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128: Conversation Drift     129: Path Of Ascension
130: Curse Of The Athara-Meeatora     131: Enemies In The Midst

Post: 06.13.2005
Date: 07.30.2196
Time: Morning

Conversation Drift

I duck, but the plasma wire comes so close, I think it singes my hair. Static flares briefly, but it doesn't hurt any more than it normally does. As the plasma wire retracts, I glare at my attacker, who meets my gaze with equal force.

"You're fast," shea(3)va says. The sever-whip in her hand dances as if she were born with one in her palm. "Faster than you should be for somebody in your condition. I don't know how you do it."

"Neither do I," I say.

"I was better than you once."

"Still are."

She shakes her head and laughs.

"At least you know what you're doing," I say. "Me--I just move. I'm not thinking, not anticipating, not reacting. I'm only acting."

shea(3)va's thumb twitches. The plasma wire retracts back into its handle.

"But we're not done," I protest, trying to ignore the pains in my calves, my ankles, and my back.

"We shouldn't even be doing this. You're only a couple months away from having your baby. You should be resting, not sparring."

I sigh, knowing she's right. It had taken some time to convince her to come here with me. She had only agreed when I promised that this was the last time. Additional instruction in the finer points of sever-whip combat would have to wait till after my baby was born.

shea(3)va pulls her hair from the clip she used to tie it back. She shakes her head, her face framed in glistening orange tresses. "Let's go back, get cleaned up. I'm hungry. How about the baby?"

Placing both hands on my stomach, I look down. Can feel the baby shift a little inside. Is it awake? Stomach rumbles. Yeah, we're hungry. Like always. A smile and nod at shea(3)va and we're on our way.

The dome we're in is set aside for combat training and exercise. This first floor is an open arena with a raised ceiling about ten meters high. The walls are covered with markings and symbols that I can't read. It all looks like the lesh (writ), and it still bothers me on occasion. Over the past couple of months I've been able to be more accepting of my markings. They're a part of who I am. I can't change them, so I must accept. I'm not all the way there yet.

I am Atharan. I am a Driftling. Nothing I can do about it. I've accepted that now. Just wish I know more about what it all means.

I am Athara-Meeatora. Not so sure on that one, but everybody else says it's true. Hard to argue with all of them, so I've stopped trying.

As we walk toward the doorway, my attention is drawn to the two other occupants of the room. Over there, in the far corner, cleaning handheld weapons I've never seen before, are nin(9) and m(3)gan. nin(9) is the one who talks like she swallows shards of glass on a regular basis. She's the Driftling who brought me to the Sphek. She's the one who slapped me on the cheek, cut me with the bone sticking out of her palm. She's also leads the Driftling defense forces.

She looks over at me as we pass, and as always, I'm struck by her terrible beauty. Like all the other Driftlings, her skin has been darkened by the sun. She's not wearing the cov (rin) today. Instead, she's wearing a tailored shirt, dyed black, with buttons down the middle, that leaves her arms completely bare, yet covers her up to her neck. A simple black skirt wafts around her at mid-thigh. Matching black boots rise to just below her knees. Her hair is short and messy, as if all she did was run wet hands through it. It's a jumble of black and dark red tufts. Even from this distance, I can pick up her deep red eyes looking at me. Her markings, in harsh contrast to mine, are thin and wispy--almost frilly. They curl and flow almost lazily--certainly prettily--down her limbs, one delicate branch creeping up her neck until it daringly, lovingly brushes her left cheek. Some intricate part of me has wanted to reach up and try to brush that thin wisp away, as it were a strand of hair and not a permanent marring of her skin.

It's still a bit of a shock to see her out of traditional Driftling garb, because that's not how I see her. The majority of them wear it all the time. Not all, but most. And things are changing, especially with the younger ones.

m(3)gan is a head shorter than nin(9). Her black and brown hair falls around her shoulders in hundreds of tight braids. She's wearing standard Driftling battle garb, including her brown cloak, only her cov (rin) is wrapped in such a way as to leave her midriff exposed. There, on that brief patch of skin, her lesh (writ) swirls in circular strokes, painting a sort of target, centered on her bellybutton. She smiles over at us and waves at me like she does every time I see her. I wave back because I didn't once and the disappointed look on her face was so real that I didn't want to see it again.

As usual, nin(9) doesn't smile or wave. Instead, she just looks like she wants to say something to me, but is being held back, as if she's been ordered not to talk to me. But that's ridiculous. One of these times I'm going to force the issue, ask her about it. Not today.

Back in shea(3)va's private bath area, I sink into the tub and empty my mind as best I can. The static is still constant, but thankfully muted as I try to relax. I don't know where they get all this water out in this wasteland and I don't really care. They don't seem to lack for it.

The lights are off in here, but we're burning sweet-scented candles. shea(3)va's sitting in a second bath that I had brought in. Apparently, Athara-Meeatora pretty much gets anything she wants. The wirewitches and I have been staying here ever since the Zomboid attack. shea(3)va and van(9)nis wanted me closer and were willing to accommodate my assertion that the wirewitches were moving in too. I feel safer with them near. I don't always understand the feeling, but there's not much I can do to deny it anymore. There's still not much room, so JACK and I share a room and a bed. Not sure what arrangements PIIX, 7-07, and 2-85 have in their room, but they haven't complained. Kiiziiziixii sleeps in the Haven. I've just about worked up the courage to ask her about it. She still not at peace here, but the more time she spends in the Haven, the calmer she seems.

"You're thinking about cyndar, aren't you?" shea(3)va asks after several minutes of silence.

I grunt. Glitch her. "Actually, I wasn't, but now I can't help it. Thanks."

"Sorry, syl. I guess you two have been on my mind. You're my blod (sis), and he's my friend. I can't say I'm surprised at some of the things that have happened between you two, but that doesn't mean I don't wish that things were different."

"I wish things were different too--I'm just not sure how different I want them to be."

She laughs, shaking her head. "I love it when you sound like the old syl. When you say things like that, I can almost believe that you never left us."

I duck my head under the water so I can wash my face. When I surface, wet clumps of blueness intersect my vision.

"The beast arises!" shea(3)va teases.

"Hilarious, sis."

"If you think that's funny, then you're gonna love my next question."

This isn't the first time I've heard her say something like this, and I've learned to dread her when she does. It's always a question I don't want to answer. "What is it?" I ask.

shea(3)va asks, "The warlock."

Cos. Mic. Glitch. I knew it!

"What exactly is your relationship with him?"

I don't know everything about the Driftling way of life--she's going to teach me more today--but I do know more about the bond between the blod (sis). No secrets between us. If one asks, the other answers; it's that simple. "Um, I...really don't..."

"syl, none of us here are blind. Everybody sees it."

It's funny that something I barely believe to exist, and can hardly understand if it does, is so glitched obvious to everybody else. How pathetically transparent am I?

I ask, "Even...?"

"Especially him," shea(3)va says. "I know you haven't talked to him since the attack, but it's the first thing he asked me about. I haven't asked you till now because I was giving you some time to recover from everything. I know it hasn't been easy. I know it's still not."

"I don't know what to say. Do we really have to talk about this now?"

"I think it's time you told me."

"I'm really confused about...well...everything."

shea(3)va's eyes soften. "Maybe when you tell me, things will be a little more clear. I need to know what's going on with you and the warlock. I need to understand so I know how to deal with cyndar. And you."

Static rises just enough to muddle my thoughts, makes it more difficult to think. "I'm really confused about both of them."

     (not to mention the con artist)     (still)     (why can't you let him go?)

"They do that to us sometimes."

"I know." Sighing, I finger the wirewitch bracelet that JACK gave me. Even if I knew how to take it off, I wouldn't. The ceremony was called off, but I don't want to give it back. She hasn't mentioned it, so I'm not going to bring it up. Touching the bracelet injects brief moments of calm into the static. "I...feel...something, but I don't know how to express it."

"What do you feel for the warlock?"

"He was human once, you know," I say. "I knew him then. There was some sort of instant attraction then I think, maybe because he helped JACK and me when we needed somebody."

"He's not a Driftling."

"I know, I know," I say, letting my frustration creep into my voice. "I hate what he's become."

"When did you start hating wirewitches? It really doesn't make sense considering that you've befriended a coven of them."

"I don't hate wirewitches; I hate what they are. They are humanity destroyed."

shea(3)va shakes her head. "This is new. I've never heard you talk like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not entirely comfortable with the wirewitches because they have a reputation for being dangerous, not because they've lost their humanity."

"The witching process is irreversible. It works on a cellular level. There's no going back. It's not natural. It's wrong."

shea(3)va sits up in her bath. Her limbs are slender, yet strong, even though they don't bend all the way. Water drips from her hair and from the curved bone which droops over her ear. Her belly is flat and defined, so unlike mine, which is curved and bloated. "You don't know any of that for sure. But really, syl, I've honestly never heard you talk like this. You always told me you felt sorry for them. When you brought some back with you...it was scary, but it wasn't contrary to your character. And when you refused to go forward with the blod (mat) ceremony, I just assumed that you and the warlock were--"

"No!" I say too loudly, protesting too much, sounding too guilty.

"Then what? Don't lie to me and tell me it's nothing. He may not have eyes that look like the rest of us, but I can see the way he looks at you. cyndar told me what you did to protect the warlock."

"I'd do that for any of my friends."

"I know you would." shea(3)va runs hands through her hair, slicking the strands till they cling to her neck. "You say you hate what they are, but--"

"I do hate what they are."

"You say that now, but you didn't before. You always said you felt pity for them. You were sympathetic toward them. I remember one time, when we were kids, a coven passed through. They stayed in the Haven, and I caught you playing with one of the younglings! I can't say your mother was happy about it, but luckily, she didn't find out till afterwards. She quarantined you till the coven left."

"I don't remember any of that," I say. Words I don't need to speak. "I don't feel any of that."

"My point is that, while you were gone, somebody changed your mind."

I can't help but consider that what she's saying is true. There's so much I don't know about why I am the way I am. My memory only goes back so far. Most of the changes that others have noticed have been physical--my eyes, my skin, my baby--but changes in opinions and beliefs are more difficult to sense. shea(3)va's noticed one now, and I'd be stupid to ignore her observation.

I exhale, long and hard. "You might be right. I don't remember. All I feel when I think about merging humanity and machine is how wrong it is. It eats at me when I think about it."

"If that's true," she says, "then how can you find yourself friends with a coven of wirewitches? Even worse, you can't seem to control a physical attraction to one of them."

     (hypocrite? anyone?)

I put my head in my hands, holding just this side of tears. "I don't know." Mind sends me an image, a memory, of the youngling wirewitch I saved back in Die Droid Die. Wirewitches are forbidden to have relations with humans...

     he said
     he loved
     me okay
     they both
     said that

"Poor syl," she(3)va says, and she's not teasing me.

Glitch, now I am crying.

"It'll be okay," shea(3)va says, reaching a hand out. The baths are close enough I can reach her. She squeezes. I squeeze back. God, that feels so good.

When I have my tears back under some measure of control, I say, "Part of me despises them for what they are. Another part of me wants to forgive them."

"They can't help what they are."

"I know. And that's the part of me that doesn't care that 2-85 isn't human anymore. That part wants...what it wants, and glitch any conflicting convictions. But no matter what, I can't shake the knowledge that he's something that sickens me."

"So, you do have feelings for him, and they are strong enough to pull you out of blod (mat) with cyndar."

"That's only part of it. I won't deny that 2-85 interrupting the ceremony wasn't a relief. But that wasn't specific to him, because deep down all I needed was for anybody to put a stop to it. I tried to convince myself that I was doing the right thing, that I was being true to myself and my heritage as a Driftling. That my feelings for him were really that strong. That a baby between us was reason enough to go through with it. Did such a good job of convincing myself that, when it came down to it, I ended up asking him!" Internally, I grimace at my own actions. What a glitched fool I've been! The level of embarrassment I should be feeling is off the chart. Instead, all I feel is confused. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I wasn't."

"I should have said something."

"You knew, didn't you?"

She nods her head. "I said I was supporting you, but I should've done more, put up more of a fight. I was so happy to have you back that, well, I made a mistake."

I laugh out loud. "Not as big as the one I made."

"I won't let it happen again. I'm your best friend, not to mention your blod (sis), glitch it, and I should've said something."

"I might not have listened anyway."

"Probably not. You've always done what you wanted to. That's what let you leave us so easily."

I can't disagree, partially because I don't remember, but also because it sounds true.

shea(3)va rises to stand in the bath. Her movements aren't smooth, but they're deliberate and well-practiced. Her deformities do not hinder her, and she moves with a confidence that gives one the impression that there's nothing wrong with her. She grabs a towel and dries herself. Her markings are sparse, but pretty. While my markings bring images of teeth and claws and the monsters that wield them, hers remind me of flowers and wind, almost as if the lines were blown across her body by a warm breeze.

Wish my belly looked like hers again.

She shakes her hair out, water showering outward. "That's good enough for now. I think I know some of what you're feeling." Wrapping herself in a thin towel, she steps from the bath. I've slipped before getting out of the bath by myself, so she offers me her hand again and steadies me. As I'm drying myself, she asks, "One more thing. I don't have a problem with the concept of a wirewitch, but I have a cosmic problem with my blod (sis) becoming one. He'll try to turn you eventually."

Looking at her through a veil of dripping blue, I narrow my eyes and smile. If only she knew. "Don't worry. I'm immune to the technosites."

"No, that's impossible. Nothing can resist the technosites. If it's made of living tissue, it's vulnerable."

"I know--" As I dry my belly, the baby kicks. Instinctively, my hand goes to my stomach. The life inside me moves, as if it can sense that I'm feeling for it. I grab shea(3)va's hand and press it under mine, into one of the few places on my body not discolored with the lesh (writ). The baby cooperates, gives another kick or a punch. I'm standing there, suddenly grinning like an idiot. shea(3)va smiles like she always does when I get like this.

"God only knows what Athara-Meeatora's child will be like," she says.

"Won't be too much longer before we all find out."

"I'm sure he or she will be just like you."

"How unfortunate," I say, grabbing my clothes. I decided two weeks ago that the cov (rin) wasn't going to work for me during the rest of my pregnancy. em(0) had several more suitable outfits brought to me. All of them are stretchy. Exactly what I need. "shea, I was serious about the technosites. They don't affect me."

"How are you so sure? Were you..." She trails off, as her mind answers her own question.

"Yes. On the island. More than once. And yet, here I am. Mostly unharmed."

There are several seconds of silence before shea(3)va quietly says, "You'll always be a mystery, syl, even to your closest friends."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Then she laughs. "It's appropriate I guess that you befriended a coven of witches. You're more alike than you know. Just like them, you can't help what you are, and there's no going back."

What can I do but nod my head? She's dead on. I'm just trying to survive while drifting through this world of glitch.

Before getting dressed, I rub a smooth lotion over my body. em(0) gave it to me, said it'll help repair the damage to my skin this pregnancy is doing. Apparently, when this baby comes out, my balloon of a stomach will deflate rather quickly. Not gonna be pretty, all stretched out like that. Hope this stuff works.

These new undergarments feel like they were made just for me. With the way they treat the returned Athara-Meeatora, they might have been. I didn't ask. Both of the undergarments are bigger than I'd normally wear, glitch it. The self-conscious, vain part of me isn't happy, but guess there's little I can do about it now. The light-brown dress buttons up the side, is form-fitting at my chest, and tents my stomach, falling down to just above my knees. Lots of ventilation down there. The neck is high, but it's sleeveless, showing off my arms. em(0) wants me to get more comfortable with my markings, looking at them, displaying them, coming to grips with what they mean. And not just me--the rest of the Driftlings too. Sometimes I get the impression I'd be paraded around naked if the Sphek thought they could get away with it. em(0) doesn't like it when I wear my cloak while I'm wandering the city, but I don't like the staring and the whispering. And the bowing. So most of the time I wear my cloak, and when I have the wirewitches with me, I try to convince myself that the staring and the whispers are for them. Though I must admit, it's difficult to believe that they're bowing to the coven...

I have to refuse a blod (mat) proposal every time I go out.

I like wearing the quicksilver necklace as much as I can, so I put that on. I have the lobeclips JACK gave me back in our room, but this isn't the outfit for them. I put in two silver clips up into that mess of blue on my head. Keeps the hair out of my eyes. Sever-whip goes on my hip as always. Driftlings don't walk around unarmed much these days. I'm no exception.

I grab for my cloak, which is hanging. shea(3)va gives me a look that's the visual equivalent of a sigh. Glitch on a stick, em(0) got to her. Saw them talking yesterday.

"Fine, I'll leave it," I say. "Some friend you are."

"em's right," shea(3)va says, pulling on her clothes.

"Maybe," I say, leading her out. Or maybe em(0) has her own reasons for telling me what I should and shouldn't do. Like with cyn(7)dar...she told me what I should do...but she hasn't said anything about me going back on my decision yet. Neither has the Sphek. Not sure what to think about any of that.

We walk toward the gad (rin), where my weekly lessons take place. There's food in there too.

shea(3)va walks beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you about something."

"What?"

"The modie."

"Kiiziiziixii? What about her?"

"How much do you know about her?"

"Not a lot actually. I met her on the island. She's fought alongside us, and she's saved my life a couple of times."

"Do you know why she's protecting you?"

"Not entirely. She says our paths have crossed, and that she'll stay by me until they uncross."

"Oh."

"Why? Does that seem strange?"

"I'm not really sure."

I stop and grab shea(3)va's shoulder, forcing her to stop with me. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"It's just that...oh, it's probably nothing."

"Just tell me."

shea(3)va smiles briefly. "Not everybody knows this, because they've forgotten, but there are two words in the old Atharan language, one for fire and one for pain."

I stare at her with the blankest expression I can muster.

shea(3)va finishes by saying, "Those two words are kiizii and ziixii."

Post: 08.04.2005
Date: 07.30.2196
Time: Morning

Path Of Ascension

So tell me, what am I supposed to do with that? Does it mean anything? Does it affect me?

"Does that mean anything?" I ask, as if shea(3)va knows more than I do.

She shrugs. "You're supposed to tell me. She's your friend."

"Friends...I'm not sure that's what we are. We're something though. What do you call somebody you know next to nothing about, but who has repeatedly defended you with her life?"

"Not sure. Savior?"

I'm too confused and too intrigued at this point to retort. "I'll have to ask her about it."

"At the very least, we know that's not her real name."

Walking through the streets, arms bare and on display for everybody to see, I ignore the staring. A few children have already begun to follow us, trailing behind a few meters. They're giggling and awestruck all at the same time. A boy, on the verge of becoming a man, catches my eye for a minute, then turns away shyly when I maintain contact. He looks normal except for the tail-like bone protruding at the base of his spine. It's long enough that he has to lean forward to keep his balance.

Approaching the gad (rin), I'm reminded of how little I know about this place, and of how little I know about what goes on inside. I need to ask somebody. Not em(0) though. I'm still hesitant around her, uncomfortable. Don't know why that is.

JACK is waiting for us a the entrance. She hugs me as I approach, her hairstalk wrapping around my ankle.

Wirewitches are forbidden to have relations with humans...

My stomach rumbles against her, baby kicks, reminding me that it and the baby need food. I'm always hungry these days, and the baby is always moving.

I feel her hand shift against my back. Inwardly, I sigh because I know she's signaling to one of the other wirewitches. Glitch, I didn't notice. Again! I'm not sure when this started--probably right after the Zomboid attack--but she's been having me followed. I didn't catch on till last week. When I confronted her, she said it was "for my protection."

"I'm safe here," I whisper in her ear. "shea(3)va is with me."

"It's just a precaution," JACK whispers back, the vibrating frequency of her voice ticking my ear. "Besides--"

"--she's in on it," I finish. The static bursts briefly as I turn toward shea(3)va, who's wearing a defiant smirk.

"Nothing is happening to you on my watch, syl, but I like to have backup."

"Glitch you both," I mutter, pulling shea(3)va into the hug.

It'll just be the three of us and em(0) today. Should be just em(0) and me, really, but I keep my friends as close as I can as often as I can. These days, shea(3)va is as much my teacher as em(0) is, and JACK has taken a sudden interest in Driftling culture. She thinks it'll strengthen our friendship. It's definitely working. I feel closer to her. Gonna make it more difficult to let her go if they leave after the baby's born. So I try not to think about it.

Even though they are as young as I am, shea(3)va and van(9)nis head up clothing production for the entire city. With the Driftling population dropping, many traditional business have been consolidated. The Sphek does what it can to make sure that basic services are handled. By necessity, everybody contributes what they can. What else can you do when your race is on the brink of extinction? There is little room for gross selfishness in Athara.

Maybe that's why I left.

van(9)nis has to work harder when shea(3)va's with me, but she's assured me several times that he hasn't brought production to a complete halt.

Side rooms off of the main chamber are used for smaller meetings. The one shea(3)va leads us to is empty, but there's food set out on table a half-meter high. Cream-colored pillows are arranged around the table and grey light filters in through a thin slit in the wall. It takes me a minute or two to find a sitting position where I can be comfortable and still get food into my mouth without involving others or spilling food all over my chest and belly.

"Remind me to never get pregnant again," I say.

shea(3)va shakes her head. "You'll survive."

"That's all I do."

em(0) comes in without a word, sits down, prepares her food and begins to eat. The room takes on a reverent air. We all eat in relative silence for several minutes.

"Continuing my instruction from last week," em(0) begins without preface, "the lif (pah) is the direction that an Atharan travels, from the moment they are birthed, to the moment they exhale their last breath. For each Atharan, there is but one correct path from the beginning of life to its end. This is the narrow path. It is the most difficult to navigate because it is the only correct one. Alongside the narrow path are the wide paths. There are many of them. They are easier, faster. Every wrong choice an Atharan makes takes them, for a time, from the narrow path. Straying from the narrow way is easy, but returning to it is not. Imagine a thin trail through a thick forest. As long as you stay on the trail, you can see which direction will take you further along the trail. But step off into the forest, where the trees can obscure the trail, and you may become lost. Do you understand?"

"I hear and understand..." I whisper, suddenly thankful that the static doesn't manifest within the confines of the gad (rin).

"And it appears you have something you want to ask," em(0) says.

"I know that I've strayed from the narrow path many times. How can I know when I am making wrong choices? How do I know if what I'm doing is right? Sometimes I'm confused about what to do. Sometimes I don't see any right choices in front of me."

"And what do you do in those times?"

"Whatever I have to do in order to survive."

"You're not the only one," JACK says.

"Sometimes the path is narrower than at other times," em(0) says. "Even when you are on it, you may question yourself. Being on the correct path is not as much following as it is seeking. To remain on the path, you must constantly question whether your next step will land on it."

"But how do I know?"

"In times as uncertain as these, absolutes are difficult to discern. Knowing is a luxury you will never have. You are not omniscient. Rely on your God. Rely on yourself. Rely on your friends. But seek the narrow path at all times. Even if you stray, even if you are so far gone from the narrow path that you feel you have no hope of ever finding it. Seek it, and if you are true, you will return to it. It is not your lif (pah) that defines who you are, but you it. Do you understand this?"

"I hear and understand," I say. --that I'm very very lost. I've done so many wrong things. Made so many wrong choices. And now...the narrow path is hidden from me...

"We will talk about the lif (pah) again, but for today, that is enough. Think about what I've said, and we will talk more tomorrow. Tell me what you wish to learn about next, my daughter."

We've spent some time together--not enough--but it's still strange to hear her call me that. I finger the sever-whip at my waist. "Tell me about blod (eth)." I heard nin(9) mention it a couple times, and since the Zomboid attack, I've heard others talk about it. It seems like I've heard the term before that, but I can't remember when...

em(0) draws her own weapon and places it on the table in front of her. The handle of the sever-whip gleams in the ray of daylight. The edges of the control surfaces are worn down. The weapon looks like it belongs in her hand, like it wants to be back in her hand or on her hip. "Though I wish it were not so, Athara will never know peace. We may have the illusion of it for a time, but our narrow path does not stroll across valleys of serenity, but through chasms of tumult. We have known oppression. We have known war. We have known death. I cannot see an end to these. These experiences gave rise to the battle discipline that we call blod (eth)."

"Battle discipline," JACK repeats. She catches my eye, as if to say, I'll never fully understand you and yours.

I almost stifle a giggle. shea(3)va manages to keep her reaction to the twitch of one side of her mouth.

Just three little girls sharing a private joke...glitch, I wish I could remember my childhood.

em(0) continues without acknowledging any of us. "Blod (eth) is the way Atharans conduct themselves in combat. It is not your reason for fighting. It is not who you fight. It is not the fighting style that you select, but that is a part of it. It is not the weapon that you use, but that is also a part of it."

Now she's getting cryptic. Sometimes during these sessions, I regret asking the question in the first place. This is going to be one of those times, I can feel it.

"Blod (eth) is an acknowledgement that combat is a part of our life that we must embrace if we are to survive," em(0) says. "We are prepared for peace, but we train for war. We fight for our lives. We fight for the survival of our race. We fight for our families and for our home. We do not search out violence, but we perfect our skills at it. We fight when we must. We do not run. We do not back down. When the need arises, we give our lives to our blod (eth). Our survival is anything but guaranteed. It is not free, and it is not easily purchased. There is but one thing that has allowed us to exist for as long as we have, and that is--"

Caught up in her words, I didn't notice that she'd held up her hand. It was clenched tight, but now it opens up. Something red and wet falls from her palm and splatters on the floor.

"--blood on the ground," she finishes.

"I understand," I say. I've had mine spilled, and I've spilled others'. In the end, I did what I had to. I survived.

"As a follower of the blod (eth), you must hold to these principles. Will you?"

"I will try, em." She hasn't asked for me to call her "mother," but I can see it in her eyes that she desperately wants me to. According to shea(3)va, I called her that before.

em(0) glances down at her sever-whip, placing her bleeding palm over it. "The wen (pon), which you know as a sever-whip, is an old weapon. It is outdated. It is obsolete. It is rare. Outside of Athara, the few that own them hardly know what they came from, or how to use them. Anywhere but here, they are mere novelties, hidden away in private collections, or sold on dark markets. The training and skill required to use one ensures that there are few sever-whip adepts outside of Athara. Many people perceive them as a weapon of limited threat, especially when compared to pulse weaponry."

I think back to my boat, before I took Phoenix on board, when Dokk One came at me. I knew what he was holding, and I knew what it meant. I didn't remember it; I just knew. But only because of my heritage did I comprehend the danger I was in. The Dokk was hardly an adept. I took it from him easily enough. Took his life easily enough.

"These people are fools," em(0) says, "because even a rock is a deadly weapon in the hands of a master. Giants have been killed by pebbles."

"I hear and understand." I'm well-aware of what a sever-whip can do; I just wish I knew how I do what I do with it.

"The sever-whip is as much a part of our heritage as it is a tool that serves blod (eth). When an Atharan child reaches five years of age, they are given their first. Their original is modified, upgraded, and extended as the child grows." em(0) pauses, gripping the handle of her sever-whip tight. She spins her wrist till the gleaming handle rests in her palm. I can see flecks of blood dotting the control surfaces. "This is my first sever-whip. And I have promised myself that it will be my last. My only."

From its outside appearance, there is little to distinguish my sever-whip from the one em(0) wields. They both look used. Mine fits my hand comfortably enough. I wonder briefly about--

"I do not believe," em(0) says, "that to be your original sever-whip." She looks to shea(3)va.

shea(3)va shakes her head. "syl's had some...modifications. And as we grew up, we made our sever-whips mirror images of each other, since she usually favored her right hand, and I my left. We also..." She trails off, eyes blinking, head bowing. The room goes silent. I put a hand on her knee. I think that's enough.

em(0) takes a drink from the table and swallows. "Then it is almost certain the original owner of that sever-whip is dead. For blod (eth) demands that you never surrender your sever-whip to an enemy."

JACK looks at me with a consoling smile.

"Another crucial aspect of blod (eth) is the knowledge of one's enemy. Blod (eth) demands that to truly know an enemy, you must understand their weapon. To understand their weapon, you must possess it for yourself. When you defeat an enemy in combat, you must take their weapon and use it as your own. You will never discard your sever-whip, for that is yours by heritage, but you must use the weapons of your defeated enemies against them."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I glance at shea(3)va to see if em(0) is joking--even though I know she's not. shea(3)va merely nods assent. To JACK then. Her eyes are wide, as if she doesn't believe it either. "You mean I'm supposed to put away the weapon I actually have some skill with in favor of some random weapon I know nothing about?"

"Yes. That is blod (eth)."

"That's glitched up, em. Cosmically glitched."

"To truly master combat, to truly understand the heart of battle, you must fully comprehend your opponent. You must understand the weight of your enemy's death. You must understand what enabled you to defeat them. To do that--to fulfill your obligation to blod (eth)--you must fight as your enemy fights. You must put yourself in your enemy's shoes. You must hold your enemy's weapon. And you must defeat another enemy with it."

"But fighting with a weapon I don't understand puts me at a disadvantage. It is more likely that I'll lose my next fight. It puts me in more danger. I'm more likely to die."

"Danger and death are a part of life. Especially for an Atharan. You must be at peace with these things if you are to follow blod (eth). These are not things to be feared, but accepted."

"I...I'm not sure I can do that." Unconsciously, I've put my hand on my stomach.

To feel the life inside?
     To protect my blue spark?
               To shield her from danger?
                                   From death?

"Do you fear death?" em(0) asks.

     (yes, don't you?)

"I intend to live," I say, knowing that I'm dodging.

"You are Athara-Meeatora," em(0) says. "Others fear your death because they believe certain things about you. They do not want to lose you. Do not fall into the same trap that they have. If you fear death, then you cannot be at peace while you live because you will always focus on avoiding death."

"I don't want to die," I say.

"None of us do," em(0) says. "But not wanting to die and being afraid to die are separate things. A follower of blod (eth) does not fear the end of life. They know that they have lived as best they could, and are at peace during their final breath. Though there is often pain and suffering and agony and hate at that final moment, blod (eth) demands peace with the outcome. Death is natural, and even an unnatural death is natural in its own way. Do you understand?"

I swallow, but my throat's dry. "I hear, but I'm not sure I understand."

"You will understand, in time," em(0) smiles. "I think that's all for today." Looking at shea(3)va she says, "I think we've given her enough to think about for now."

"Thank you, em," I say, reaching for her. The skin on the back of her hand is wrinkled and old, but soft. Again I can see that she was hoping I would call her something else.

"We'll talk more of this tomorrow," she says as she stands. "I would like to cook dinner for you this evening."

"I'd like that," I say.

After em(0) is gone, I lean back. JACK's hairstalk slithers across the ground till it touches my calf. In JACK's eyes I see that she's teasing me. Inwardly, I sigh. How can I know her thoughts like this?

"What is it?" shea(3)va asks, noticing the silent interaction between JACK and I, her eyes darting back and forth between us.

I sigh, this time outwardly. "JACK's teasing me. Reminding me of my failures."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I gave up my sever-whip when we were captured here."

shea(3)va laughs loudly and says, "I don't think they'll kick you out of Athara. Besides, they obviously gave it back."

"shea, do you follow blod (eth)? Do you really believe everything em said?"

"Yes. Without my dedication to blod (eth), I would be weak in combat. I probably wouldn't be alive."

"All of it? Even the weapon swapping?"

"Even the weapon swapping."

"And what about death? Are you--"

"Afraid to die?" shea(3)va says. "No."

JACK says, "I've been afraid to die many times."

The image of the two of us, huddled on the island, helpless against a charging eoa hits me then, bold and cold. I'm feeling a little bit of what I felt then. Weak. Powerless. Frightened.

"I'm not sure I can do this," I say, shaking my head.

"You did before," shea(3)va says, "and maybe you will again. That's something you have to decide for yourself."

My body is still hungry, but I don't feel like eating anymore. The baby wiggles inside. I force myself to take some more food from the table. Chewing, I close my eyes and take some deep breaths, trying to empty my mind of everything we just talked about. I don't want to think about my failures with my lif (pah) and blod (eth) right now.

"I'm not a very good Driftling," I sigh, not meaning to say it out loud. Or maybe I'm fishing for some encouragement.

"Nobody's good at everything," shea(3)va says, chuckling.

"Except me," JACK says.

"Glitch," I say. I have to get my mind off this j'aa. Best way to do that is change the subject. I grab the first thing that comes to mind, something that's been nagging at me for the past few weeks. Taking a drink of water from the table before continuing, I ask, "How did we access cyberspace. I mean, before it fell that is."

shea(3)va narrows her eyes. "Why do you--oh, well, doesn't matter. It's not like we can do it anymore. Originally, only members of the Sphek were allowed to access cyberspace, but a few years after you and I were born, those rules were relaxed. We did have regular matrix access all the way up till the time of cyberspace's demise. Many Driftlings were jacked in when it went down. I can't imagine it being much worse than it was. A few survived. Most were killed."

I hate myself for asking, but I have to know. "How many?"

shea(3)va lets her head drop, and her voice changes. "Over two hundred."

God...

"Others were...brainfried is the term I think," shea(3)va says. "Some of those recovered enough to go about their lives, but others...well, we have to keep them under guard at all times so that they don't hurt themselves or others. Now, the Sphek has confiscated all matrix interface units until cyberspace is brought back up. They don't want anybody trying to jack in to nothing. The possibility of a D-jack is too real."

D-jack. Connecting when there's nothing on the other end isn't usually dangerous. But sometimes, that nothing on the other side looks more like a mirror than a dead end. Jacking into your reflection creates an endless loop. Brain functions go recursive. Not many people make it out after that. D-jack. Death-jack.

I didn't want to know any of this. I don't want to think about all those deaths. I only wanted--glitch, I don't know.

"Where do they keep them?" JACK asks.

shea(3)va is confused. "Keep what?"

"The MIUs."

shea(3)va glares at JACK for a moment.

JACK isn't fazed. "I'm assuming the MIUs are external. None of you have implants."

shea(3)va looks at me before answering. "Yeah, they're all external. As for where they're kept, I think--well, I don't know for sure, but I believe they're kept here, somewhere in the gad (in)."

"Will they actually work in here?" I ask, thinking about how nice it feels to have the static gone..

"Assuming cyberspace was back up, I guess. The Sphek used them before from here."

The look on JACK's face isn't one I think I like. Seen it before. Back with the wirewitches on the island. It's the look of some recovering Soar addict having just heard the rumor that there's a pile of the stuff in the next room.

"No," I say. "We have no reason to do something like that."

"How are we supposed to know when cyberspace is back up?" JACK asks.

"Wouldn't you be able to sense it?" I ask.

JACK turns away. "I-I'm not sure. Before...I would've said yes, but things are so different now. We've changed so much ever since--" She turns back to me, eyes swirling storms. "--I'm not sure we'd be able to tell."

Something grabs at my stomach. My heart. It's empathy, and it unexpected. I'm sorry, JACK. If what 2-85 told me is true--that being around me is affecting you, changing you--then maybe, somehow, what's happening is my fault. It doesn't make any sense. Doesn't make it true. Doesn't make it my fault. But, I still feel guilty.

I need to change the subject again.

"I'm sorry, JACK. Can we talk about that later? Maybe tonight?" I'll feel more comfortable if it's just the two of us. And if the lights are out and I don't have to look her in the eye.

"Later is fine," her voice grates softly. Her hairstalk withdraws.

I need to change the subject now.

     (maybe you should quit while you're still ahead, angel)

"shea?"

"Yes, syl."

"The defense master."

"nin(9)."

"Tell me about her." Tell me why she's so beautiful. Tell me why she talks like that. Tell me why she scares me.

shea(3)va says, "I knew we'd get to her eventually."

"We have history?" I ask.

"It's safe to say that you two will probably never be friends. There are Driftlings who believe that Athara-Meeatora has some grand purpose to fulfill--the salvation of Athara--that sort of thing. Though there aren't as many of them, there are those who believe the opposite. nin is one of the later."

"Did I do something to her?"

"I'm not totally sure. You were born different. That's probably all it took."

"She captured me and the Driftlings."

shea(3)va laughs under her breath. "I heard. So, you surrendered your sever-whip to her. No wonder she looked so smug that day; she'd finally had power over you instead of the other way around."

"I don't need any more enemies," I say. "Is there anyway I can undo any of this?"

"You can certainly try, syl, but only if you're in the mood for confrontation. Don't think you can roll back time just because you don't feel what she's feeling."

Isn't that the truth. Ouch. In more than one way.

shea(3)va puts her hand on my shoulder. "Sorry, that was harsh."

I grab her hand and hold it, doing the same with JACK. Feels better this way.

"I'll go with you when you want to," shea(3)va says.

"Me too," JACK says, squeezing my hand.

"Thanks. I do like to have backup," I say with a narrowed eye at shea(3)va.

She punches me lightly in the shoulder. "In all seriousness, it won't be easy. She's opposes everything you've been lifted up to be."

"So do I."

"Don't say that lightly, syl. What you are and who you are are important to many Driftlings. You may not have asked for this, but it's reality, and your responsibility is not easily put off. You are Athara-Meeatora."

"I know. I've accepted that." Sort of.

shea(3)va waves her hand. "In the end, it probably doesn't matter. Regardless of what you believe, you cannot control the beliefs of others. If most of Athara believes you to be something, then their belief makes it truth--maybe not the truth you and I would like, but a type of truth nevertheless. That's all nin cares about--that pseudo-truth."

"That's it?" I ask. "I'm not sure I can fight against somebody who dislikes me for what other people think about me. I can't control what people think!"

"There is one other reason for her to dislike you."

Not saying anything; I just wait.

shea(3)va looks over her shoulder, as if she can't help but check to make sure nobody's listening.

I continue to wait. I stop holding my breath, because it's stupid and it hurts. Baby's needs his/her oxygen.

"nin is the daughter of sharra."

"A member of the Sphek," JACK says.

shea(3)va smiles. "You've been paying attention. Yes, sharra is one of the six Sphek members. But more importantly, she is next to replace em when em dies or is no longer fit to lead the Sphek."

I'm confused. "I don't see how this--"

"How are members of the Sphek chosen?" JACK asks.

"JACK, you have a quick mind," shea(3)va says. "Sphek members are not chosen except under extreme circumstances. Both of you have seen that one throne remains empty, and it may remain that way for some time. No, according to our traditions, a Sphek member's children have rights of first ascension."

"So, if sharra becomes Sphek leader, then nin could be leader of the Sphek one day."

"Yes," shea(3)va says.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with me," I say.

JACK's hairstalk twitches against my thigh, as if chastising me. "syl, think about it. You are em(0)'s adopted daughter. If she dies or steps down, you are next in line. You will be leader of the Sphek."

I think I feel the static then, but I know it's just my imagination. I don't feel static in here. "No," is all I squeak out. That can't be the way it is. I don't want to lead anybody!

shea(3)va squeezes my hand tighter, leaning her head and body close to mine till her hair hangs down in orange waves against my forehead. "My poor sis syl, I'm afraid it's much much worse than that. Though she is Sphek leader at the moment, em is only holding the position because somebody has to. With your mother gone from us, it is not em who has claim to the position, but you. In fact, there's nothing to stop you from taking leadership of the Sphek right now."

Post: 12.11.2005
Date: 07.30.2196
Time: Morning

Curse Of Athara-Meeatora

I stare like an idiot into shea(3)va's eyes for what has to be five minutes. Seeing reflections of blue mixed in with all that orange. Opening my mouth several times only frustrates me when I'm unable to get anything out except a wet, strangled gasp. Eventually, I settle for basic breathing movements. The static wants out, but it's held solidly in check. Something slick on my cheek. Tears. What the glitch for? Gotta pull it together.

"It'll be okay," shea(3)va whispers.

Wirewitch hand at my back, though she doesn't say anything.

I try to wipe at the wetness, but JACK grabs my free hand, not letting me put a stop to it. I fight her for a second, then give in to the inevitable. Bowing my head. Silently weeping. Holding onto friends for dear life. Tearstains on my dress where it rests on my belly, and I barely care. Already bloated and unattractive. What does a wet dress matter?

Is coming home always this painful? Is this the price I have to pay for living among my people? Is this really my burden to bear? I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want any of this.

I've been cursed. Don't know what I did to deserve this. Maybe I was born on the wrong side of the world.

Don't want to look either of them in the eye. My body's shaking with gentle sobs now, and I can't stop them--or maybe I don't want to, because it feels sort of good, even if I'm crying in front of my friends. Then again, I can't think of who else I'd rather cry in front of. Better to let go here, in front of them, than in front of anybody else.

"Really, syl," shea(3)va says, "we're here with you, no matter what. That's what friends are for. That's what I'm for."

"Thanks," I say, as pull her close first, then JACK. All of me wants to believe her, but there are some parts that are holding out, telling me that maybe this can't be about me and my friends. Most of it might just be about me, and me alone. I believe they'll try to be there for me, but when it all comes down, they won't be able to help me as much as they'd like. Sometimes that's just the way it is. In the end, maybe it can only be about me.

Pretty glitched sure I don't like that idea.

Another half-minute of muffled sniffles and I'm feeling better, or, at least, the tears are drying up. I withdraw and wipe my cheeks.

"I've had enough of this place for one day," I say. "Can we get out of here?"

shea(3)va and JACK stand, helping me up. "All this, and the day isn't half over," she(3)va says.

"That's how it is around her," JACK says.

"I know." shea(3)va shakes her head.

Inside, the baby wiggles, as if agreeing. Glitch.

"Hey, you two," I say. "I'm right here!"

"No reason to say it if you weren't," shea(3)va says.

"Glitch you both," I mutter. "Don't even have the decency to talk about me behind my back."

"Friends don't have to be decent," JACK says, then gives me a gentle whack on the butt with a hairstalk. Can't help it, I squeak in surprise, gifting her with a shocked look. The amusement on her face at my reaction is priceless.

     (she was human once)

"Behave," I say.

"I'll think about it."

Back outside, the sun's hiding behind layers of pollution and dust, casting a pale veil of sickness-colored light down on all of us. Static penetrates back into me, then fades low. A breeze disturbs my hair, bringing with it the smell of something rotten.

Aran. I'm thinking of Aran suddenly, the stink of this place trying to bring me a memory, but less than a memory. More of a...feeling. Dread. Not of the past, but of the future.

Eyes shutting, then flipping back open. The feeling is gone. The rotten smell is still here. Just this planet gone bad. That's all. I take as deep a breath as I can and blow it out between clenched teeth.

Glitch, been outside less than five seconds and we're already drawing stares. Correction: I'm drawing stares.

"I want to go to the Haven," I say, eyeing the small cluster of Driftling children off to one side, their hair a rainbow of colors and their bodies a landscape of deformities.

"Wanna talk to your friend, the modie?" shea(3)va asks. "Find out why her--"

"Something like that," I interrupt, not wanting JACK to know just yet for some reason.

"What is it?" JACK asks.

My back hurts. Getting a headache. Should probably go back to my room and sleep. Too much to deal with for one morning. And now I'm gonna go complicate things by visiting Kiiziiziixii. So stupid. Not gonna change the plan though. I start walking. "I'll tell you tonight," I tell JACK.

shea(3)va and JACK fall in beside me. I try to avoid looking at any of the Driftlings that stop to look at us as we walk. Some are following us. Correction: Following me.

shea(3)va brushes my shoulder. "Sure you don't want to go talk with cyndar?" She's teasing me. Some blod (sis) she is. Poking at the pregnant girl. See if she reacts.

"I'm sure," I say.

"Sure of what?"

"Sure I don't want to."

"You sure?"

"Glitch off."

"Can't put it off forever."

"Can for today."

She lets it go then. Good--

Oh, what's this? Driftlings congregating in front of us. Have to go through them or find out what they want. I stop where a shadow would be if the sun were out. JACK's signaling to the wirewitches following us--7-07 and 2-85 probably. shea(3)va's hand on my shoulder, kneading, oh that feels good.

"No avoiding this, syl," she says. "Talk to them."

"Don't want to," I whisper as I take in the crowd surrounding us.

"Just do it. You're one of them."

"Help me," I plead.

"We're not going anywhere."

Static rises, just like it should. Don't know what calls it, but it's always ready to heed.

I step forward just as shea(3)va gives me a little push. "Um...hi."

Whispers propagate through the crowd like ripples in a lake.

"What do you want?" I ask. Glitch, that sounds bad. Try again, angel. "Ah...anybody want to ask me...um, a question?"

Well said, angel. Just the way all Athara-Meeatoras speak.

The crowd is a mix of sizes and shapes, but the majority of them are younger adults, probably a few years younger than I am. Girls and boys, all staring like they expect something from me. The emotions on their faces run the gamut: apathy, confusion, awe, shock, irritation, anger.

A brave young man steps forward, going down on one knee as best he can. His hair is long and a glowing shade of purple. He looks at me through a wall of hair with a piercing purple eye. One bent forearm balances his weight, fingers spread on the ground like the roots of a tree.

I know what's coming. Can't do anything about it though.

"Athara-Meeatora," the youth says. I can only assume he's talking to me. "My name is jin(6), and, though I am unworthy, I request the honor of--"

"jin, I can't."

"I do not understand, Athara--"

"Don't call me that. My name is syl." I look at the crowd. "All of you. Call me syl. If you want to talk to me, and if you want me to respond, you will call me by my true name. Not by what some want to label me."

More whispers. More ripples.

I step closer to jin(6). "Say it."

There's a delay, but since Athara-Meeatora just gave him a direct order, it doesn't last long. "syl," he says, but in a tone of voice that suggests he thinks he's going to be punished.

"What don't you understand, jin?" He has to be almost ten years younger than I am. What is he thinking?

     (but what about the con artist--)

                              (--how old do you think he is?)

I push thoughts of Phoenix out of my mind, because they don't belong there anymore.

jin(6) speaks without trace of nervousness. "You are not blod (mat) to any of us. You are not taken. Everybody knows. cyn(7)dar, he--"

"jin." I say his name quietly. Hopefully it reminds him of his mother. "Stand up. I don't want anybody bowing in front of me. It makes me uncomfortable."

He stands. I put a hand on his shoulder. Maybe that's a mistake, so I withdraw. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to be blod (mat) with anybody anytime soon."

"I'm not old enough."

"It's more that I'm too old."

"I won't let that bother me."

"I will; I'm the girl." With that, I turn away before he can come up with new protests. shea(3)va's eyes are mocking me. I stick my tongue out. Lots of them saw it. Probably think I'm immature, not treating the situation with any gravity. Give a glitch: I don't.

"Why did you leave us?" somebody shouts.

That stops me. Biggest problem is that I don't really know the answer. I only know what others have told me. "I said I would leave, so I did."

"Why did you come back?" comes the logical follow-up question, even though my answer to to first was astoundingly unsatisfactory.

"I don't--"

Next one, the voice of a little girl. "Are you going to save us from the Zomboids?"

Don't know how to answer them. "I can't save--"

"You're not going to save us?" Same little girl's voice.

"I can't save anybody. I'm just like all of you."

"That's not true," comes the retort, from jin(6). "You know that's not true."

"I am Driftling!" I yell, and that closes the mouths of a few of them. "And nothing more!"

"You are Athara-Meeatora!" a couple of them shout back.

"She's nothing special." I spit, vehemence and disgust injected into my tone. Bzzz bzzz bzzz goes the static.

"You will save us!"

"You will destroy us!"

"We are lost without you!"

"You never should have come back!"

"Stop it!" I yell. Baby kicks inside, pushed up against my lungs, making it difficult to draw breath. "None of you know what Athara-Meeatora is! You have no idea!"

"You are Athara-Meeatora," jin(6) says, speaking for the throng now. "You shouldn't deny what you are!" So much conviction in one so young. It's as humbling as it is scary.

"I deny nothing, except the lie you all place on me!" I stare down anybody who's willing to hold gaze with me. "You have taken her and turned her into something she isn't--something she never was. What is Athara-Meeatora if not a mystery? And because she's a mystery, you all seek to solve her. To define her. To make her into something she isn't. You don't understand her, so you make her into something you can!"

"We need a savior," somebody says. "We need you!"

"I can't save anybody. Your faith in me is misplaced. I'm no better than any of you. "

     (isn't that the truth angel you're) (worse)

"I'm trying to stay alive," I say. "Exactly like all of you."

This sets them whispering even more. Not sure what's disturbing them so much. I look back at shea(3)va, who's not visibly amused anymore. She's concerned about something, her eyes bouncing all over the crowd. Seeking.

"You sound like you're afraid of death."

I know that voice. Sand. Static. Female.

"She is what she is, and she will be what she will be."

I know that voice too. Deep. Strong. Male.

cyn(7)dar and nin(9) break through the crowd almost simultaneously.

"Athara-Meeatora," nin(9) says, then spits on the ground. An undercurrent of anger flows into the crowd around her. I see m(3)gan behind her.

"Guess I know how you really feel about me," I say. "Glad we got that out of the way."

"You were never one of us," nin(9) says, pacing. "Now, you've returned, claiming your right to be back among us only because it's convenient. I am...sickened."

"She is one of us," jin(6) says. Unlike many of those around him, he doesn't look like he's afraid of her.

"I am Driftling," I say, holding my arms out, palms up. "I am marked like you are." Nods and rumbles of agreement all around me.

She smirks. "Yes, I'm aware of your new skin condition. But if you believe the lesh (writ) makes you one of us, then you have a lot to learn--just like always."

"She has a lot to remember," cyn(7)dar says. He's focusing on nin(9), but a quick glance at me tells me all I need to know. He's hurting and angry and confused, and it's all because of me. But despite all that, he's here, defending me. "You know what happened to her."

"Nobody knows what happened to her," nin(9) says, red eyes boring into me. How can she hate me so much?

"What does it matter, nin?" shea(3)va comes up beside me. "It doesn't change who and what she is. She is here. She is Driftling. Play your game of semantics all you want, but it doesn't change reality. What does her leaving and returning matter?"

nin(9) throws her arms wide at the crowd. "It matters because of this! Look at them! Look at the power she has over them. They are so...willing. Can't you see what's happening?"

"I see," she(3)va says, "a Driftling who has forgotten who she is, and what it means to be one of us."

"I see two of them," cyn(7)dar says.

"I was only talking about nin," shea(3)va says, then, turning to nin(9): "You've let childhood rivalries cloud your judgment. The stink of jealousy clings to you like tarokk dung. You're too old to be acting so childish."

nin(9) takes the insult without flinching, instead shaking her head. "I am no youngling. And neither is she." Points at me, of course. "She knows exactly what she is doing, and I don't like it."

"I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much," I say. "I wish I could--"

nin(9) laughs. m(3)gan smiles along with her, but stops when she thinks I see her.

"Save it, syl," shea(3)va says. "This has nothing to do with anything you did."

"You think you know, sheava," nin(9) says, "but you don't know everything about syl and me. We have history she didn't tell her blod (sis) about."

As usual, I'm drawing a blank.

shea(3)va sighs. The crowd is waiting. Not even jin(6), the brave little boy, is qualified to break this particular silence.

"nin, what do you want from me?" I ask.

For a few extra long seconds, as she stares at me, eyes flicking up and down my bloated body, I think she's deciding whether or not to charge me right then and there. My God, what did I do to her?!? It must have been horrible! I actually take a step back. Bump up against a wirewitch. It shouldn't, but it instantly comforts me.

Then nin(9) turns away and disappears into the crowd without another word.

Even m(3)gan appears shocked, and reacts slow, making a delayed, flustered retreat.

Again, everybody's waiting for me to say something. I miss my opportunity, and the wirewitch behind me jumps in. "Is that how you expected that to turn out?"

Cosmic glitch!

I shriek and spin around to face 2-85. Backing up, I clutch my belly because the baby is dancing around in there--most likely from the surge of adrenaline it just got.

"Don't do that!" I tell him, then quieter: "I don't like it."

"He's right," shea(3)va says. "That could have gone better."

"syl, I want to talk with you," 2-85 says.

"You're not the only one." It's cyn(7)dar, from behind me. "Only, I need more than want."

"Timing is everything..." shea(3)va warns, "...boys."

I grab her hand and move so I'm not standing between cyn(7)dar and 2-85 anymore. I don't like being surrounded, and besides, there was too much symbolism in my placement.

"You're avoiding me," cyn(7)dar says.

The crowd around us hasn't left. Apparently my relationship problems are of general interest. "I know. I'm sorry. But I'm going to do it for awhile longer."

cyn(7)dar runs a hand through those green and yellow tendrils on his head. They flop and fling prettily. "Glitch, you're amazing, syl. Cosmically amazing. I just don't know what to do around you sometimes. You back off from the blod (mat) ceremony on a whim, and then you just cut me off. I didn't--I don't know how to react."

While I'm coming up with some sort of response, shea(3)va says, "You're hammering at her, cyndar. Stop it. Do you really want to do this here in front of all these people?"

cyn(7)dar looks around. "No. Glitch. You know I don't. It's just that--"

"I know," shea(3)va says, touching his shoulder. The tenseness in his body relaxes, if only minutely.

2-85 has joined JACK and is quietly observing us at the edge of the crowd. Glitched sure he's the one JACK's been having follow me. His hairstalk is tracing patterns in the dirt, ancient symbols or simple doodles, inscribed by living technology. I tear my eyes away from that swaying bundle. Some reviled part of me wants to grab onto it, knows what would happen to the static if I did. Been living with constant static over the past few weeks since the Zomboid attack, and a few seconds of silence would be...

So I've been avoiding him too.

Both of them want my attention right now, but I'm not willing to give it. Selfish. Yes. Unhealthy. Yes. Stubborn. Definitely. Just not today, guys, okay? The day's gone too long already, and we haven't reached the second meal. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to think straight about you two.

2-85 seems more content with my avoidance than cyn(7)dar does. I appreciate that. A lot. Then again, cyn(7)dar has a very legitimate complaint with me, and I owe him more explanation than I've given him so far.

This glitched crowd is still milling around, rapt in their attention on me and my situation. I really hate that. What the glitch is so glitched interesting about my glitched up love life?

     (love life? so)

     (that's what you call it!)

"cyndar," I begin. "I'll..."

The crowd goes way too quiet, as if they're all waiting to breathe. Glitch a witch that's irritating.

I clear my throat. "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk about...everything. I won't promise much more than that, but we do need to talk about us--" I fix his gaze for a second, to let him know I'm serious, and I'm instantly drawn in. So much strength there. So much power held in check. "--and our baby." There I said it. The crowd collectively exhales.

cyn(7)dar actually lets an almost-smile break onto his face. It's not all-out joy or anything, but it's good to see on him. "Thank you, syl."

"And you," I say, turning toward 2-85, "I'll let you know when I'm ready."

As usual, it's difficult to read those swirling blue orbs of his, but he inclines his head toward me, his hairstalk swinging forward over his shoulder. "I will wait."

Not sure if I believe him. Those eyes are twin maelstroms. Check that; I am sure. I'm sure I'll be lucky if he doesn't corner me in the Haven. Glitch, now he's smiling at me. And that's all it takes to set me off. Heart's pumping faster. Static's rising. Baby's dancing to the beats. Looks like I can control  the effect he has on me about as much as I can control him. And only brave souls attempt to control wirewitches. There's some old saying about catching a wirewitch by the hairstalk...

I am so glitched in so very many ways.

"Okay, get me out of here, shea," I say, tearing my eyes away from 2-85 before the air between us does something like spark or explode.

JACK leads, and the crowd gives way for her. I follow in her wake, ignoring the questions and the genuflections and the insults. Ignoring it all, as best I can. I'm not deaf, but the static drowns out some of it. Problem is, the static's strong enough to hurt, needles stitching through my brain, now shooting down through my body. God, please don't let that hurt my baby. Anything but that. It doesn't deserve to suffer my afflictions.

We make it to the Haven without further incident. shea(3)va gives me a hug just before I go in. "syl, maybe you should go back and rest. You look like you could use a few hours of sleep."

"I'll make it. I need to do this."

"Not right now you don't."

"She's right," JACK says. "Let's go back to the room. We can both get some rest. Whatever it is, it can wait."

"It can, but it's not going to."

"Fine, but you're pushing yourself too hard," shea(3)va says.

"I won't be long. I just need to talk to Kiiziiziixii for a few minutes."

"We'll be waiting right here," JACK says. I know 2-85 isn't far away--glitch, maybe the rest of the coven too--but I can't see him.

Entering the Haven, the static never wavers. Not like that Haven in that droid city, where some sort of dampening field amputated the static from me like an unwanted limb. That Haven where I first realized that Phoenix--bzzzt bzzzt BZZZT!

BZZZZZZZT!

I keep my feet under me, but I grab for the wall anyway. This static's different somehow, like it's operating on a different range of random frequencies. Vision blurs as tear ducts go overactive. I wipe wetness away from my eyeballs, and for some reason, I keep walking. There's pressure in my skull. Static's bouncing around in there, looking for weaknesses, looking for holes, for a way out. Not finding a exit, it's chopping up my brain.

By the time I reach the Sanctuary, I'm hearing popping in my ears, but more than that, it sounds like the popping is coming from inside my head. There are things bursting in there, is my only thought. Is this it? Is the static finally going to kill me? It was only a matter of time anyway. I'm not crying, but tears are streaming down my cheeks anyway. Hands and arms are tingling, as I stumble forward. I come to a stop in front of the neoplastic altar. It's empty, like always, but the candles beside it are lit, their flames crystallized and bent through my teary vision. When I go to my knees in front of the altar, I consider calling for help, but then another of my senses goes haywire and I can smell--

     rot metal pollution garbage technology fire stench blood skin gangrene metaskin and

     Aran

Oh wow, I can smell Aran, as pure as if he were standing here in front of me. It's mixed up all that smell of rotten earth, but it's there and it's powerful. What the glitch is going on? When I picture Aran, I don't think of garbage and rotting soil--but of a man who gave up his humanity. A knight of metal and blade. I see him and all others like him. I feel...repulsion. I feel...despite.

And why shouldn't I? Really, I don't know why my mind won't let him go. In the end, what meaning can I actually assign to him? He didn't even remember who I was. I want him gone. I reach deep within, and yes, there is hate there--for him and his kind. But mostly for what he did and didn't do.

That's all stripped away as the static and the smell and the tingling overwhelm my thoughts, pushing me onto all-fours, forehead coming down onto the floor. Eyes clenched so tight, got stars behind my lids. I'm breathing in short, hiccupy breaths, and I'm about to call out for JACK or shea(3)va, but the static does another ramp up and then I can't control my tongue anymore. Smell of Aran and associated memories are stronger now. God, I begin, not knowing what else to do when--

Somebody else in here with me.

Forcing myself up, a ghostly apparition overlays my world. It's Aran, or at least I think it is. I see flashes of metal and skin and maybe things that are his wings, but its all moving too fast for me to be sure of anything. Tears in my eyes aren't helping the clarity of the situation either. Whatever it is that I'm seeing, it's very clear to me that what I'm experiencing is what it's experiencing. Feels like I'm being mashed up and mixed up. The air between me and the apparition--assuming it's something more than just my brain lying to me that something's hovering in the air right there--crackles and hisses.

Something black, wispy, jumps between us. From him to me.

     (a demon changing possessions)

gbbbF $$$2 zzzG!! BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT!!! kzkzkzzzzz

I know I didn't imagine it because the pain lays me out on my side, doubling me up, not unlike the fetus within me. God. Glitch. Feels like somebody's stripping my skin from me. Fire runs along my body in thousands of burning tongues. It's too much; can't keep my eyes open. Doesn't stop the apparition from being visible behind my eyelids. So, that's that. This is all in my mind. Well, glitch me then, because my mind is doing a glitched good job of convincing the rest of my body that I'm being skinned and immolated at the same time. I'm screaming. At least, I can hear somebody screaming, and I can only assume it's me.

Aran's face comes in clearly for a second, but only just.

Somehow, we've been linked. Not sure if what I'm experiencing has already happened, is happening right now, or is going to happen in the future, but glitch, Aran, I hate you even more for this. I don't know what's going on, but I've been pulled into something without my consent.

I think he's dying. Or he's already dead. Or he's going to die. One of those three. But really, they all end the same: with Aran in agony.

Death. And he's trying to take me with him! Glitch you, Aran. Leave me out of it.

I reach out to the apparition, even though it's stupid and futile, pleading with it. Close it down. Let me go. Die if you have to, but don't take me with you.

As if in response, it's all cut off at the source. The pain, the smell, the static, the tingling, the skin-stripping fire bath--all of it, gone. I gasp for air. My muscles won't relax. It's like they're remaining tense in preparation for another similar attack. Since I can't do anything else, I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on taking measured breaths. shea(3)va's been teaching me breathing techniques to cope with labor pains, though she says they can be used in other situations. I use them now. Cleansing breath, followed by even, regulated breaths. I'm missing some sort of focal point, but I'll be glitched if I'm opening my eyes right now. Supposed to come up with something internal to focus on in situations like this, but right now, I'm drawing a blank.

A few minutes of breathing like that and I'm feeling better. Arm's asleep, but that I can deal with. Aran's dead. Or will be. Can deal with that too. I've got other things on my mind right now.

My eyes open to see two pairs of black boots less than half a meter from my face.

"Hello, syl," that unmistakable voice says. "I'm ready to tell you what I want from you." A small click. Then heat and pale light.

nin(9), who's standing in front of me, just activated her sever-whip.

Post: 12.11.2005
Date: 07.30.2196
Time: Morning

Enemies In The Midst

Rotten Day: 1,000.

(2)syl: 0.

Currently, with an activated sever-whip inches from my face, that’s how the score’s looking. Horribly bad for my side. No way for me to make up the deficit either; I’m too far behind and I’m too tired to do anything about it except complain.

“Get that the glitch away from me,” I say, words coming out all scratchy and hoarse. Maybe it was me screaming a minute ago. Still breathing hard, still trying to regain control of myself and my senses.

And now I’ve have to deal with this j’aa.

The plasma wire doesn’t move. Is she actually planning to use that on me? Better get your glitch together, angel. Get up. Draw a weapon.

“I said—”

“We heard you,” nin(9) says.

We? I force my eyes to focus on another pair of feet just to the side of nin(9)’s. Oh, it’s her faithful sidekick, m(3)gan. Am I surprised? Check No, please. Wow, she’s got the legs I want. Er, the ones I had, back before this whole pregnancy mess swelled them up. Am I bitter?

Check Glitch Yes, please.

Palm flat on the ground, I push up. Amazingly enough, there’s no pain or dizziness or vomiting. I’m backing away from both of them, doing an awkward backtracking crawl on my hands and feet and butt.

“You shouldn’t draw a weapon on anybody, unless you intend to use it,” I say. Back comes into contact with the altar. The room’s empty except for us, but I feel cornered.

nin(9) laughs, a razor-filled laugh that raises the hair on my arms and the back of my neck. “Oh, it had the effect I wanted it to.”

“You have my attention, that’s for glitched sure. Now what the glitch do you want?” These two must’ve either used a different entrance to the Haven, or they were already here when I arrived. Only ways they could’ve gotten past shea(3)va. I briefly consider calling out for her or JACK. And where the glitch is Kiiziiziixii? She hardly ever leaves this place. I don’t call out though; some part of me wants to see how this plays out on my own. Glitch, I’m stubborn. Gonna kill me someday, guaranteed. Hopefully not today though. Today's not a good day for me to die.

Back's hurting. This isn't a good position to be in while pregnant.

nin(9) steps closer, not deactivating the sever-whip. Up close, she’s even more beautiful than I’d realized. That one wisp of her lesh (writ) on her cheek taunts me. Even though she’s overtly threatening me and her eyes burn red with unshielded hatred, her prettiness takes my breath away.

Grabbing for the altar, I heave my bulk to my feet. The part of me that expects her to make a move is shocked when she allows me to stand unmolested.

m(3)gan won’t meet my eyes, turning away when I try to see where she stands on this. Who cares, she’s not the problem here; she’s just a follower.

I’m breathing hard. Hand goes to my hip. Empty. Triple glitch. Must’ve knocked my sever-whip off. Where is—oh. Of course.

“A true follower of the blod (eth) never loses their wen (pon),” nin(9) says. My sever-whip reflects candlelight in her hand. I resist the urge to grab for it.

“And what does it mean that you’re touching mine without killing me?” I ask. Shouldn’t have—only escalating what’s between us—but I can’t help myself.

“You know nothing about blod (eth),” nin(9) says, “and you never have. Not even when we were growing up.”

“Growing up…?” I accidentally repeat out loud.

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t remember. How convenient.”

I sigh, and I make sure she sees it. “You’re wasting my time. Get to the point.”

She gets closer, almost a head taller than me. Can feel the heat from the plasma wire on my leg. Not touching me. Not quite. “It’s be a shame to waste Athara-Meeatora’s time, wouldn’t it m’gan?”

“Entirely,” m(3)gan says, but almost shyly.

“So we won’t do it anymore, will we?”

“We might.”

“Yeah, we just might.” nin(9) says, showing me perfect teeth, but I can only think that those teeth were meant for biting. “You know me and self-control—we don’t get along so glistening.”

“Glitch you, nin,” I say.

“No!” she says, leaning into my face suddenly. “Glitch you and everything you’re doing to us!”

Reflexively, I pull back, swimming in the ultra-pleasant smell of her perfume mixed with what can only be her natural scent—fruit and flowers. I can’t help it—despite what she’d doing to me, I want to grab her by the shoulders, shove my nose against her neck and take the biggest breath I can, sniff as much of her as I can before she pushes me away. Ridiculous, but the only thing that stops me from doing it is the sever-whip she’s brandishing between us. She hasn’t flicked it toward me yet, but it wouldn’t take much to send it my way; we’re still less than a meter apart.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I say. “I don’t remember anything! I’m trying to underst—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she spits. “I know exactly what you’re going to do, and I’m going to do everything I can to stop it.”

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to shake off the havoc her scent is causing in my body and my mind. “What the glitch am I doing exactly?”

Her answer, when it comes, is a low growl. “You’re going to break us.”

     (she’s right oh)

          (so right)

“I don’t even know what the glitch that means!”

“Yes,” nin(9) says. “Yes, you do! You are going to take this city, and you are going to rip it in half as if it were a piece of paper in your hands. There’s precious little left of Athara, and I’ll be glitched if I’m going to let you destroy it for your own selfish purposes.”

“You’re insane.” I eye my sever-whip, held tightly in her fist. Can I actually take it from her? Was I ever better than her? Faster than her? Am I that fast now?

“Not likely,” m(3)gan says. Takes me a second to realize she was only interjecting a retort to my “insane” comment.

“You'e gathering your followers,” nin(9) says, her voice descending further into the horrible static which resonates within her vocal cords, “and when the time is right, you will use them for your own purposes. When you do this terrible thing, you will divide our people like they’ve never been divided before. It will destroy us.”

I let my mouth drop open. “That’s…” I search for a word that’ll adequately express my disbelief. “…ridiculous. I’m not going to do anything like that.”

nin(9) shakes her head. “It’s too late. You’re already doing it.”

“You heard me out there!” I yell, pointing toward the exit door to the Sanctuary. “I tried to push them away, and they wouldn’t listen!”

“Even if that was what you were doing, it’d be beside the point. Your very presence here is evidence of the truth of your purpose.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I don’t know what I did to you when we were young, but that’s no reason to—”

In a flash, nin(9) has her hand on my throat. Even as my own hands go to her wrist, my mind is wondering how far away she threw my sever-whip. She’s not choking me much, but her hand and wrist are as rigid as if they were made out of Triadium. Her face fills my vision. Her eyes are oceans of red, ready to drown me in torrents of flowing lava.

“Shut your glitched mouth, syl, shut it right now!” she whisper/screams in my face. “I won’t take much more of your tongue today.”

I draw as deep a breath as I can and tell her what she can do with herself and her mother, oh, and to let me the glitch go.

“I don’t think so,” she says.

Wow, her breath smells way too good. Spicy and minty, tickling my nose, but in an intoxicating way that’s encouraging me to kiss her, see if I can take a bigger hit off her that way.

Of course, the raised sever-whip in her other hand pulls my mind back into the perilous situation I’m in.

“One more word, syl” she says, “And I’m going to do more today than warn you to stop what you’re doing.”

I shut my mouth. Hard and fast. Should never have treated her as anything but completely serious. I see that now.

“Good little, Athara-Meeatora,” she says. “Isn’t she, m’gan?”

m(3)gan doesn’t answer.

Still holding my neck, nin(9) looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound, but she’s suddenly behind me, twisting one arm behind my back, holding it tight and tense. Her other arm drapes over my shoulder. Her hand there works the controls of the sever-whip, plasma wire tripping and skipping near my toes.

“Let her go, modie,” nin(9) says.

Kiiziiziixii stands behind m(3)gan, one of her guns buried in that mass of black and brown braids. She holds m(3)gan’s sever-whip also. “No negotiation here, Driftling. You release syl, or you find out if I know how to use a sever-whip. You didn’t detect me when I came in, and nobody can detect me if I decide to leave. I guarantee that I can get away with killing one of you, but I doubt you can say the same of yourself. syl is, after all, a person of some importance in your culture. The same cannot be said of this one.”

“Don’t kill her,” I say. I can tell that m(3)gan’s eyes are locked onto nin(9)’s, pleading.

“That’s not up to me,” Kiiziiziixii responds, her voice calm. And that of a killer.

There’s no real hesitation. She knows when she’s lost. nin(9) releases me, but not before whispering something quick in my ear that leaves me weak-kneed and even more confused. Once again, I grab the altar for support.

Kiiziiziixii releases m(3)gan and hands her back her sever-whip, but keeps her gun drawn.

It’s a struggle, but I bend down and pick up my sever-whip off the ground, put it back where it belongs.

nin(9) and m(3)gan leave without looking back, nin(9)’s arm over m(3)gan’s shoulder, like an older sister providing comfort.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to pull my mind away from nin(9)’s words, failing miserably.

“What was that all about?” Kiiziiziixii asks.

“I’m not totally sure,” I say. What nin said…it can’t be true. It just can’t!

“Not even Haven’s are safe.”

Can’t argue with that.

“Did you come here to pray, or to see me?”

“Mostly to ask you something, but I think that I might need to do some of the other.” My body is trembling. I want to go back to my room and cry for about an hour, but…maybe I need to stay here for a little while.

Kiiziiziixii gives me a rare smile. “We can pray beside each other if you want. It might feel better that way.”

“Does it work better like that?”

“I don't know. I’ve never had anybody to pray with.”

“Oh,” I say, and for some reason I’m sad at her words. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Just talking. To your God.”

“Sounds simple.”

“It is.”

“And you can ask me your question when we're done.”

I pause at that. nin(9)’s words won’t die—I really should go talk to shea(3)va about it. Right away. Ask her what she thinks. Then again, maybe that’s not a good idea. Maybe it’s better if this remains just between nin(9) and me. Maybe I need to step back and think about this, think about what it means for me, how it’s going to affect me—oh glitch, oh God, this is not good!

It’s weighty enough that I can’t think straight. If I can’t bring myself to tell shea(3)va about it, right now, then I’d better give it some deep thought in the meantime.

“My questions can wait,” I say. “I’ll ask you some other time—when I’m not as tired as I am right now.”

Kiiziiziixii nods, then kneels.

I follow her example.

But even as I begin to pray in floundering, tentative whispers, my mind keeps repeating what nin(9) said in my ear before she let me go. The words, carried on a breeze of her scent and breath, echo in my head:

“You broke your promise to me, and I’m never going to forget it,” she said, then added a single, damning word: “sis.”

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