Presently, a shadow falls across the ground in front of me. A formless mound laid against the failing grass and mutant strains of weed. Head turned up. JACK's blocking the midday sun, her blue skin dark, eyes somehow sparkling from within her hood. "There's movement down there."

"I can't see anything."

     (Yeah, but you don't have technosites in your eyeballs, do you, angel?)

"We can."

"How many?"

"Many. Several hundred minimum. There are probably more inside those structures."

"Do you know know who they are?"

"No. None of the coven have seen structures such as these."

Kiiziiziixii moves beside JACK. Wordlessly, I question her with a glance. She shakes her head. Glitch. That means we have zero data. Observing those domed structures again, I can't see any movement down there. We're a few kilometers away, just having come over a ridge. The wirewitches have incredible sight.

"We're going down there," I say.

Kiiziiziixii grunts. "We should move back out of sight, out of range, just in case their vision is as good as the witches."

I stand, knees popping, back creaking, almost losing my balance as a burst of queasiness and a swirl of static assault me simultaneously, managing to save myself from the embarrassment of toppling over onto my belly, but just barely. Back down behind the rise, I pause, trying to catch my breath.

"You don't look well," 2-85 says.

I wave him away. "I'm fine." I just can't stand without getting winded, that's all. Perfectly normal. Leave me the glitch alone. Or give me a another massage. Pick one. Whatever you do, just keep your glitched mouth shut.

"Going into that city may not be wise," Kiiziiziixii says.

"What makes you think that?" I ask. "What makes this city different than all the others we've been through?"

"Over the years, I've learned to trust two things: my training and my instinct. Right now, both of them are telling me that walking into that city will get us all into trouble. There's no explaining it beyond that. The feeling's in my gut."

"We don't know where we'll be able to find information on the Black Vales," I say. "We have to consider all options."

"We don't need supplies yet," Kiiziiziixii says. "We should bypass this place."

"syl's right," JACK says. "If there's anything we can learn from this, or any other place we may come to, we need to learn it. Life is dangerous. That is something we cannot avoid."

"Danger should be minimized at all times," Kiiziiziixii says.

"If this is syl's quest, we cannot do that anymore," 2-85 says.

"I don't like the smell of this place," PIIX says, sniffing.

"She speaks truth," 7-07 says. "There is something here which irritates my nostrils also. It makes my stalks tingle. I do not like it. We should pass through, but swiftly."

2-85 pulls his hood back, looks me right in the eye. "The are six of us, and there are hundreds of them."

"Just like a few of the other cities we passed through, and survived," I retort, stronger than I intend to.

"Even your wirewitch friends sense it," Kiiziiziixii says. "Trust their senses."

Back hurts. I want to sit down, but I don't see a suitable rock, and sitting on the ground would be awkward right now. A moment's hesitation passes into me. Perhaps I should listen to Kiiziiziixii's counsel. She has done nothing but try to protect me; that's what's she's doing here. And the witches, we are bound together by oaths of blood--they will not bring me into harm's way if they can prevent it. But still, they are deferring to my lead. They're not taking strong stances, leaving the decision to me.

"Your choice, syl," JACK says. "We're in this together."

At those words, a smile breaks out on my face. Feels good. "Glitch the future, right?"

JACK smiles back, nodding. "Glitch the future."

Nobody else understands; they're all looking at each other, questioning. Then, realizing, Kiiziiziixii squares her shoulders, throwing them back, suddenly more majestic. She brings a weapon into her hand, checking the power supply. "So that's that. Let's be as cautious as possible though. Stay alert. We don't split up, and we don't get surrounded. Everybody keeps their cloaks on, hoods up, faces dark. I'll take point."

PIIX growls, low. JACK silences her with an unseen motion.

We travel, Kiiziiziixii leading, JACK and 2-85 close to me, 7-07 bringing up the rear. As we get closer, traveling along the upper edge of the valley, I can make out more details of the city. The domes are scattered in some alien pattern. Are they tightly arranged like that for strategic or aesthetic reasons? In the middle of city, a large dome rises above the others. My mind strays, venturing guesses as to its purpose.

We move slowly--due to me--but it's not long before I can make out movement in and among the domes. Lots of it. Because there are a lot of them.

     not to late to...

     back the glitch up...

     and avoid...

A flutter in my stomach fills me with anticipation. But of what?

The ridge flattens out, and I notice a trail that's been worn into the ground. It winds down into the valley, through the sand, the dirt, and the dead grass. The sight of that trail and the city it leads to fills me with a sense of regret, as if time is passing too quickly, and I--like this inebriated trail--am slowly fading away.

"Something's wrong," JACK says.

"What is it, witch?" Kiiziiziixii asks, hands moving to her weapons.

I don't feel/see/sense anything except the ache of my body and the flowing of sweat from pores. Still, I look around like the rest of them. The wirewitches, tense, are restless.

JACK's cloak moves, flaring, hairstalks swinging, but she keeps herself hidden. "Glitch. Glitch. Glitch."

"What is it?" I hiss.

"We're surrounded."

"That's impossible," PIIX says, spinning, searching. "We've been watching."

"We all missed them," JACK says, moving close to me, something metal flashing in her hand. "Glitch, get ready."

2-85 moves to my other side, hand on my back.

"I don't see anything," Kiiziiziixii says, crouching, looking over her shoulder. "Unless--"

But it's much too late. The landscape stirs.

They attack.

Post: 03.13.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

Ambushed, Captured, Imprisoned

Covered in brown, monsters ascend from graves of rock and earth.

We don't have time to move as the sand and dirt lurches upward in a hundred places. JACK's hand tightens on my shoulder, and 2-85 makes a move to push me behind him. I'm the filling in a wirewitch sandwich. The sever-whip handle is warm and familiar in my palm, but I keep it hidden beneath my cloak. My thumb slides across the switch. Static rises, wants me to jerk my thumb, turn it on, let the plasma wire run loose, cause some damage.

Instantly, we're surrounded. Kiiziiziixii and the other wirewitches hold their ground, still holding their weapons in check. We worked this out the last time we had trouble. Let your enemies show their weapons first. Keep yours hidden as long as possible, make them wonder what your holding back. Be patient.

Nobody's making a move. From between JACK and 2-85, I peer at our ambushers. They're dirty, covered in the soil from which they were resurrected. They stand, motionless, shedding clumps of dirt and grass, miniature avalanches running down the peaks and valleys of coarse, woven material. They wear tan cloaks, hoods low so I can't see their faces, arms wrapped behind their bodies. Can't see if they're holding weapons. The wirewitches are swiveling slowly, taking in the gravity of our predicament. JACK looks back at me. I catch her eye: Too many of them.

JACK reaches out, bumping a forearm against PIIX, whose body language suggests she's about to take some action, ready to spring, ready to let the spikes rise from her body, to start the impending battle.

"Not the first move!" I hiss, low, unsure if anybody heard me.

2-85 is permitting himself a low growl.

"Be calm," I say, leaning a shoulder into his back. Maybe he didn't know what he was doing.

Shifting feet in the dirt, uneasy. Static's holding steady. Nowhere to run on this flattened ridge. Shoulda listened to Kiiziiziixii. When will I learn? Glitch, never. Okay, have to talk this out. Not my strong point at all. Now Phoenix, he could...No! Stop! Not gonna do that to myself now! Glitch it! Can't go a glitched day without thinking about him!

As leader, I speak for the group. I squeeze between JACK and 2-85, picking the nearest ambusher and, fingering the sever-whip trigger, ask, "What do you want?"

No response. Initially at least. A jerk of the head, and I get a glimpse of a brown chin and a flash of white teeth. Arms shifting under cloaks. They're preparing, all of them.

The wirewitches and Kiiziiziixii notice too, tension ramping up. Glitch it, this is going to get out of control real glitched fast if I can't defuse it.

"We are not here to cause havoc," I say.

"Show us your hands." The ambusher who responds steps inward. It's a female voice, light as a feather, but with undertones suggesting that she's one step away from threatening us. "Let us see the weapons you carry."

Beside, JACK shakes her head. Behind, Kiiziiziixii shakes too. "And you will do the same?" I ask.

"You are in no position to bargain, alien. You have no advantage here. Show us your weapons now, or the ground will quench its thirst with your blood. Our blod (eth) will progress with your deaths."

My eyes dart. There's at least a hundred of these vootches. We're gonna have to surrender.

"No way in Eiech we're going to surrender to these g'ekk j'aa eaters," JACK grates so only I can hear. "They don't know the danger they're in."

Yeah, well, neither do we. Everybody's cloaked. They don't know our capabilities, but we don't know theirs. Either this is one glitch of a stalemate, or we are truly, deeply, cosmically glitched.

"No," I say. "It all comes down to numbers. And they're not on our side. Let them see, but do it slowly."

"Unwise," PIIX says.

7-07 growls his disapproval.

JACK sighs.

Kiiziiziixii is silent, as is 2-85. Glitch, that means they disapprove also. So it's unanimous, against me. It's not the first time. Nobody ever said that leading a modie-for-hire and a one-witchkiss-short-of-a-coven band of wirewitches would be easy.

The reveal--it's a delicate process. Fingers on triggers and blade handles to palms, our weapons slide into view. When our hands are visible, I let out a slow, measured breath. Our ambushers know so much more about us now than they did only a couple of seconds ago. They can see our weapons. They can see our hands. They know that four of us are wirewitches. They can probably see my hands. See the tips of my markings.

"Don't like," 7-07 says.

What the glitch is there to like, warlock? But our choices are limited.

"Remove your hoods," the ambusher says.

Knowing there's not much else I can do, I reach up and pull my hood back.

     (angel, what are you doing?!?! are you stupid?!?!)

What--?

Oh.

I used the hand holding the sever-whip. Ah...glitch!

A wave passes through our ambushers, hands coming into view, metal glinting, thin wisps of light appearing. They're active, closing in. What is happening here? What happened?!?!

2-85's fingers dig into my shoulder, trying to pull me back. With his other hand he's pointing a weapon at our ambushers. "syl, what are you doing?"

JACK hisses in my ear. "Why did you activate that thing?!"

"What are you talking ab--?" I begin, but then realize...

The sever-whip, handle suddenly cold in my hand, is activated. The plasma wire is sticking straight up in the air, as if it could assault the heavens.

"GLITCH!" I swear, flicking the switch, and throwing up my arms in what I hope is a gesture of nonaggression. The plasma wire retracts, spitting and fizzing as it goes dark.

"Watch it!" JACK yells, hints of a wirewitch scream entering her voice.

"Drop your weapons!!" the ambusher commands. In her hand, she holds an activated sever-whip.

Matter of fact, all of them do. Plasma wires sway and spark, some colored differently than my own, some swinging freely, others moving with more deliberate motion, control surfaces expertly manipulated. They know how to use them. Guess I'm not the only one. Wonder if that's important.

Nothing we can do. We're caught. "Do it," I say, letting my sever-whip fall to the ground. Landing, it makes a quiet thud.

"Where did you say you got that weapon?" JACK asks, lowering her beam weapon, dropping it.

"It was a gift," I mutter, turning my head to make sure the rest of the coven and Kiiziiziixii have disarmed. Don't look too happy about it, but they have. I turn to our ambusher, wishing I could look her in the eye. "Sorry. It activated by accident."

She motions, ignoring me, and several of the cloaked figures on either side of her step forward. Their sever-whips disappear, replace with thin binders. Glitch. They're gonna 'cuff us. It's official: We're about to become prisoners.

"What do you plan to do with us?" JACK asks.

"Do not resist us, alien," one of the ambushers says.

"What do you want us to do?" Kiiziiziixii asks.

"What can we do?" Never have a Technomancer or a con artist around when you need them. I sigh as three of the cloaked figures grab at me. 2-85 flinches, and moves to interdict. I glare at him, mouthing negatives. He relents, lets himself be taken by ten of them. They're not taking chances with the wirewitches. 7-07 is quiet, but PIIX hisses and continues to growl as they bind her hands behind her back. 2-85 says something I don't catch, and PIIX goes silent. The ones who approach Kiiziiziixii hesitate a moment, as if deciding exactly how dangerous she might be. To me she appears like an animal which is most dangerous when it's about to be caged. The ambushers sense this too. Fortunately for all parties, she bows her head, hair talons dangling and sharp, holding her arms behind her back. They slip the binders on quickly.

Our weapons are collected, examined. Our backpacks lie in a pile. I let out a brief whine when they take my AquaSucker. G'ekks!

They separate each of us, making sure we're all insulated by rings of cloaked figures with activated sever-whips. One of them walks up to me and shoves an object in my face. A sever-whip. It's mine. "Where did you get this?" his deep male voice demands.

"It was given to me," I say.

"The alien lies," another one says, female this time, voice like radio interference. "Nobody gives a wen (pon) to another willingly!"

Another speaks up. "Others do not follow our ways. Many have stolen and copied the wen (pon)."

"Who gave this to you?" the male asks.

I laugh. "Doesn't matter. He's dead. I took his head, then I took his weapon."

At my words, they begin to talk rapidly amongst themselves. While they do, I catch glimpses of skin within their hoods. Their hands are sun-darkened, but some of them look...deformed. Is that why they hide beneath cloaks?

     (everybody's deformed)

     (everybody's marked)

          (this world does both)

The ambusher with the static-stricken voice squares herself in front of me, just a hooded, hidden form, says, "You lie. You do not follow the blod (eth)," then slaps me across the cheek. The static tries to rise to warn me, but it's too late, and the hit snaps my head sideways. There's the sting of the impact, and then an unexpected thread of fire. Something in her palm caught on my cheek, digging in, blazing an abrupt trail. I recoil, furious. The static explodes. Blood wells up, drips down my chin.

JACK screeches. "G'ekks! Leave her alone!"

The female lifts her hood, just enough to look me in the eye. I catch only the shortest of glimpses, but all I see is hate before the hood drops back into place.

Glitch it, can't even wipe my face. I'm stuck letting red plop into my cloak, staining. Back's hurting. Wish I could sit down.

We're led down into the valley. I stumble along, allowing myself to bump into the cloaked figures on either side of me, keeping myself from falling, but also trying to annoy them a little. I ask them to wipe the blood from my face, and one of them drags a sleeve across my chin and cheek. Guess they're not all bad.

     (they haven't killed you yet angel give thanks to god in heaven)

As we descend, my thoughts drift. I avoid thinking of Aran, and I fight to keep my mind off of Phoenix. Don't want to think about my dream. The one with...

     no! not gonna think about... ...devil... ...god... ...father!

In the belly of the valley, the city of domes rises before us. They fill the entire breadth of the valley, some of them actually imbedded in the rises of the hills. As we get closer, I can see that the domes are made of some material stretched over an internal rib structure. The material seems to reflect light one moment and absorb it the next. With the sun high against the sky, the domes glimmer yellow and green. They're quite beautiful.

"Who are you?" JACK asks from somewhere behind me. "What is this place?"

She doesn't get an answer.

In front of me, commotion. The circle of ambushers watching Kiiziiziixii are stopped, a couple of them backing away. My escorts don't stop, but shift direction, moving around the others. Kiiziiziixii is on the ground, kneeling, head bowed.

"What did you do to her?!" I yell. "Leave her alone!"

"Do not speak again," an ambusher in front of me says.

"Kiiziiziixii, are you hurt?" I ask. She's only a couple of meters away, but there's a wall of ambushers between us.

"I can't do this. I thought I could suppress it, but I can't! It hurts too much!"

What's she talking about? And is she actually crying?

A couple of the ambushers try to pull her to her feet, but she jerks her shoulders, throwing them off, then sags lower, hair tubes coiling on the ground.

"Whatever it is, we're here with you!" I shout. Then I'm ducking a fist thrown at my face. It swishes over my head. I jump back, right into a mass of cloaks and muscled bodies beneath. It's a barrier, and it's unmoving. I glare at the hooded figure who threw the punch.

"Keep your mouth closed, alien," she says. Glitch, it's the one with the gravel-injected vocal cords. "You are not permitted to talk with the other prisoners."

"Tell me your name," I say. I want to know this person. Static wants me to do other things to her to, but her name will suffice for now.

"No."

"They'd better not harm her, or any of the others."

"That is not for me to decide, alien girl."

I'm ushered past where Kiiziiziixii's being surrounded by more and more of our cloaked captors, more and more sever-whips being activated. I could resist, try to get to her, but I'd fail. She knows how to conduct herself. Whatever she's going through, she won't do anything to endanger us, or herself.

I hope.

This is my fault. I need to fix it, just gotta figure out how.

I scan for other signs of life, but the movement we saw down here from the ridge above has been hidden. The citizens of the city have removed themselves from the area. I'm led to the closest dome, one set apart from the others. A doorless entryway is cut into the base. I'm shoved through, captors breaking off. A single hallway divides this dome into two halves. The walls--thick, coarse material run around metal poles anchored in the ground--extend all the way to the curved ceiling. Through a door on the left, I find myself unbound and thrown into a small room. I stumble at the rough handling, and go down, twisting at the last second to avoid landing on my belly, on my

     (spark blue so blue)

"Glitched vootch!" I spit, wishing I had Kill Lasers for eyes so I could cut my cloaked guard into bite-sized pieces. The guard--the harsh woman from before probably--leaves, but is replaced by two others. Their hoods are lifted a little, and I catch dark eyes glinting in the low light. I look around. The room is nondescript, with only a small chair in one corner. The light is coming from a half-globe on the ceiling. I pick myself up, careful to keep my body hidden by the cloak, and sit in the chair. Thinking about it as I sit, avoiding the eyes of my guards, it's curious--they haven't made an effort to verify that we don't have other weapons beneath our cloaks. Why haven't they cavity searched us yet? Did they make a mistake, or are they just careless?

     (confident more likely)

The image of Kiiziiziixii bending to the ground, crying, returns to me. It's disturbing. My picture of her doesn't include weeping. Not even sure she can cry with those eyes of hers. Probably has internal conduits which reroute her tears into her mouth. Conserves moisture, something like that. I hope she's okay.

Same for JACK and the rest of the coven.

It's hotter in here. I take another look at the guards and come to a decision. Glitch it, I'm not going to roast in this cloak, and they'll probably take it from me later anyway. Might as well be comfortable while I'm waiting. I stand. A swift flick of fingers and wrists and the cloak flutters to the floor. I run hands through my hair. Flexing hands, arms, legs, and feet, I stretch.

The effect is instantaneous.

Guards tense. Looking at me. Looking at each other. Looking back at me. One of them pulls a sever-whip. Doesn't activate it, but stands there as if unaware that the weapon is in view. One steps toward me, but the other pulls on a shoulder.

What are they looking at? Haven't they ever seen a pregnant woman before? Or are they looking at the parts of my markings that are exposed? Maybe they're staring at the skinsuit, ribbing glowing a dark purple. Wish I'd been wearing the other one.

On some silent assent between them, both of them step forward, one taking the lead, the other activating the sever-whip. "Stay where you are," the one in the lead commands in a young male voice.

The static manifests strong, and there's pain. My body disobeys the guard's order, stepping back, colliding with the chair. I shift sideways, putting it between myself and the guards. "Don't come near me! Don't touch me!"

Perhaps it's the fear in my voice, the panicked expression on my face, but they stop.

"We will not hurt you," the one with the sever-whip says. Male voice also. I flick my eyes toward his weapon. He notices, adjusts his thumb. Plasma wire retracts.

"Tell me what you want," I say. "No, ask me."

It's the leader who responds. "We wish to examine you."

               *bzz* glitch this *bzz*

          *bzz* not *bzz*

     *bzz* good! *bzz*

I say it evenly: "Nobody is going to examine me."

"No, you misunderstand--"

Static rising even higher, demanding more of my attention. It's making me angry, wants me to be angry. There's a bomb waiting to go off inside me. Can hear it ticking, right next to my heart. "I understand well enough. I've already killed two people who wanted to violate me. Touch me, and..." I can't bring myself to say it. I've killed too many times already, defiled myself too much.

Survival is glitch. I know this to be true.

"You are in no danger here," he says, holding up his hands, palms toward me. Several fingers are deformed, and one of his thumbs ends in a bare bone.

     (eoa hands he's got eoa hands he's got eoa hands oh god save me he's got)

"I don't believe you." I'm unable to take my eyes off of his thumb. The skin around the bone is smooth, as if the bone protruding from the tip has always been there, disfigured from the womb.

"I have never broken my given word," the leader says. "I give it to you now. We are no danger to you. I just want to look at your hands. I will not touch you. I promise."

Static's flaying away at my brain. I can't keep a grimace from my face, grabbing onto the back of the chair for support. My fingernails threaten to break, pressure increasing as they dig into the synthetic surface.

"Are you ill?" he asks. "You are a prisoner, but our gur (dan) is permitted to look after you."

"It's just pregnancy sickness," I say. "I'm fine."

"Then you will let me look at your hands?"

Glitch it, I hope the others are okay. What to do, what to do... Better a situation under my control than under theirs. They could summon others, force me. That'd be worse than this, and if he's telling the truth...then it would be alright. Why does he want to see my hands anyway? Did he see my markings? Did he recognize them? Maybe it's worth the risk.

"Okay," I say, pointing directly at him. "But only you. Tell your friend to give us some space."

He gestures; the other one moves back to the doorway.

I keep my place behind the chair, widen my stance, toes tensed and ready. Static rising even higher. Seeing black spots now. Why? Why is it so glitched intense! "Slowly," I command. "No sudden moves. For both our sakes."

He steps to the other side of the chair, avoiding my cloak on the ground. Keeping his hood low, his hands behind his back, I can't see any of him. Why is he hiding himself now?

"Don't think less of me, but I haven't washed under my fingernails in awhile," I say.

"Show me."

I raise my hands, fists up. The skinsuit ribbing is pulsing pale blue, almost white at my forearms, where the skinsuit ends and my markings begin. My hands are trembling as I open my palms to him.

His intake of breath is unmistakable. His hands come from behind his back, perhaps in shock, perhaps trying to grab me. My arms jerk back, just in case. "You promised."

His hood comes up, and I get the briefest flash of dark blue eyes before he spins away from me. "I apologize. It was a reflex. You don't--."

"I'm sure I wouldn't." The static recedes, like draining floodwaters.

He moves to the other guard, whispers something, then disappears through the doorway.

     (just you and him angel time to make an exit)

I'm considering exactly how I'm going to take the sever-whip away from the guard when the other guard returns, with another.

They stride up to me. I back against the wall, frightened.

"You must let this one see your hands."

"Why?" I say, the cursed static back and hurting.

"Because I must see them," says the new guard in a distorted voice.

Glitch, it would have to be her! Glitch my luck! The static tells me not to trust them. Tells me to get ready to fight, get ready for blood on my expensive skinsuit.

"Submit willingly, or by force," she says. "It matters not to me."

Nothing I can do about it. I step to them, show my palms, my forearms.

"She has them on her legs too," says the male.

"They're just tattoos," I say. "They were all the rage a few years ago. Bad idea. Couldn't afford to have them lased back off."

"I do not know you," the female says to me without showing her face. "I think you are trouble. And I know you are lying."

"Do you think she is--?" the male asks.

"I don't know," she interrupts. "I doubt it."

"What should we do?"

The female with the static voice shakes her head, hood swaying. When she speaks, it's with resignation. "This is unfortunate. And unexpected. We cannot proceed on our own. Bring her. We must present her to the Sphek. They will know how best to deal with her."

Post: 03.19.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

Before the Sphek

I've been brought to this chamber. They rebound my wrists, made me put my cloak and hood back on, my body hidden as we walked. I kept my head down, watching my boots--white no longer--kick up dust off the soft ground, pebbles and dried, broken blades of grass disturbed by my intrusions. I don't hear much more than the sounds of walking: shoes against the ground, rustling of cloak material, my heart, my breathing.

Static.

     my curse...

     my bane...

     my pain...

                    (glitchyouhatechu static)

I didn't look up till I sensed we had arrived at our destination. Only then did I risk lifting the hood a little. The dome in front of me reflected yellow explosions of light which seemed to dance across its surface. I reached out to touch it, but a grunt from one of my guards brought my hand zipping back. A hand on my back, and I was moving forward, into a small gathering area. Two sets of hooded guards stood in front a pair of double doors. The cloaks these guards wore were black as shadows. They didn't wield any visible weapons, and their hands were relaxed at their sides. In contrast to the other brief glimpses of skin I'd seen, the skin at the backs of their hands was pale. One of them had a row of lumpy bones running the length of one index finger. Another was missing a thumb, the other four digits gnarled. A wave of pity washed into me; I couldn't help it. Even though they're my captors, it made me sad to see what this glitched planet had done to them. Are they all like that?

We waited in front of the doors for several minutes. Calves and legs were tired. Back and shoulders were aching too. Quick scan, didn't see anything to sit on. So I waited, forced to shift weight from one foot to the other, relieving as much pressure as I could that way. Failed.

We stood there long enough, nobody talking, that I began to hunch over, a futile attempt to relieve the pressure on my back. I was about to sit on the floor when the double doors swung inward. The guards parted, clearing the way. A hand on my back, one at my shoulder, I was directed inward.

"The gad (rin) is a sacred place," the female with the scratchy voice said. "Do not speak unless you are addressed directly by a member of the Sphek."

Presently, standing in the center of the chamber, all eyes are on me, and all I want to do is lie down and ease the ache in my back. Staring down, I'm at the curl of a spiral painted on the material-covered floor. The spiral, inscribed in black and white is a continuous string of writing. Perhaps it's just the static clouding my brain, but I can't read the words, even though I recognize the symbols--they don't look like they're in the right order.

     (something's not right angel but it's not that look up look around wake up)

I'm suddenly aware that the static's gone silent. Pure bliss and a smile. Wait, did that happen when I stepped inside, or did somebody just turn something on? Perhaps something similar to what was in that Haven in the city of Slaughter Droids. Some sort of EMP. Yeah, I love it, whatever they're using. Please don't stop.

The room is dark except for a spotlight which rains down around me. It's bright enough that I can't see far into the darkness. I spin around, finding that the guards who led me here have left. Spaced evenly around me, just at the farthest reach of my vision, are seven pedestals. Upon each: an ornate throne. Six of the thrones are occupied by shadowy shapes; I can't make out details though. On the far side, a lone shadow moves, behind the thrones. I blink. It's gone.

"Who has brought this alien girl to us?" one of them asks. Old voice. Female. "And why does she cower beneath a cloak like a frightened child?"

Footsteps approaching, then beside me. "She is an alien, but she manifests the lesh (writ)." It's my female guard. Her voice sends a shiver through me. "I thought it would be best if we did not display her till she could be examined further."

     Nobody is going to examine me.
     Nobody is going to examine me.
     Nobody is going to examine me.
     Nobody is going to examine me.
     Not nobody.

A pause, then. "You acted with wisdom, nin. Thank you. Your lif (pah) proceeds with direction."

Footsteps receding. Alone again.

"What is your name, alien girl?"

There's no static, but I'm not in the mood to be interrogated. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," I say.

Footsteps approaching again, but a strong voice calls out, "No! Don't touch her! She is rude, but she will not be harmed beneath the shadow of the gad (rin)." A pause, but the footsteps fade back. Have a feeling I just avoided a body blow. Gotta watch that temper.

"Why have you taken us as prisoners?" I ask. "We have committed no offense toward you."

The voice that replies is calm and authoritative: "We will answer your questions, but respect is something that is required within the gad (rin). Answer our question, and we will respond in a similar manner."

Fair enough. "My name is Thf-oua."

"She's lying," a voice from one of the thrones says.

How did they--?

"Why do you lie to us, alien girl?" another voice asks.

"I don't trust you. You are holding me and my friends prisoner without cause."

"We are determining your intentions. That is all. Tell us the truth this time. You have nothing to gain by attempting to deceive us."

"Fine. My name is (2)syl." Now you know. Satisfied?

Don't expect the reaction I get. Several loud intakes of breath, involuntary, unpredicted. Movement, feet shuffling. Shadowy figures rising from shadowy thrones. Mutters in the crowd behind me, outside the circle of thrones.

"The alien girl lies again!" a voice shouts. "She disrespects the Sphek! Remove her from the gad (rin)!"

"No, amlela!" objects another. "She believes she is telling the truth. She will not be removed."

"em, surely you cannot hope to--"

"I hope for nothing," the voice I've identified as em responds. "But I will continue her questioning till this matter has been resolved in my mind. There is still the matter of the lesh (writ). We have that at least. And yet, I desire to know more of this rude alien girl before proceeding to her examination."

     Nobody is going to examine me.
     Not nobody.

"Your turn," I say.

"Very well. I am em(0). I lead the Sphek."

em(0)... Her name... The similarity... Does it mean anything...? Could be a coincidence...

em(0) continues. "The others will introduce themselves if they ask you a question. As for me, I have another: Where did you get your name?"

"Don't know," I say, not liking what I'm feeling here. Not gonna like the personal probing I'm about to receive. "Parents probably. Don't remember."

"How old are you?"

"Not sure."

"Where do you come from?"

"Not so fast. It's my turn again. Who are you? What are your people called? What is this place?"

"Our race has been forgotten by much of the world. You may know us as Driftlings, but there are those who may still remember us by our true and proper name: Atharans."

Inside me, everything stops. My knees go weak, and I wobble. A feeling akin to nausea takes me, but perhaps it's just shock that--

     Oh

     God

     Kiiziiziixii

     Was

     Right

     About

     Me!

"Call for the gur (dan)," em(0) commands. "She is ill."

"Glitch no," I say. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. Just a little pregnant." It's all making sense! The markings! The deformities! It's exactly like Kiiziiziixii said! And it's exactly like--

     (yes angel somebody else knew too dontcha remember can't can you?)

It's just out of my mind's reach. Can almost brush my fingers against it, but it's not close enough for me to dig my nails in. Somebody, somewhere, told me. I didn't hear them--not really, so I let it go. But it was important, or it might be at least. They knew. They told me. Just a single word, a single whisper. There was static, enough to confuse me. Glitch, who was it?!?

"I wish to see your face now, (2)syl," em(0) says. "Will you lift your hood for me?"

Trembling fingers. Not sure if I can make them work like they need to, like I want them too. I'm suddenly scared. If all of this is true, then...

I'm really scared.

I want somebody to hold me. Phoenix. JACK. 2-85. Aran. Anybody. Everybody. Please. Just hold me, and maybe then I'll have the courage and the strength to keep standing. Maybe I'll have the strength to lift this hood back and look into the eyes of a member of my own race.

I swallow, voice trembling. "W-Where are my friends? I-I want to see them."

"They are being watched," em(0) says. "They are safe and will not be harmed. You can see them after we have finished here."

"I want to see them now."

"You keep strange company, (2)syl, and those most people consider a threat, you call friend. The wirewitches are dangerous. If they try to infect a single one of us, we will kill them all."

"Don't worry. They will not perform the witchkiss with any of you."

"You are confident. Overly so."

"We have an agreement."

"I don't know that I would believe the promise of a wirewitch. I don't believe you truly understand what they are if you would trust them, name them as your friends. Perhaps, in time, you will come to realize your foolishness."

"They will take no action," I say, irritated. I expect static, but it's been cut off. "Treat them well, and there will be no trouble between us."

"Of that, I am doubtful." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, will you remove your hood?"

I'm still trembling, but I summon words that are stronger than I feel. "I will, but I want to see you too."

"Members of the Sphek do not step into the beam for an alien!" another voice says.

"sharra," em(0) says. "Hold your tongue. She does not appear to know our ways. That is not to be held against her."

"I ask forgiveness for my outburst, em," sharra says. "My tongue was hasty.

They don't like outsiders. They don't like aliens. No, something more than that. They don't like me. Specifically. Gotta be a reason. Maybe it's because...

"I will step into the beam," em(0) says. "We will look upon each other as equals."

"I'll need these bindings off."

Murmurs of protest at my demand are cut off with a shadowy movement by the leader of the Sphek.

Footsteps approaching. Hands and fingers fumbling with the bindings. It's her, I can sense it. I'll find out her full name soon. If the static could manifest in here, it'd be blazing. She leans close into my back, voice at my ear, through the cloak. "If you move to harm em, I will kill you."

"Why are you afraid of me?" I whisper back, but she's already moving away. She heard me though. Can see it in the way she walks.

My hands free, I massage my wrists. The bindings weren't tight, but they did wear at my skin there. I pull my hood back, forced to shade my eyes from the light which beats down at me from above. Self-consciously, I smooth my hair, ignoring the sounds of hurried conversation which spring up in the shadows. I discard my cloak, letting it fall to the ground. As I expected, more chatter, but louder now. The ribbing color is drowned in the light from above.

em(0) approaches. She is old, her form hunched, but she moves with all the grace she must've had when she was a youth. Even the thick, crooked walking stick she uses doesn't alter that impression of her. She wears a tan blouse that drapes loose on her torso. Her arms and legs are wrapped in a simple brown material. On her feet are a soft shoes like nothing I remember seeing before. Her hair is pure white except for two thin stripes of bold red which hang down in front of her face, to her chin, longer than the rest of her hair. Bare, white bones stick out of her body in various locations, through her clothing: her shoulder, her elbow, her thigh, backs of her hands, her cheek. And yet, despite the horrible deformities, I find that she isn't difficult to look at. Pondering this for a moment, I realize that it's her face--it's kind. Like that of a mother.

     (what the glitch do you know about that angel?)

A kind face. Might be the first one of those I've ever seen.

Then I notice her hip. The cylinder that rests there, hanging from a black belt around her waist, is unmistakable. They all know how to use them. Theirs, obviously, is a society of violence, of war. Actually, from what Kiiziiziixii told me, it's something else: a society endangered.

"Well, here I am," em(0) announces when she's about a meter from me. "Such as I am."

"Yes," I say.

Her voice lowers. Only I can hear her. Our conversation is going to be private. "I'm breaking the rules you realize. It's quite scandalous."

"I wouldn't know."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, let me have a look at you, so I can see if you're truly worth all this worry."

I hold my arms out. em(0) looks but doesn't touch. "They're worried?"

"Some of them--those who have seen you, or have heard word of you--yes. Others--those who don't believe--are just concerned that you and your friends bring trouble."

"What about you?"

em(0) looks up, directly at me. Those kind eyes are piercing for an instant, but are gentle the next. "For the moment, I reserve judgment on whether I believe in you or not. As for trouble...I think you bring it to us whether you want to or not."

What the glitch is she talking about? "Believe? You're not making any sense. What is there to believe about me?"

She actually look surprised, as if she expects me to know already, as if she expects me to understand what she says next, "Whether or not you are who you say you are. Whether or not you are (2)syl, also known to us as Athara-Meeatora."

"What did you call me?!" I stagger backward, not needing an answer. I heard her. I heard her too glitched well.

     (not the first time you've heard that angel remember?)

em(0) reaches out and catches my hand. I feel calluses, but her grip is warm and comforting, keeps me from going to my knees, or further down. "You've heard that before? You have, haven't you?"

Too much to take, I can't bring myself to answer her. Aran's slurred words assault me. I see him staggering in his drunken stupor, mouthing words he himself probably didn't understand. I hear his last words to me, the ones that made me cry. The ones that hurt me: I'm sorry for you then.

Yeah, I'm glitched sorry too, you g'ekk Technomancer abomination. You make me want to vomit. You and this glitched baby inside me that I don't remember asking for.

"You have been called that before," em(0) says, this time making it a statement. "Do you remember any of this?" She gestures wide.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I can't help but look though. Up, down, around. I catch another glimpse of that shadow moving behind the ring of thrones. Who is that?

She turns my hand, spreads my fingers wide, points a finger into the valley of my palm. "Look! See what your eyes show you! If the memories are there, you can force your mind to recall them."

"I don't know how the markings got there. I--"

em(0) holds up her arm, her hand in a fist. With the other, she digs at the material there, catching the end, then unwrapping. She spools the material onto her other hand as if it's something she's done every day of her life. When she's done, her forearm is laid bare in front of me. The markings on her skin...they are my own. Not the same, but similar. Black-colored patterns painted on wrinkles of flesh. Underneath, muscles flex, forcing blue veins to the surface. I don't like what I see there. Patterns. Shapes. Teeth.

em(0) smiles. "You bear the marks of a Driftling. We call it the lesh (writ), and it is unique to our race."

Eyes drop to my hands. Skinsuit edges flickering out, as if dead. "If what you say is true, then...I am Driftling. I guess." The words taste like poison on my lips, untrue. I'm not entirely sure how I expected to feel when I finally found a true key to my past. Relief? Shock? A sense of...belonging? Certainly not this sense of confusion and disbelief. There has to be more than this! Why does it feel so trivial?

     ('cause it's not as important as you think angel
      you're missing so much letting it slip by you
      might as well have your eyes closed)

"Perhaps you are," em(0) says. "Perhaps not."

I look her right in the eyes. "My name is (2)syl. I don't remember anything else--any of this, but I know my name. Glitch me to Eiech if I don't."

em(0) smiles. "I believe that you do."

"I want to see my friends now."

"When we are finished, you may see them. But we are not finished yet."

"What else do you want from me?" I ask. I have trouble maintaining my control. I need to talk with JACK. With Kiiziiziixii. Need somebody to work through this with me. I don't trust myself to do it alone. It's too much to take all at once. I want a wirewitch hug; it'll make things better, even if only for the short amount of time I've got JACK's arms around me.

"The return of Athara-Meeatora after a two-year, unexplained absence is going to cause... distress," em(0) says, leaning in, voice low. "I will have to be sure."

I'm not her. I'm not this Athara-Meeatora. I'm just me. "What do you need me to do?"

em(0) doesn't answer me directly. Instead, she turns, and in a loud voice says, "Everybody will leave the gad (rin). The Sphek will examine her, then pass judgment."

     No. Nobody is going to--

When em(0) looks back at me, there's a smirk on her face, a distant memory in her expression. "There's no gentle way to put this, so I'll spare you the niceties. As soon as the room is clear, you will submit your body to our examination."

"Glitch that! You're soaring if you think that I'm gonna let you--"

"Oh, and your clothing will be a nuisance. Please remove it."

Post: 03.21.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

Naked Examination

The room is empty.

Except for me.

And them.

"He has to leave, or we're gonna have a problem," I say. I point.

em(0) regards me, impassive. "He is a member of the Sphek. He has a right to be present during the examination."

"Then we have a problem." I shake my head, looking at each of the others in turn: dal(4)fin, (2)amlela, ikki(5), (6)flayle, and shar(8)ra. Each of them is dressed similarly to em(0), but in varying shades of brown. They are all deformed, all marked. All armed. (6)flayle, the only male member of the Sphek, looks to be the youngest. His hair is purple and cut close to his scalp. No way in glitch is he getting a free look. Not even the others should get one, but now's not the time to care if any of them are into girls.

"The sooner you submit, the sooner you see your friends," em(0) says. "I'm sorry, but this is he way it has to be."

Now I'm mad. "No. No it doesn't, and you know it. Why are you trying to humiliate me like this?"

"Maybe you are Driftling after all," shar(8)ra says.

I turn on her and her long, pretty pink hair. "What the glitch do you know?"

"You believe in the older ways--the reluctance to unclothe yourself in the presence of a man. Few hold to that anymore."

"What of it?"

"Athara-Meeatora believed as you do."

     not her

          I'm not

"What a coincidence. Too bad I'm not her. But you see, that has nothing to do with it. It's just that nobody sees me naked. Not without my permission." I look at (6)flayle. "Men especially."

"He will stay," em(0) concludes.

"I will leave," (6)flayle says. "She is the right age. Her hair is the proper color. Other things about her have changed, but some remain the same. I do not need to examine her markings further to confirm who she is. I believe that she is what the rest of you only suspect. I can see that some of you already know in your hearts, but are hoping that your eyes will convince you otherwise. I would caution you against using your eyes to combat your heart." With that, he turns and leaves the chamber.

(2)amlela grunts. "I see our young one still has much to learn."

dal(4)fin, a short woman about my height, with green-gray hair tied into countless braids smiles. "That is truth, but remember, he can also teach us."

"Enough," em(0) says. "These disagreements serve little purpose and distract us from our goal. (2)syl, he has left, so you are without excuse. Remove your clothes, so we may interpret the lesh (writ) manifesting on your flesh."

"Interpret? What do you mean?"

Nobody answers. em(0) waits, as if my question hadn't been asked. Glitch, they're gonna be stubborn about it now. Briefly, I consider bolting for the door, but I wouldn't get far. I'm gonna have to cooperate. For now.

Curiously, standing surrounded by the five remaining members of the Sphek, I already feel naked. They can see right through my skinsuit. They can see all of me, my markings. Maybe deeper. I take a breath. As my fingers move to the zip tabs, the ribbing turns orange, hovering just this side of red. Reminds me of the sun just about to duck behind the horizon. Cosmic glitch I hate this thing.

     zip     zip     zip
          zip     zip

Zip tabs run along body's ridges as if cutting through water. They slide easily, like they want to be undone. The skinsuit flaps peel away from my body, and I let them go. It comes off like it goes on--liquid and smooth. As always, my skin protests at being removed of such tactile pleasure. I step my last leg out and hold the skinsuit awkwardly in one hand, unwilling to let it fall to the floor. Without the skinsuit, the air temperature is free to toy with my body. It's not cold in here, but I get a chill anyway, gooseflesh rising, a shiver.

"We need to see all of you," em(0) says.

As I reach to my chest to undo the undergarment clasp, my mind betrays me--

     glitched glitched mindglitch

--and blasts me an image of Phoenix's hands replacing my own, yanking the two halves of the garment wide, baring me to his eyes and not to those of the Sphek. The chill that was in me a few seconds ago is banished by a surge of heat. I'm blushing bright--I can feel it, see it in their eyes. Even though I'm only holding it in my hand, the skinsuit ribbing is pulsing a red so bright it's white at the edges. My mind, stubborn, refuses to let go of its fantasy, insisting that those are his hands pulling the lower garment down my legs, that those are his fingers brushing my thighs. I let a breathless oath into the air, cursing Phoenix and his effect on me, the feelings I can't seem to shake. How can he still be having this effect on me? It's been four months! A part of me wishes I had taken the Skreamer, so I could use it, draw him to me, and have this out with him one last time, let him know that this time, he doesn't get a choice, that he's mine to do with as I please. And that I'm his.

     (not gonna happen angel stop hurting yourself like this it's embarrassing)

I stand naked. One of the Sphek takes my clothes from me. Left with nothing for my hands to do, I let them drop to my sides. I want to cross my arms across my chest, cover my groin with my hands, curl up, just like the fetus safe inside my belly.

"We will have to touch you," em(0) says, her eyes traversing the length of my arm. She looks concerned. "But we will do nothing inappropriate."

"Be careful," I say.

Somebody's hands on my back. Tracing at my arms, my shoulders, my legs. I can help but shiver and try to fend off the image of Phoenix doing the same to me, then replacing his hands with his tongue, licking an outline of my marking, just like in my...

No! Can't do that! Need to distract myself. Gasping for breath, I look at em(0), who is letting the others examine me, and ask, "Why is this Athara-Meeatora so significant to you?"

          (why ask that angel?)

     (do you just want to know who you are?)

     (or how much you might have meant to them?)

em(0) doesn't answer right away, seemingly distracted by my body. Her face is displaying open worry now. She jerks, then says, "Athara-Meeatora was unique among us. She was one of us, yet not like us. For many of us, it was difficult to understand, much less accept her."

"So you tossed her out?"

"No!" em(0) says. "In many ways, she was an enigma, but she was a Driftling. We would not have called her Athara-Meeatora if she wasn't."

"What does it mean?"

"That, is an excellent question. The philosophical among us have debated her name since the day it was bestowed upon her by her mother. Most of us say that she is this: The Box That Opens From The Inside. A more literal translation would say that Athara-Meeatora is the locked box that is opened from the locked box within. Of course, even the literal translation is debated at times."

I give a squeak as two hands cup my buttocks, fingers searching. Glitch! Over my shoulder I can see that it's (2)amlela. I say nothing though. Back to em(0) and her worried face. "And what does all this mean?" I ask.

"The theory is that, for a secret to truly be kept, two boxes are required. The first box contains the secret and the key to the second box. The first box is placed into the second box, then the boxes are closed and locked. The only way to unlock the second box is by opening the first--an impossibility because the only key is locked away inside it, along with the secret. To us, this is what Athara-Meeatora was and is--a secret that can never be revealed because the key to her secret has been locked away within her. Even she didn't know her secrets/"

Fingers tracking up my spine, between shoulder blades, up neck, lifting my hair for a moment. shar(8)ra comes around, kneels in front of me, hands grasping my hips, just outside my swelled belly. I'm uncomfortable, her in that position, fingers circling my hipbones, then downward. I have trouble concentrating on my response to em(0), instead opting for a different question. "There are seven thrones, but only six of you. Why?"

"She asks a lot of questions," (2)amlela says from behind me, her hand lifting my arm, studying my elbow.

"She is perceptive," dal(4)fin says.

em(0) reseats her walking stick on the floor. "One of us is absent."

"Why?"

"She has been gone from us for quite some time, but since we have no evidence of death, we will not replace her."

"Who was she?"

"She was our leader. In her absence, I reign."

shar(8)ra puts pressure on the inside of my legs, forcing them apart, peering at the markings  which snake along the insides of my thighs, leaning close. Her pink strands tickle. I will the color to fade from my cheeks. My hands hover over her head, yearning to push her away, not daring to.

I don't want to ask the next question, because I'm scared of the answer, scared of what it could mean, but I ask anyway. "So, this Athara-Meeatora...she was..."

"No. Athara-Meeatora could not lead us." em(0)'s look of worry is replaced by something else. She purposely avoids my eyes, an admission of...guilt? Is she lying? Whatever she's doing, I get the impression she's doing it on purpose.

So Phoenix isn't the only con artist in this hemisphere. Glitch, something's going on here.

"Enough," em(0) says, and the other Sphek members rise.

My body is my own again. I scan the faces of the Sphek. They're doing their best to hide it, but their faces mirror the concern in em(0)'s. They are portraits of doubt, and--disturbingly--of  fear.

"What?" I ask to nobody, to all of them. But I think I already know.

"Turn around for me," em(0) says. "All the way. Slowly."

I raise an eyebrow at her, the question on my lips left unspoken. I turn my body, finally bringing my arms across my chest. Feet calluses scraping against the floor, toes shifting, backside to her. She mutters something low--a gasp almost--then cuts herself off. I hear her walking stick shuffle. Curved shoulder facing her, then finally I'm back around.

em(0) is trembling. "I've seen enough," she says. "Give her back her clothes."

My clothes are in my hands suddenly, shoved there, shar(8)ra backing off quickly, as if touching me now would lead to infection. She won't look directly at me. I pull my undergarments back on, then the skinsuit, my body thanking me for the return of the luxurious material. As I fiddle with the zip tabs, I say, "I want to see the others now."

"Soon," em(0) says.

Bold anger welling. "Glitch that! I've had enough of this j'aa. You've stripped me, examined me. I've submitted. Bring my friends here or let me go to them. Either way, keep your word, and keep it now!" Give me some time to think about all of this. Don't know how much more of this I can take. Need some space. Need to digest.

em(0) suffers me a short look, but turns to the others. There are no words between any of them, but there's communication passing back and forth. em(0) spends a couple seconds with each before moving on. No sound; whatever she's getting from them, it's silent. Her face gets harder, expression draining. When she's done her face is blank. I can't read it.

But the tremors in her body have worsened. Her walking stick shakes like it's experiencing a localized earthquake.

Inside, my baby kicks. My hand goes to my belly. Spike of pain in my back reminds me of exactly how long I've been standing here. I close the last zip tab. "I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me." I shove between two of them, shoulders low, striding for the doors. I'll find JACK and the others myself. I doubt they'll stop me.

"Wait!" em(0) calls out. "There's something you should know."

I'm not stopping.

"You can't go out there without an escort! It's not safe!"

No place in this world is truly safe.

"Wait! Hear our consensus!"

Not slowing, I'm almost to the door, pulling at the handle.

But em(0)'s next words, clipped and hollow against the tight walls of the chamber, stop me fast: "We have read your lesh (writ)! Without question, you are Athara-Meeatora!"

Post: 03.24.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

The Empty Throne

Body frozen, mind bracing itself for the static that will hit me as soon as I exit the chamber, em(0)'s words bouncing around in my skull, disbelief and acceptance warring within me, I come to a realization that ends the battle in an instant. I'm left without breath, the weight of the evidence too strong for me to deny. Why didn't I remember this before?

The truth explodes into me, painful: Sahris knew.

Repeating "Oh God oh glitch oh God oh glitch!" I slide against the door, to my knees. He knew and he told me! His arm around my stomach, holding me so I couldn't move, my skinsuit unzipped, he was looking at my back, my marking. Static was horrible then, and I thought he said drifting, but he said Driftling! Oh, it's been there all along! I missed it. What else have I missed? Sahris let me go after he recognized me for what I was. Actually, he let Phoenix go too. Because of me. Or so he said. Was that the truth?

There it is. My mind won't let me accept anything else. I am Atharan. I am Driftling.

Leaning against the door, my strength has gone from me. I twist to one side, sitting down, the wall giving, bending behind my back. In the center of the chamber, the Sphek stand, just outside of the beam. Some of them are looking this way, watching to see what I'll do next. The rest are talking, or arguing.

em(0) walks over to me, her gait steady despite the tremor in her body. She bends down, her face full of concern. "We will send for your friends."

"Thank you," I choke out, because I'm crying. Not even sure why.

She puts a hand on my head. Inexplicably, I'm comforted. "This has been difficult for you. I'm sorry for that."

"You could've at least given me a chair," I say. "My back hurts."

"Forgive me, (2)syl. I will have something brought for you to sit on. In addition, I will summon the gur (dan). He will give you something to ease your discomfort."

"Thank you, but no. I won't take anything that might hurt my baby."

At that, em(0) looks sad. She smiles, but it's as if she's in pain. "Pregnancy is rare among Driftlings, and successful births are even rarer. When either occurs, it is a hallowed event. Nothing is more important to us than the health of a pregnant mother. The health of Athara-Meeatora and her offspring will be a priority for us."

"I've been gone for...two years?" My thoughts are muddled. Am I really accepting this? Do I actually believe this about myself?

"Yes, a little over two years."

"Did you look for me?" Did anybody care? You said it wasn't safe for me to leave without an escort. Why?

"We sent out searchers for many months when you did not return. It is obvious enough that they did not find you. We monitored cyberspace also, but found no trace of you. Eventually, we came to accept that you would not return."

"And now I have." I wipe at my cheeks.

"So it would seem. It will be a shock to the majority of the Driftlings. Even those who did not believe you were dead, will find it difficult to understand why you have returned."

"Why is that?"

em(0) looks away, pulling her hand back from my head. "You always said that you would leave us. When you did, we could only believe that you had made good on your promise. When you told us that you would never return, we took you at your word."

"Now I've broken it," I say with a stuttering breath, wondering why I would do that, wondering why I left. Belly's pressing me in this position, making it hard to catch breath. "I don't remember any of this. Nothing's familiar. I'm sorry."

"Remembering is important, but perhaps not as important as deciding what you're going to do now."

Yeah, well, I don't know glitch at the moment. "How old am I?" I ask, suddenly consumed with discovering this fundamental speck of data about myself.

"You are now twenty years of age."

"What date was I born?"

"First day of the year, 2176."

And all I did for my birthday this year was wake up bleeding, survive an attempted rape, and rescue Phoenix. Such a happy day. What glitch.

I need to know something else. I think it's important. "Why didn't you recognize me? I've only been gone two years. I haven't changed that much. Have I?"

"That's a little more complicated to explain. You are the same, and yet you are different. For example, your hair is the same color as it was before, but it's longer. Your face is basically the same--the reason why my heart told me it was you from the very beginning--but your countenance is different. Your expressions. Your frown. Your smile. You present yourself differently than you did. You're defiant, but less confident than you were before. You talk differently. You never used to swear; you didn't like it. And your accent has changed. I can hear hints of your Driftling tongue, but it is being filtered through a veil of other influences. You walk differently."

I shrug. "Yeah, well I'm pregnant. Just standing up hurts most of the time. Walking is a struggle."

"That may be it. Much of what you are reminds us of what you were. If what I just described were it, we would have accepted you immediately, but the other differences we saw gave us reason to doubt."

"What other differences?"

em(0) bends down, her joints popping. "Your eyes. They've changed color. One brown, one black--those are not Driftling eyes."

"W-What do you mean?" I ask, but looking into em(0)'s dark red irises, I already know the answer.

"Your eyes were blue before."

"That's impossible. I haven't...I mean, I don't remember..."

"Since we have concluded that you are Athara-Meeatora, we can only conclude that it isn't impossible. Eye color replacement is a basic procedure, I'm sure, but you don't appear to have had any surgery."

I can't think of anything to say. Not only do I not know who I really am, but they don't know who I really am! This, despite the fact that we all agree I'm (2)syl, also known as Athara-Meeatora. Glitch me. And all of them.

"Your eyes, while notable, pale in comparison to your markings--your lesh (writ). That you should manifest it, and so boldly, was the ultimate confusion to us."

"What do you mean? Don't all Driftlings have the mar--I mean the lesh (writ)?" Imitating her pronunciation, the words flow easily.

em(0) smiles. "Yes. Yes they do."

"Then what's so special about mine?" Other than it scares the glitch out of me and that it reminds me of a living creature pressed into my skin?

"You didn't manifest one when you left us."

     (no can't be impossible)

"That can't be!" I expel, but it's true, thinking of waking that morning, in horror...

What caused it to spread? What was the trigger? What did I do?

"All Driftlings are born with the lesh (writ). It grows with them, slowly expanding on a daily basis. You were unique in many ways, (2)syl." em(0) sighs from her recollection. Back in the center of the chamber, I see the other members of the Sphek looking our way. Did they send for JACK and the others already? I still need a hug. em(0) continues. "Not only were you the first of us to be born without bone protrusions or deformities, but your skin was unblemished too. You have never manifested the lesh (writ). That you do now is a great curiosity to us. At this moment, we cannot explain it. Perhaps you can tell us what you know."

I don't know anything. I'm am as lost as you claim to be. Maybe more. "My friends..."

"They have been sent for. They will be here shortly. Until then, will you consent to talk with the others? We have many questions, as I'm sure you do. I would like to see some of these mysteries solved. You are Athara-Meeatora, but not everything about you can remain locked away. Will you talk with us?"

"Get me something soft to sit on, and yes."

em(0)'s eyes twinkle. She hisses something I don't understand, and the door beside me swings in, a black-cloaked guard appearing. em(0) whispers in the guard's ear. I roll to one side, onto my knees, back creaking and legs objecting, getting up. By the time I reach the beam, where my cloak still lays in a heap, a padded chair is waiting for me. I move it out of the beam of light. Pulling my cloak back onto my shoulders, I sit. Oh what heaven this is! Haven't sat down in a chair since...can't remember. Die Droid Die probably. I sigh. Loudly.

I expect the others to sit on their thrones, but instead they crowd around me. Also, (6)flayle is back. em(0) stands off to one side, a picture of constrained serenity. The seven empty thrones surround us. I can't help but wonder about the seventh--the empty one. I'm about to open my mouth and ask when the questioning begins.

"So," (2)amlela says. "Where did you go when you left us?"

I fix her in my crosshairs. "I don't know. I don't remember too much."

"What do you remember then?"

em(0) raises a hand. "amlela, remember, she is Athara-Meeatora."

(2)amlela sniffs. "She still answers to the Sphek. These questions are reasonable."

"Your tone, however, is not."

At that, (2)amlela visibly tries to maintain control of her facial expression. She shakes her head. For the first time, I allow myself a good look at her. Her head is covered in a mess of deep red curls. A black ribbon weaves through her hair like an endless serpent. She has a sharp bone protruding from the center of her forehead. In the reflected light of the beam, the bone gleams white. She is a thin, strong woman. The wrappings around her limbs cannot hide the muscles beneath. Her blouse is cut tight and dips low, exposing tanned cleavage and a row of small bones forming a dotted line running from the base of her neck and down between her breasts. On her hands, I can see thin wisps of her lesh (writ) curling around knuckles like scrapes of a sculptor's blade. A stone ring graces one little finger. It's set with a red gem which glows every time the light hits it directly. She's wearing a sever-whip on one hip and a hand weapon on the other. I find myself a little breathless. Even though she a cold interrogator, she's beautiful. When she starts again, the harsh tones are muted.

"We don't know what happened to you, syl," she says. Curious that she switched to addressing me informally. Probably thinks I'll be more forthcoming with data. "What do you remember?"

I manage a smile for her, hoping it lets her know I'm not an enemy. "Last year, about a month before the end of the year, I woke up in an alley. I didn't have any clothes. I don't remember anything before that."

"You don't remember anything?" dal(4)fin asks.

I shake my head, but I'm thinking of my static-dream where DevilGOD introduced himself as my other father. I still don't know what to think about that. It was real enough; it was more than a dream. But was it a memory?

"Who impregnated you?" ikki(5) asks. She's the tallest of the Sphek members by a full head. Light green hair streams down to her waist. As she waits for my answer, she idly twirls strands around an index finger.

"I don't remember that either."

"How far along are you?"

"You know, questions like that are going to irritate me. Since I don't know who did it, I can't know for sure, now can I? At least seven months, since that's as far back as my memory goes."

"So you didn't--?"

"No! Glitch it, listen to me! I'm telling you the truth! If you're going to ask me the same questions over and over, we're stopping this right now. I will tell you the truth, but I'm only going to say it once from now on. Understand?"

"Watch your tone, syl," em(0) says. "That you are even talking to the Sphek directly is very unusual."

Furious, I glare at her, but the kindness in her face disarms me. "My tongue was hasty," I say. "I will try to do better."

"Your lesh (writ)," dal(4)fin begins, clearing her throat, "when did it first manifest?"

"When I woke in that alley, I was too preoccupied with staying alive to notice it. Later, one of the wirewitches I met told me about it. It was only on my back then. I have to assume I had it before then. If I could remember how I ended up naked and bleeding in that alley, I might be able to remember how long I had the lesh (writ) before that point. Since I can't remember, I just don't know. Three weeks ago, I woke up one morning, and it had spread to the rest of my body. I don't know what caused that. Do you?"

"We have discussed it briefly," em(0) says, "but we do not know what would cause the lesh (writ) to manifest in this manner. We had always assumed that you would be without one for your entire life--since you did not have one at birth."

(2)amlela nods in agreement. "We never considered the possibility that it was being held back in some way, that it was being suppressed."

"Suppressed? How?"

The Sphek all exchange glances. "We do not know," em(0) says. "Remember, you were not named Athara-Meeatora without cause. You were a mystery before, and now that you have returned to us, you have brought even more intrigue with you."

There is little in this conversation that's comforting. Where the glitch is JACK? Glancing around, I decide to take the conversation in a different direction. "You say you wanted to interpret my lesh (writ). What did you mean by that? Do the patterns have meaning?"

"Yes, and we have read them," em(0) says. "I will need to confer with the other members of the Sphek before discussing their meaning with you. Can you accept that?"

"Yes," I say, casting my eyes around the room. My eyes come to rest on the seventh throne, waiting for the true leader of the Sphek to return. My mind shoots me a question, trying to fill in blanks. They're giving me information, but they haven't been giving me everything. "But I'd like to know something."

em(0) notices the direction of my gaze. She chuckles to herself, then says, "We will answer anything you ask."

"Who sat there? What was her name?"

"She was the most benevolent leader the Driftlings have ever known. She was wise and fair. She was the best of our race. It is the same as it was with your departure; we are an incomplete race because she is gone. On a personal note, she was my friend. Her name was nia(1)na."

"Did I know her?" I ask.

em(0) laughs, eyes wide. "Oh, you could say that. She was your mother."

Post: 03.27.2004
Date: 06.11.2196
Time: Afternoon

It Took Two...Here's The Other One

The cyclic echo in my mind:

     mother
     mother
     mother
     mother
          mother

The raspy mantra in my ear:

     I'm here now
     I'm here now
     I'm here now
     I'm here now
          I'm here now

JACK's voice, wirewitch soft, breeze warm breath, and arms around me, rubbing my back. Feels so good. Her hairstalks flit about my boots, wrapping around one ankle. Cloaks pooled around feet. Her muscles flex against, crushing a little closer, more for my benefit I think than hers. I feel safer, more collected, with her here. The rest of the coven stands off to one side, opposite the Sphek. Kiiziiziixii lurks by the outer edge of the chamber, keeping close to the double doors. They've only been here a few minutes--which I've spent being hugged and comforted by JACK--but I'm already feeling better.

"I have a mother," I whisper to JACK, then can't help but laugh at the stupidity of the statement. Even with our technology, we still have to use actual eggs and actual sperm to create new life. Even the clones would admit that, I think. I have a mother who I can find data on--that's the good part.

"I'm happy for you," she says, pulling back, hairstalks still tethering us together. "I'd like to meet her."

My heart hurts at that.

"Did they hurt you or the others?" I ask.

"No. They kept us heavily guarded though. About twenty of them for every one of us." JACK bends eyebrows. "If I had thought you were in danger, I would've come sooner. They could not have stopped me."

Over JACK's shoulder, I see 2-85 watching the two of us. What is he thinking about right now? About me? PIIX and 7-07 wear identical frowns. They still expect trouble. Maybe they're right.

"I have a lot of explaining to do," I say. "But the short version would be that these are the Driftlings, and I'm one of them."

JACK's eyes become typhoons, and her mouth widens in a grin. For a second, I get a glimpse of the JACK I first met--the youngling one, the one with over four thousand matrix violations, the one who hadn't ever performed the witchkiss. "Really? That's cosmic, syl!" Then, reconsidering: "Isn't it?"

I want to say yes, tell her everything's fine, but I can't. "I'm not sure. It's a lot to take all at once. I'm happy and scared all at the same time. I'm confused and overwhelmed. I just want to sleep." Actually, I want to cry myself to sleep. Maybe I'd feel better if I did that.

Shoulder squeezed. JACK leans close, intent on solace. "You're strong, syl."

     But I don't feel strong.

          Not one glitched bit.

     I have a mother, but she's gone.

          Just like I was. Like mother, like daughter.

Behind us, em(0) clears her throat. "You must all be hungry."

"Yes," I say, stomach reminding me that it's empty, that it's sick of food substitute.

"We are preparing food."

I disentangle from JACK, turn to em(0). "We'll be needing a place to stay."

"I will make the arrangements," shar(8)ra says.

"In the meantime," em(0) says, "there is still much to discuss between us. However, I believe that you need to--"

I shake my head, weary. "I'd rather not--"

em(0) frowns. "syl, you will need to work on your rudeness. Stop interrupting me. Now, if you'd let me continue?"

I clench my eyes, sensing an impending headache. I'm being hit with all this, and they expect me to watch my rudeness?!?! Glitch! "Of course," I say from tight teeth.

"As I was saying, I believe that you need to rest first. It has been a long, difficult day for everybody. Any and all conversations can wait till tomorrow."

"Thank you," I say, and mean it. "I'm sorry if I was rude."

"I know this must be difficult for you. Your wirewitch friend is right: You are are strong. I believe you'll be even stronger in time."

     Don't feel strong.

em(0) continues. "Right now, we will do our best to help you. Because you have vouched for them, the modie and the wirewitches will be permitted to remain. However, there is one small thing which we must address immediately."

"What is it?" Not liking her tone.

"flayle reports that there are several others who want to see you as soon as possible. They are a few of your friends. They are quite anxious to see with their own eyes that you alive and breathing."

          I have...

     friends...?

Hadn't considered this. Hadn't had time. So tired. So confused. So scared. What am I supposed to do? Somebody tell me what I should do! I look to JACK for guidance.

She must see the turmoil in my face, because she reaches for my shoulder again. "They're your friends. If you were in their position, what would you want?"

Yeah, I'd want to see me too." I pick up my cloak, fold it over my arm, and sit back down in the chair. "Where are they?"

"They will be brought here if you want to see them now," em(0) says, then gives me my escape route. "They are your friends. Two years of separation hasn't changed that in their minds, even though you may not remember them. They will understand if you don't want to see them right away."

"No, I can't do that," I say, wiping at a moist eye. "I want to find out as much as I can about my life here."

     (slow down syl this is too much too fast you)

          (may not be able to handle it you)

     (don't know your limits you)

          (could get hurt)

"I want to see them," I say, mostly to myself, but the others hear me. Might be saying it out loud simply to convince myself that I do want to see them right now. Could be.

em(0) motions to black-cloaked guards, who turn and disappear through the double doors. The Sphek members return to their thrones. The wirewitches cluster around me. I feel exposed like this, sitting in this chair, surrounded by the Sphek once again. I wrap my cloak around my shoulders. At least the chair isn't in the middle of the light beam. My hand, resting on my knee is shaking a little. Adrenaline is preventing me from holding still. I'm nervous. Glitch.

I turn the chair slightly so it's facing the doors. Coven behind me. Hairstalks sway in my peripheral vision. Calming to notice that. I'm not alone here. I have friends.

Nobody's talking, and the silence begins to make me even more nervous, like I'm just sitting in the calm before a storm, moments away from being destroyed.

The doors open. Three Driftlings walk in, uncloaked. These are the youngest Driftlings I've seen so far. Two males, one female. She's in the lead, forming the tip of a triangle headed directly for me. Her multi-hued orange hair bounces and flails as she takes long strides. There's a jerk in her walk though, from a crooked turn in her ankle. Her arms don't look like they'll bend properly, bones protruding from her elbows restricting a full range of motion. A curved, talon-like bone pokes out from one shoulder, another from the side of her head, bending down over one ear. Her body is wrapped tight, all the way to her chin, hiding her curves. She's slender, and moves like a compressed spring--power held in check by invisible forces. Her shoes, which grab at her calves, seem to click on the floor material.

I grab the side of the chair with one hand. There's a sudden desire to hide behind JACK.

She nears, trailing the two males like servants. A wide smile breaks over her face like the dawning of a sun, her eyes glistening wet and orangey. "syl!" she shouts, lurching forward, her arms spread wide. Clearly, she expects me to reciprocate, go to her, embrace her. She takes a look at my belly, then when I don't move, don't react, bends down to give me a hug. I manage to put my hands on her back, give something back to her, some small token, but I'm not feeling it, not like I should. Not like I wish I could. The look in her eyes wounds me, her hope for a connection that isn't there. It's a knife in my heart--the confusion I see in her when I let my arms drop.

     (too much too fast)

"You...don't remember me...do you?" she asks, her voice sweet and innocent enough that I want to lie to her, say that I do, say that I even remember that one time when we...

     (could get hurt)

"I'm sorry." I don't let my head bow though, telling myself that she deserves more than I can offer her.

She kneels beside me, hesitates a moment before placing a hand on my belly. I cringe, can't help it. She notices, but keeps her hand there, giving a glance over her shoulder to one of the males. "You always said that you'd never--" She catches herself, then, as if changing her mind, says, "At first, I was angry with you. You did what you said you were going to, but I was still hurt when you left."

I'd apologize again, but I'd just be repeating myself. Wouldn't make a difference anyway; she looks like she just wants to say a few things. Ask a few too. I keep my mouth shut, tractor-beamed by the hurt reflected in her eyes.

She taps my belly with a pinky. "Who did this to you?"

My voice cracks when I answer. "That's one of the many things I don't remember yet. I really wish I could." My face reddens.

She looks over her shoulder at the males behind her. The one on her right: He's the tallest of the three, half a head taller than the other male. His hair is a mess of dark green and bold yellow hues. His face is partially obscured in shadow, and my mind reminds me of the figure lurking outside the throne perimeter earlier. Was it him? Or maybe the other one? Do I know either of them? Are they my friends too? The one on her left: He stands a few inches taller than her. His hair is chopped, but it's blue, brighter than mine even. Mind wonders what I'd look like with my hair cut that close. It'd certainly be easier to take care of. Would stop getting in my eyes, in my mouth. His face is in shadow too. Both males nod when she looks at them.

She sighs, turns back to me. "I want to be honest. I'm still mad at you--because you left. Because you got yourself pregnant. Because you came back. But mostly because you probably don't remember any of it, and how can I be mad at you when, as far as you're concerned, it may as well have never happened? It really scorches me."

"Did I mean to hurt you?" I ask. "Was I that type of person?"

          (careful with your questions angel you)

     (don't know your limits)

She sighs. "No. I suppose, it wasn't entirely your fault--though you certainly had your part in it. You couldn't help what you were. You couldn't help being different. I know why you left."

"Tell me your name. Please."

"I'm shea(3)va. My friends call me sheava."

"Did I call you that?"

She smiles, hurt hiding behind the sudden brilliance in her face. "No. You always called me shea." At that, her eyes get glossy.

"shea," I say, liking the sound of it, wishing I remembered her. Only a few words have passed between us, and I already like her. She's somebody I could be friends with...again.

     (say you're sorry maybe she'll forgive you)

"Even if you don't remember me, I'm still your friend."

"I appreciate that."

shea(3)va flicks her eyes over my shoulder. "You forgot your old friends, but I see you've made some new ones. I don't know how you did it, but if anybody could befriend a wirewitch, it would be you."

I don't know what she means by that. "I call them friends, because that's what they are. You don't need to be afraid of them."

"syl is telling the truth," JACK says, stepping forward. "We have a covenant between us."

shea(3)va doesn't look convinced, but says, "syl is my blod (sis) and I hers. Her friends are mine, without qualification. But this syl is not yet the one I knew. She doesn't remember me as her friend. She doesn't know what being a blod (sis) means. Many things have changed about her since I last saw her. I must admit that I am skeptical of your friendship."

JACK inclines her head, stepping back.

I look at the male to the left of shea(3)va. He takes it as a signal to move closer, bringing his body into view, blue hair shining in the light. A row of exposed bones corkscrew around one arm. His chin and mouth are off-center and one eye droops. "I'm van(9)nis. Come on, you've gotta remember me!" His words are carefully formed, but slurred; his lips and tongue have trouble navigating against the facial deformity. "You almost made me your blod (mat)!"

"Cut the j'aa!" shea(3)va says, turning, standing up beside me. "Don't listen to him, syl."

van(9)nis holds up his hands. I can see bold, black lesh (writ) on his palms. "sheava, you're the only Driftling for me, but I can't deny syl's past feelings for me! Maybe if we remind her, she'll remember us!"

"I don't think that--" I begin.

"He was always an arrogant liar," shea(3)va says, warm hand on my shoulder. A friendly hand--a natural, instinctual move. I like it. "Nothing's changed. He lost interest in you after I convinced him that you weren't his type, and that he belonged to me. Now he's trying to rewrite history in his favor. He never had two women lusting after him, and he knows it. We're all friends. And that's all it ever was between you two. You were too good for him."

van(9)nis smiles a disturbingly charming smile. "You always hid your feelings, syl. But I knew how much you wanted me. It's too late now to start anything though. My heart belongs to your best friend. Got her tentacle marks all over. She won't let me go now."

"You don't want to leave," shea(3)va says, and I can't tell whether it's teasing or threat in her voice. "But really, it's not like syl didn't have her own--"

I tune her out because the other male just stepped forward. His presence commands my attention, partially due to his height, partially due to the fact that he's the most handsome Driftling I've seen yet. His hair falls over his face in waves of yellow and green that mix like blades of grass--both fresh and withering. His chin is solid, and his face smooth. His eyes glimmer with specks of green and yellow. Two bones extend from his forehead, just about his eyebrows, like the horns of a demon. His body is wrapped tight, stretching to accommodate large muscles beneath. His only visible deformities are a mangled hand--which looks to be fairly useless, the fingers curled into a permanent fist--and a curved ankle which doesn't appear to end in a normal foot. His boot hides the true textent of the deformity, but my mind imagines toes curled under, or maybe even missing.

He leans forward, hair swinging. "I suppose that you've forgotten me too?" His voice is deep and commanding and clear.

Heart increases its tempo, out of my control. In my nose, a scent that my mind tells me I've smelled before.

     (con artist angel remember when you licked him?)

"This," shea(3)va says, "is cyn(7)dar."

"We've known each other since we were old enough to talk," he says. "And now you don't remember any of it."

I'm either physically attracted to him, or I'm scared of him. Can't tell which.

     (yes you can angel yes you can)

"Yeah," I say, setting my teeth, refusing to back down. "Oh, were you eavesdropping just now?"

His eyes narrow. "You didn't even say goodbye to me."

     (may not be able to handle it)

"Calm down, cyndar," shea(3)va says. "She's not lying to us. We'd know it."

"Not for sure. With Athara-Meeatora, we were never sure. Not even you. Not even me."

"Well, I know it now, so control yourself with my blod (sis)."

"I went after you," cyn(7)dar says, quieter now. "We all did. You warned us, but we still couldn't fathom that you had actually gone through with it. When you did, we rebelled against reality and went searching--as if we would find you out there, simply lost or wounded. We were foolish."

I just let him talk. Any words I say would only provoke him at this point. Heart's a beating. Thud. Thud. Thud. Mouth's dry. I slick chapped lips.

"All the searchers came back without you," he continues. "We all lost hope. The searches stopped, so I had to go out alone. Further each time. I told myself I was doing it for all of your friends--not just for myself. But really, it was only for me. I wanted you back."

Wanted me back? "Hold," I say. "We're we...?"

"We were never blod (mat), if that's what you're asking."

"I don't know what that means."

cyn(7)dar proceeds, as if he didn't hear me. "After awhile, I gave up hope too. But I couldn't stop without one last attempt."

I look at shea(3)va. She's listening to cyn(7)dar, as if hearing his struggle for the first time.

Those green-yellow eyes burn at me. "I think you're lying to us, syl, and I want to know why."

          (gone too far this time angel you)

     (did this to yourself)

"What do you mean?"

He laughs a bitter laugh. "Because I found you, syl. On that glitched island, I found you."

     glitch no not glitched possible he's lying

"No!" I say, grabbing for JACK's hand, anybody's hand. Metaskin molds into my palm, but I'm not sure whose because I can't divert from cyn(7)dar. "That can't be!"

"It's true," he says. "I found you and tried to bring you back."

"No..." I say, but weak, without breath. Static still isn't there, but I can feel it trying to break through, trying to overcome whatever field is damping it. Hurts.

"In the end, you even agreed. Then you left me again. I want to know why."

"I--I don't know! I don't remember any of this!"

"You're lying, syl! Stop it! Tell me why you left me twice! I know you loved me."

Voice catches, and the NO! that I wanted to spew at him never makes it out of my throat. I push back, standing, forcing myself closer to him, bending my head back to look him in the eye. Since I can't speak, I just glare. Why is he being so cruel? Doesn't he understand that I'd tell him if I knew anything? Why is he doing this?

cyn(7)dar grabs my head in his hands, but it's not a violent move, since he just holds me there, as if he's about to kiss me. He doesn't. His eyes flash with constrained pain, peering from behind a wall of yellow and green.

"Yes, you loved me!"

"I--I'm sorry!" It's all I can manage, him holding me captive.

"Let go of her," JACK commands.

cyn(7)dar looks over my shoulder at her. "Why should I, witch? I was closer to her than you ever will be. She loved me before. I love her now."

     you were right it's too much

"I will not ask you again," JACK says.

cyn(7)dar turns back to me, nose brushing mine. "Just tell me why you left! You loved me!"

"NO!! HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!?" I scream into his face.

His answer is whispered, but it rips into me as if he'd screamed right back at me: "Because, syl, you're carrying our child."

Oh...

                                                  (STOP)

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