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138: Interlude : Suckle     139: What JACK Said     140: Sleep Next To Me Tonight
141: No Answers Here     142: A Piece Of Me Is Dead     143: The Dying (ii)

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: 09.12.2196
Time: Morning

Interlude : Suckle

How long have I been asleep? Or has it evaded me? How can I blame it? I don’t deserve it after what I’ve done. I doze fitfully, I think. The images behind my closed eyes are of my baby crying, and how I need to reach out and pick her up, pull her to me, comfort her like I’m supposed to. Only I don’t, and she keeps crying.

The medication is wearing off, and renewed hurt brings me more awake. Getting pain messages from my belly, and seemingly, from every muscle in my body. Jaw hurts especially. No static though. At least there’s that. Probably only a brief respite. It'll be back soon.

I’m alone. My aloneness isn’t a good thing. Solitude infects this room like the debilitating plague it is. It’s not healthy for me, but I demanded, and I received. Sometimes your friends don’t do what you tell them to because they know it’s for your own good. Other times, they give you exactly what you ask for because you have to figure things out on your own. Didn’t take me long to figure out what they were doing right.

And what I was doing wrong.

Discarding my futile attempts at sleep, at selfish retreat, I rouse myself, knowing what I need to do. Guilt and shame settle in on me like wet clothing.

It was just too much of a shock. I didn’t react how I should have.

Can I do this? Can I really?

Breathe. Metaskin. Breathe.

I can deal with this. I really can. Because I have to. Because I want to. Because no matter what she is, she's still...

     (yours)

...mine.

“shea(3)va,” I say. My voice cracks, barely a whisper, but a gunshot in my ears.

She appears in the doorway almost before the echo of my words dies. “Yes, syl?”

“Can you and JACK come in here?”

“Do you want JACK to bring—”

“Yes, I want her to bring the—my baby.”

Her eyes light up. Can see her teeth behind a brilliant smile. JACK is suddenly visible behind her. They walk over, each taking a side of the bed.

“syl, we need to talk about this, but probably not this second,” JACK says.

“Definitely we need to, but definitely not yet,” I say. Not ready to think about the implications of any of this. Don't want to think. Just want to hold her. I can deal with this. She's mine. She's my daughter.

“Here,” JACK says. “She’s an angel, just like her mother.”

“I’m no angel,” I retort, but JACK’s lowering my baby to me. I hesitate for just a second, my brain refusing to send the commands to my arms that will make them reach out and take my baby girl into my arms.

“Everything will be fine, syl,” JACK says, lowering my baby even further.

I override my brain’s hesitation, moving my arms through sheer force of will. I take my baby in my arms. For a brief moment, when she first settles into my arms, her eyes open and—my mind tells me—lock with mine. Black and green. Mismatched.

Just like her mother.

My baby’s face blurs as tears fill my eyes. Glitch, she won me over fast. I’m weak, so very weak. How could I ever reject her? God, I'm pathetic. Unfit.

The identity of her father may be in question, but with those eyes, that of her mother isn’t.

I shake the tears away, let them slick my cheeks, not caring, just wanting to take in the full effect of my newborn baby in my arms.

She’s swaddled, bound tight and secure in a cream-colored blanket. Can only see her face peeking out. Somebody put a microfiber cap on her, the ridge of it turned up so that tufts of wispy green hair poke out. She has green hair! I pull the cap up a little, and wow that’s a lot of hair for a newborn. It’s all sticking up and out, all mussed up. Looks so…so… Don’t have a good word for it. Her face is pink, but a little bruised from the trauma of being cut out of me. Then again, maybe that was less trauma for her than it would have been had she been squeezed through my too-tiny birth canal. Her skin looks so soft, but it’s really metaskin. Circuitstreams and electropaths are etched onto the surface of her face, painting her in soft technosite-orchestrated patterns. She’s infected, completely and entirely infected. She's not a wirewitch in the traditional sense--she doesn't have hairstalks or blue skin--but she's plagued with technosites. Glitch, life isn’t fair. She’s completely innocent; she doesn’t deserve this curse. Just another punishment visited on future generations because of the previous one.

It’s my fault she’s like this. I’m her mother. I’m to blame.

She looks so peaceful, so content. How can she be that way, born in blood as she was? Doesn’t she know this world is designed to kill her, and I brought her into it?

Crying again. Hate myself for it. Hate myself for everything I’ve done wrong, for the way I reacted at seeing her, for the way I treated her. Not fit to be a mother, that’s pretty glitched clear.

But I’m all you got, I think. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me when you’re older.

“I’m sorry,” I say, out loud this time, not completely sure who I’m talking to. Mostly to my baby, I guess, but also to shea(3)va and JACK, a little to myself.

“Don’t be sorry, shea(3)va says. “You’ll be as good a mother as any of us. It’s just going to take some getting used to the…ah, special circumstances.”

“She’s infected,” I say.

“She's not a wirewitch,” JACK says. “She's yours. Nothing can change that.”

They’re handling this better than I am. JACK for obvious reasons—technosites aren’t a problem for her—and shea(3)va because it’s not happening to her directly, or perhaps because she’s keeping her own feelings down. A quick thought hits me.

“Has anybody tried to come in here?” I ask

shea(3)va waves her hand. “Yeah, em and most of the other Sphek members are inside the dome. JACK’s wirewitches are making sure that nobody’s getting close to this room. It took some explaining from vannis and I, but we got through to them that you weren’t taking visitors—no matter how important they are in Athara. I’m glad em’s on our side because there woulda been a fight without her. Some of the Sphek members brought members of the city guard with them.”

“Don’t worry about them,” JACK says. “They’ll keep everybody out till you're ready, and I’ll make sure that nobody gets hurt.”

“Thank you.”

“You ready to try nursing?” shea(3)va asks, approaching the bed.

“I don’t know.”

“First time for everything. Let’s see if we can get her to do it.”

“Okay.”

shea(3)va adjusts the bed so I’m sitting up. JACK helps me lower the bedsheet, baring me. I cast a nervous glance toward the doorway.

“Don’t worry, nobody’s coming in here,” shea(3)va says.

It’s awkward handling my baby, trying to make sure I don’t move her too fast or jiggle her too much. I have to unwrap her a little to make things easier. The metaskin on her chest is a perfect expanse of patterns, and oh wow, there’s lesh (writ) there too, on her arms, her stomach, and her upper thighs. It’s small and splotchy, but it already has little tendrils reaching from it, ready to grow and crawl across her body as she gets older.

She’s infected.

But she’s marked as a Driftling.

“Look at that,” shea(3)va says, reaching out to trace my baby’s marking with a finger. “No doubt she’s one of us is there?”

“No,” I say softly. But she’s also one of something else.

It’s feels weird, but strangely natural when I grab my own breast and guide my baby’s mouth to it. She’s awake and she latches on after only a few seconds. Not supposed to be that easy, but there she is, willing and able.

“She knows her mother,” shea(3)va says. “Good girl.”

My body’s tingling. Not with static, but with pleasure and fulfillment. How can this be? How can this feel this wonderful?!? I feel close to her. Connected. Loved even.

Again with the tears. Not sure they’re gonna stop anytime soon this time. I’m nursing my baby for the first time, and it’s possibly the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

JACK is smiling wide with glistening teeth when she puts her hand on my leg and asks, “Are you going to give her a name this century or what?”

Oh, yeah.

“You have one already picked out?” shea(3)va asks. She’s asked before—both of them have—but I never told them.

“I did have one I liked,” I say, not looking up from where my baby suckles. “I’m going to call her (3)ela.”

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: 09.12.2196
Time: Morning

What JACK Said

shea(3)va’s head nods, confirming that my name selection is acceptable.

Good, maybe that’s a sign I’m finally getting the hang of this Driftling thing. Next I should try for the blod (eth). Who knows, I could be reading lesh (writ) by next week.

Yeah, right.

After (3)ela nurses, she falls back asleep. I’m tired, and even though we just agreed that now’s not the time to talk about it, I’m going to force the issue. My mind won’t let me do otherwise. I’m suffering here. I have to talk through some of this with my friends. My baby’s infected with the worst thing I can imagine, and I need to puzzle a few things out.

I’m still naked, but for now that’s okay. Feels better when I have something covering me, so I pull the sheet up to my armpits. (3)ela sleeps between my breasts. I steady her with one arm. My markings are monster-faces, dark and contrasting starkly against the light blanket and her fair skin. I look like some gruff, skin-scorched bounty-hunter with a black-market newborn in my arms. There’s something wrong with this picture. Hopefully she won’t grow up to be just like mommy. No, she deserves a better life than that. Deserves a better mommy too, but I suppose it’s too late to alter that.

As if sensing my mood and my thoughts, shea(3)va says, “You’ll just have to do your best, syl.”

I laugh. My belly shakes, hurts, and the baby wriggles, lost in infant dreams. “Then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“And when you fail, I’ll be here to cover for you.”

“Me too,” JACK says.

Can’t help but wonder how true that’ll end up being. When it comes to wirewitches, it’s difficult to say. She said that the coven would stay till my baby was born. Now that’s happened. Is there anything to keep her here? And 2-85, he…

He…something.

I take a deep breath. This oughta be fun. “JACK, I changed my mind. We’re talking about this now.”

A pause, but only a brief one, eyes churning, then slowing. “You sure?”

“No, but I do need to talk about it, or it’s gonna eat at me. I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Okay.”

shea(3)va sits on one of the movable stools and rolls it over next to the bed. JACK remains standing on the other side of me.

I look right at JACK. “My baby’s infected. Why?”

She’s unflinching, but I can tell she’s suddenly upset. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“And just what the glitch is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not the one who got herself pregnant. You did that on your own.” JACK falters, and I almost laugh. “Only with somebody else,” she finishes.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“You told us all that cyn(7)dar was the father, and well, it’s pretty glitched obvious that’s not reality. So tell me, syl, why do I actually need to accuse you of anything? You’re doing a cosmically glitched job of it yourself!”

Haven’t seen her this worked up in…well, ever. I do believe she’s mad. Cosmic, because so am I. “You know I can’t remember anything.”

“You told me what happened on the island between you and him! Don’t try to put this on me. You got yourself into this somehow.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” JACK says, pacing now, hairstalks agitated. “But it’s happened. There’s no going back, so take responsibility for what you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything!” Still no static, but part of me expects it to rise. Some dark part of me wants it to.

“Tell me who the father is, syl.”

“I-I don’t know!” I look to shea(3)va for support, but she’s looking at me as if she’s waiting for me to spill some secret. Her eyes are accusatory. In fact, she looks a little mad at me too. Why? What did I do to deserve this? These are my closest friends in this place! I don't lie to them!

JACK’s not pacing anymore. Instead, she’s looming over me, hairstalks tracking along the side of the bed, rustling against the edges of the sheet that covers me. “Don’t know, don’t remember, or don’t want to tell?”

“Don’t know. Don’t remember. Don’t want you looking at me like that.”

“I can’t wrap my stalk around you lying to us like this. What about what you told all of us, about your dream—about what you remembered?”

“I guess…I was wrong.”

“You were so sure,” shea(3)va says gently.

I sigh. “It seemed so real. I-I don’t know. I thought it was a memory.” I close my eyes, shutting both of them out. Can’t stand to look either of them in eye when they’re accusing me and when I have no acceptable answers to give them, or myself. My mind doesn’t believe it was anything other than a memory. I remember the island. I remember being betrayed. I remember my room. I remember what cyn(7)dar and I shared in that room. I remember the alley. Glitch, it all happened! The memory came back to me. It’s the only one I have from…before, and I’m not going to let it go just because I have evidence that something’s wrong with it.

“But it was just a dream,” JACK says.

“I…” Can’t come up with a good way to refute her, so I’m stuck with my mouth open and nothing to say.

“Be honest with us, and yourself,” JACK says.

That does it. “No, I still remember it all. It wasn’t a dream.”

JACK backs up, standing tall. She’s talking fast, as she usually does when she’s upset or excited. “I love you, syl. That’s not something I’m supposed to say—it’s not something wirewitches tell uninfected humans. Ever. But I’m telling you now, because I want you to know that I care about you and what happens to you. That’s what’s making it so difficult for me. Ever since I’ve been around you, I’ve felt stuff I’ve never felt before, or I don’t remember feeling at least. Most of it feels good—my friendship with you especially—but it’s times like this when I wish you didn’t have the effect on me that you do. So please forgive me if I’m upset, but if you want to make me feel better—” JACK leans back down, right into my face. “—then you can tell me why you’ve been foo (kuk) with my warlock.”

Mouth drops open. Didn’t actually recognize the word she used there, even though it’s old Atharan, but I read her meaning clear and loud.

Even shea(3)va looks shocked, but she’s letting this play out between JACK and myself without interference.

I close my mouth with as much dignity as I can and raise my chin, looking down my nose at my wirewitch friend. “I guess you’ve been taking lessons in old Atharan behind my back, JACK.”

“I pick up words here and there.”

“You have two warlocks in your coven,” I point out. “Which one would you be referring to?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“Do I? Maybe I’ve been foo (kuk) with them both.” My day-to-day speech patterns aren’t clean and sanitary, but just repeating the word leaves me feeling dirty.

“Stop it,” JACK says. “You’re making fun of me when you know very well I’m talking about 2-85.”

“Have you talked with him about this?” I ask.

“No. I wanted to confront you about it first. Until the baby was born, I only had my suspicions. Out of respect for you and the pact between us, I said nothing—to you or to my coven.”

“And you,” I say to shea(3)va, “are you in on this too?”

shea(3)va shakes her head.

But she still wants to know the truth. She’s afraid that there’s truth in JACK’s accusation. She thinks I’ve been lying to her all this time! Or if she’s not to that point, she at least suspects it. How can she not trust me?

     (check your chest, angel)

Oh.

“You know my views on wirewitches,” I say. “Knowing that, do you really think I’ve had sex with 2-85? Do you really think I let him get me pregnant? You’re not thinking clearly. I mean, when the glitch would we have had time?”

“You had time back on the island.”

“The glitch we did.”

“I see the way you look at each other, as if you’re sharing a secret. I can see the desire you have for each other. We all can. Glitch, neither of you does much to hide it. You have some effect on wirewitches, syl, and 2-85 is a prime example. If anything, he’s more susceptible.”

I need to stop this right now, before it goes any further, before something between us gets permanently damaged. “JACK, I swear to you right now, since I woke up in that alley on the island, I have not had sex with 2-85, or any other wirewitch. Not that it’s your right to know, but I haven’t had any sex since then—despite at least one decent attempt to change that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little frustrated about that. What’s a girl gotta do around here to get some release? Don’t answer that. Anyway, what matters is that I’m still intact.”

“If that’s all true, then where did that come from?” JACK asks, pointing at (3)ela.

I sigh. “You already know that story.”

“I sure do, and it doesn’t make any glitched sense.”

“Neither do most things that happen to me. Nothing I can do about that!”

“cyn(7)dar isn’t the father,” JACK says “He can’t be.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Even though I remember it just like I told you, it really doesn’t make sense considering ela’s infected.”

“We need a DNA test to be sure.”

“Can’t you witches sense this sort of thing?”

“If we can, I don’t know how. Maybe it’s something I would’ve learned if my original coven had survived longer.”

shea(3)va reaches out and touches both of us. “Listen.”

We stop. I think both of us are thankful for somebody to focus on other than each other.

“Both of you are thinking too narrowly,” shea(3)va says. “There are a few more ways to get pregnant other than letting a man get close to you.”

“Are they as fun?” I ask, hoping that it makes at least one of them smile. It works, on both of them. There, that’s better.

     (fun. you know nothing about it, angel)

“Haven’t tried any of them except for the one, but probably not,” shea(3)va says. “Regardless, they do exist. Since you can’t remember what happened to you during some of your time on the island, maybe you were impregnated in some other way while you were there, before you met up with JACK and 2-85.”

“It’s possible,” JACK says.

“As has been established,” I say, “my memory of that time is a glitchland.”

shea(3)va squeezes my hand. “Just keep in mind, both of you, that there are other explanations.”

“Do you two believe me?”

“Yes,” my blod (sis) says without hesitation.

“Yes,” JACK says too, with only a moment or two of a pause. That’s okay—she hasn’t known me as long.

“Besides,” shea(3)va says, “I was thinking about it while you two were talking. What if this doesn’t have anything to do with who the actual father is?”

“And by that you mean…?” I ask.

“You said you’ve been witchkissed before.”

“Twice.”

“Good thing you’re immune. What if your baby isn’t?”

The hand and arm holding (3)ela tightens involuntarily. What if she’s right? What if my baby’s only infected because I’ve been witchkissed?

JACK’s on her feet suddenly, her hands going back to steady her writhing hairstalks.

“What is it?’ I ask, heart beating faster suddenly, right underneath (3)ela’s head.

“I just had a bad feeling.”

“About what?” I ask.

“That the father of your baby isn’t cyn(7)dar or 2-85, but the warlock of my original coven: 3-43.”

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: 09.12.2196
Time: Morning

Sleep Next To Me Tonight

The witchkiss takes me.

And then he fills my vision, and his lips touch mine.

At these, I shiver.

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I just told you I haven’t had sex with anybody…ever. I guess what cyn(7)dar and I did counts, but well, you know what I mean.”

JACK shakes her head. “I’m not talking about sex.”

Not sex? “Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the witchkiss.”

shea(3)va puts her hand out, touching JACK on the shoulder. “Are you saying that this other warlock impregnated her with a witchkiss?”

“It’s possible,” JACK responds. She’s a little too confident in this knowledge for my taste.

“Ew,” shea(3)va says.

I force myself to say something. “But how—I mean, that’s just impossible…isn’t it?”

JACK raises an eyebrow at me. “With all we’ve been through together, I’m not sure impossible means a glitch of a lot anymore. Infection through the witchkiss is one way that we propagate; copulation is another.”

“You’re saying there’s a third way then,” shea(3)va says, not making it a question.

“I’m not saying I know for sure,” JACK says, “but I think it would work. It’s not something I learned from my original coven—I’m inferring it from what I already know. We have control over our bodies on a molecular level. It’s what enables us to alter our body shape and also to regenerate. A warlock’s sperm is infected, just like the rest of him. Only in a warlock’s case, his sperm is a little more mobile than an uninfected human’s is. syl, you seem to be quite immune to the technosites, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t transferred to your body during each of the witchkisses you received. One transferred, they will remain with the host as long as they can—though outside of an infected host, I think they only live a few minutes.”

“So, you think my eggs were fertilized by a sperm-carrying technosite?” I ask.

“Assuming that neither cyn(7)dar or 2-85 are the father, then yeah, possibly.”

I swallow, hard. “I know 2-85 isn't--at least in the traditional sense--and it doesn’t look like cyn(7)dar is either.”

None of us say anything for awhile after that. A few minutes later, I break the silence with a, “Well, glitch.”

shea(3)va rubs my arm. “Unfortunately, all theories are equally valid. cyn(7)dar could be the father, just like he says he is--just like you remember--and ela was infected by that first witchkiss, or that first witchkiss did the trick right from the start.”

“I hate this,” I say.

shea(3)va smiles. “It’s never easy with you, syl. Right from birth, you were trouble. Doesn’t look like that’s ever going to change.”

“How much does it matter to you?” JACK asks. “The identity of the father.”

“It matters. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not saying that who ela’s father is isn’t important; I’m asking if knowing his identity or not will affect how you treat your child. Will you raise her and care for her regardless? Will you love her, even if you never find out? Can you deal with not knowing? What if all you ever have are suspicions and never answers?”

Good questions all. Good answers aren’t something I have though. “I’m not going to be happy,” I say. “I don’t like not knowing what happened. It’s not fair to me. Or to ela.”

“It’s not fair to cyn(7)dar either,” shea(3)va says.

“Yeah, him too,” I say.

“He deserves to know as much as you do,” shea(3)va says.

“Only if he’s actually the father,” JACK points out. “Though he certainly seems to think he is, and your memory seems to agree.”

“We don’t have a good way of telling, do we?”

“I can ask em, but I don’t know that we have the equipment or facilities to process that type of data here. Maybe we’d have a chance if cyberspace was back online.” JACK’s face takes on a certain yearning at the mention of cyberspace.

“And it’s anybody’s guess as to when that will be,” shea(3)va says.

“I’ll do what I have to to make sure that me and my baby survive,” I say. “If I never find out who the father is, then I’ll cope any way I can. It’s important, but not as important as protecting her. Like I said, I won’t be happy, but I won’t let it affect me too much, or her.”

“Good girl,” JACK says.

I’m getting sleepy, just like I should be, but I need to know something else before I let myself drift unconscious. “What happened to synnea(6)?"

shea(3)va’s face goes hard at that. She’s angry, filled up with it instantly. “She tried to kill you.”

“What?!?”

“It’s true,” JACK says. “It killed me to see what she tried to do. She was so close…”

“Tell me,” I say.

shea(3)va fingers the sever-whip on her hip. “She said she was going to break your amniotic sac, but instead she tried to kill you. They normally use a small rod with a hook on the end of it to tear the sac open. Instead, she was using a cid (tol).”

I don’t recognize the weapon, but it’s obvious from her expression that she believes I barely dodged my death. “What’s a cid (tol)?” I ask.

“It’s a small, handheld pistol weapon. It expels a concentrated acidic mist. It’s an older weapon, and there aren’t many left since the Driftlings were scattered. I’ve only ever seen one before, and—oh syl, she had the barrel of it inside you! If I hadn’t seen it when I did, I—” Tears explode into existence on her face.

I reach out as best I can—hampered by my sleeping baby—and cup her cheek in my palm. “Hey, I’m fine. You saved me.”

shea(3)va wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I broke her wrist when I shoved her away. Her finger was on the trigger, but she couldn’t pull it. She had her wen (pon) also, but cyn(7)dar slammed into her before she could do anything. If it was just her, it would’ve been over a lot faster, but one of her assistants was in on it. And they were good too. It took both cyn(7)dar and myself to handle the two of them. Fortunately, they were not as skilled as they should’ve been. I killed synnea(6) myself. Took her leg, then her head. cyn(7)dar got the other one through the heart. His kill was cleaner, but I was madder.”

“I don’t understand why they would want to hurt me,” I say. I should probably feel scared right now, but I can only feel a little shocked. I didn’t see any of it happen thanks to JACK helping me maintain my focus, so while I believe them, it’s difficult to get very upset. I have other things on my mind.

“You’re Athara-Meeatora,” shea(3)va says simply. “You know there are Driftlings that don’t believe in you.”

“Just because they don’t like me, doesn’t mean they want to kill me!” I protest.

“It also doesn’t meant there aren’t some people who see you as a threat—one that needs eliminated.”

“I really thought I was safe here,” I say.

“You’re probably not safe anywhere,” JACK says.

“Hey, you’re safe with us,” shea(3)va says.

“Not supposed to be in danger in your home,” I say. “Never thought I’d be attacked by my own people.” I say that out loud, but internally I'm thinking of nin(9). One more unresolved issue...

It doesn’t make me scared.

It makes me sad.

“I’m sorry,” shea(3)va says.

“What are we gonna do?” I ask.

shea(3)va raises up, stretching. “I’m going to talk to em. We’ll come up with something.”

JACK stretches too. “You don’t go anywhere without one of us with you, that’s for glitched sure. We’re going to be in plain sight too. Also, Kiiziiziixii may help us when we tell her what happened.”

Kiiziiziixii...she's been spending so much time in that Haven. I barely see her anymore. Are our paths about to uncross?

Not gonna be fun, but now that I have (3)ela to think about, the precautions are necessary. “I’ll do anything to make sure ela’s safe.”

“So will we,” shea(3)va says.

“Don’t leave me,” I plead suddenly. Don’t want to be alone right now. (3)ela isn’t enough company just yet. “Sleep next to me tonight.” Technically, it’s morning, but we shoulda been asleep for hours already.

“You won’t get much sleep tonight, but I’ll stay,” shea(3)va says. “Let me go talk to vannis first though. I’ll be right back.”

As shea(3)va leaves, JACK hands me a white garment that was laying on the couch. “Here, put this on. You’ll probably be more comfortable.”

It’s a shirt, and it does feel nice when it goes on. JACK holds (3)ela while I slide the shirt over my head. Hurts to move like that, and I can’t really sit up while doing it, so it takes longer than it should. When I’m done, JACK hands (3)ela back to me. I hold her against me, wondering at her soft warmth and the rise and fall of her torso as she takes little baby breaths. JACK slides in next to me, curls a hairstalk around my ankle. The unique fragrance of her skin is comforting to me. shea(3)va comes back a few minutes later. There’s just enough room for the three of us. Sandwiched between them, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer or more protected.

Or more loved.

Drifting to sleep is like a gentle sigh for me, peaceful and quiet.

(3)ela wakes up a couple hours later, but I let her suckle again. I lay awake in the dark, my baby’s tiny fingers pressing at the soft cushion of my breast, and for a second, I can forget everything that happened earlier.

And in the dark, a prayer of thankfulness rises.

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: 10.15.2196
Time: Night

No Answers Here

The sun is setting beyond the hills, filling the valley with long shadows and a still-pleasant coolness. Red and orange reflect from the domes, giving the impression that the entire city is set afire, burning silently as the last minutes of daylight expire.

It’s horribly beautiful.

I close my eyes for a minute, wallowing in a static free state. It's been gone ever since (3)ela came out of me, and I sincerely love that it's gone. It's been with me for so long, almost constantly since I woke in that alley. It hurt me, oh so badly. Sometimes, I want to stand up and shout, yell to the world that it's gone, and it's never coming back.

Only I don't know that for sure.

My excitement that the static's gone is tainted by my belief that it's coming back, that the static wasn't caused by (3)ela's presence within me, but by something else, that the static's hiding, lurking, ready to pounce.

It's only a matter of time. It'll be back. Until then, I take what pleasure I can from its absence.

em(0) and I are out in front of the dome I’ve lived in ever since the Zomboid attack. shea(3)va and van(9)nis don’t seem to be tired of me yet. I try to give them their privacy as much as I can, considering that they’re housing an almost-complete coven of wirewitches too. Really, if I tried to leave, they’d probably do their best to stop me. They’ve taken on the task of keeping me alive, and they’re treating it with deathly seriousness. I have one of the wirewitches within spitting distance of me at all times. It’s inconvenient, sometimes downright annoying, but I’ve adapted over the past month to where I’m more comfortable with the reality of it. Kiiziiziixii is in the guard-(2)syl-and-her-offspring rotation too. She’s been venturing out of the Haven more and more over the past couple of weeks. Not completely sure why she’s still here, now that I’ve had my baby. Guess the time for her to leave hasn’t arrived yet. She hasn’t said anything, and she makes me feel safer when she’s around, so I’m not going to bring it up.

And cyn(7)dar...no no no, that mess is too complicated for mere words. I'm not dealing with it now. It's kept this long. It'll keep longer.

I brought a round table out here, along with three chairs. em(0) and I sit perpendicular to each other, and month-old (3)ela lays resting in the third chair, just-fed and sleepily content in her carrier. I look over at her, and she’s looking at me with infant curiosity, her little eyes taking in as much as she can, only her eyelids are too heavy and they keep closing on her. It only takes a minute before they stay closed. Her breathing deepens, her mouth blowing little bubbles. A thin trail of drool begins to form at the corner of her lips. I wipe it away with a finger, then wipe my finger on a cloth I tucked into the side of her carrier. Glitch, she’s a saliva factory. Produces way too much for that little mouth. Always overflowing. The stuff gets everywhere, and she leaves a trail to follow wherever I go. Yeah, it’s pretty glitched easy to track me down these days—just follow the sticky line of baby spit and you’ll find the blue-haired girl and her green-haired dribble demon covered in copious quantities of the stuff. Everybody else thinks it’s adorable. I think it’s disgusting.

Not as disgusting as other fluids and substances she expels of course.

Beside me em(0) laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“Your face.”

“What about my face?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Oh, your face is just fine, beautiful as always, but you wrinkle your nose whenever you have to clean up after her.”

“I do not!” Ridiculous. Baseless accusations!

“If only you could see yourself. You do it whether you’re mopping up drool or whether you’re wiping away her stool. It just makes me laugh because you’re doing everything you should, but you’re doing it like it’s a punishment for some wrong you did. Oh, syl, you make me laugh, and I feel younger for it!”

Glitch, glad I’m good for something around here other than giving milk and being a complete and utter eyebuzz.

em(0) smiles at me to let me know everything’s fine. Those two red locks of hair frame her old face. The smile makes her look younger. She’s wearing a simple brown dress today. As with most of Driftling clothing, it’s been tailored specifically for her to accommodate the deformities of her body. White bone protrusions poke through the sturdy material, almost defying her right to wear the dress. Her arms, like mine, are bared to the air. I’m struck by how similar her markings are to mine—I always see teeth when I’m looking at hers—but hers are nowhere near as nightmare-inducing. I’ve come to accept mine for what they are, but that doesn’t mean I like what’s there. Nobody else seems to even notice. Most Driftlings can’t actually read the lesh (writ). All Sphek members are taught, and others can learn if they are willing and deemed worthy.

I’m not willing, and I’m certainly not worthy. em(0) says it takes years to learn how. Don’t think I have that much patience. Or that much time.

I’ve found my people. My baby’s been born. What now?

I don’t know.

Or rather, I don’t want to.

     (since when)

     (did your)

          (wants matter?)

No, this is my home. I can’t leave it now.

     (rivot bot)

     (gave you)

          (your quest)

I’m scared that the only way I’ll ever find answers is to do exactly what Calamity told me.

You will kill no less than two hundred million people.

You must travel west…until you reach the barren desert of Black Vale Six and the city of Driftfane’s Sin.

You have to take them with you, or they’ll die.

Unfulfilled prophecies. Unheeded commands. Encrypted mysteries. Rambling insanities. Calamity’s words echo loudly in my head—as loud as the static ever was except for that last time before it went away. Stop. I want the echo to stop. Out. I want his words out of my head.

My face must show my distress because em(0)’s hand is on my shoulder. “Are you feeling alright?”

Her soft touch is enough to distract me from my indecision and the echo of Calamity’s words. Glitch, I hate him.

I grab my cup of water from the table and take a long drink. “I’ll be fine.”

em(0) and I have been meeting for the evening meal several times a week. I’m still meeting her for my daily lessons too. She’s rapidly becoming what she was before: my adopted mother. It’s nice. I enjoy learning from and about her. She’s answered all my questions in her calm, but firm manner, diligently explaining the history of Athara and the Driftling way of life. I've learned so much from her over the past month. I’ve asked her about my mother and my father. She’s told me everything she knows. Even though I don’t feel like I can know my mother without my memories of her, I can at least try to understand who she was. Same with my father, though she knows more about my mother. em(0) also makes thinly-veiled efforts to educate me about the Sphek and its workings. Whether I want to or not, I drink it in. At the very least, all this knowledge might me figure out a way to deal with all this Athara-Meeatora j’aa, or maybe even nin(9). Unlikely, I suppose, but anything’s possible.

Whatever em(0)’s true purpose is, the end effect is that I’m relearning a glitch of a lot about my people and getting to know my adopted mother again.

What is starting to upset me is my mind’s insistence that this can’t last. Despite having come home, my past is still a mystery to me. Somebody took it all away, and I don’t think I can accept not knowing who or what did this to me. And why. Yeah, need to know that above all else. Mind’s not going to let the why of things go without a fight. I may be able to cope with never knowing the true identity of (3)ela’s father, but not knowing who the glitch wiped the first twenty years of my life from my mind will slowly dissolve me, eventually kill me.

And dying goes against all my intricate plans for staying alive to see the interplanetary mass that finally crashes into and destroys this miserable planet.

I need answers. Afraid of where I’m gonna have to get them though. Really afraid. Found a lot of answers here, but not enough, nowhere glitched enough. Poor pitiful me. Even when I succeed, I fail. It should amaze me that I was able to find Athara—that I beat the odds in a cosmic way—but all I feel is frustration at being denied one crucial piece of data: Who glitched with me.

I will kill him or her or it or them when I find out. I swear to glitch.

“Something is upsetting you,” em(0) says. She’s way too calm when she says things like this. Her tone of voice is meant to soothe, but it only ever seems to have the opposite effect. “It’s been upsetting you for several days now. I asked the others, but they hadn’t noticed, so I think it’s only happening when you’re with me. What is it?”

Glitch it, I’m transparent.

em(0) doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Is it me? No, I can see in your eyes that it isn’t. That’s good to know. I enjoy my time with you more than you’ll ever know, syl. The time we spend together is valuable to me.”

“It’s not you,” I say, looking down at (3)ela as an excuse not to look at em(0).

“Then what? Are you unhappy here?”

“No!” I say. Oops, little too loud there. Oh well, she got the point. “This is my home! This is where I want to be. This is where I belong. Only…”

“Only you don’t feel like you do belong.”

“No—well, this whole Athara-Meeatora j’aa is upsetting, but it’s not that I don’t feel like I belong, but that I need to understand why I belong. Being Driftling is more than just manifesting lesh (writ) and competency with a sever-whip. I’m not content with just knowing about my Driftling past. I want to remember it!”

em(0) leans back at her chair, and just observes me as I struggle to regain composure and breath. “I see,” is all she says in that calm voice. Glitch her and her calm.

“I don’t feel what I need to,” I say.

“So then, you don’t believe you will find any answers here?”

“Athara isn’t a place for answers to the questions I have.”

“And you believe these answers can be found elsewhere?”

“Yes.” Actually, I know so. Or, at least as much as I can know anything.

“You intend to leave us then.”

I don’t answer since it wasn’t a question.

“Athara-Meeatora will leave us again.” This time, there’s weariness invading the calm of her tone. I don’t like what I’m hearing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

     (liar)

“Yes you do,” em(0) chides. “You may not have made the decision consciously, but I’ve known you too long to think you’ll do any differently. When you get this way, you always do what you think you need to, no matter the price—to yourself or others. Your will is strong, and you wield it with competence when the need arises.”

I search her eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

em(0) tilts her head back, her hair failing back to her ears. “A little,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just don’t know what to—”

I stop because the ground just shook, as if something heavy just landed nearby.

em(0)’s eyes are searching the darkness. I give a start when 7-07 appears behind us. There’s commotion all around the area. I can hear shouts across the city.

“What is—?” I begin, but then the ground does more than shudder—it shifts. I reach for (3)ela’s carrier. She comes awake and immediately starts crying.

7-07 has an hand on my arm. “Inside is safer,” his voice grates. He’s not asking me if I want to come—he’s telling me that if I don’t come right now he’ll be taking me inside.

I turn to em(0). She’s fast. Has her sever-whip out and activated when the ground erupts underneath her. 7-07’s shoving me behind him, even as he bashes the table and chairs aside. em(0)’s sever-whip is a blur of movement in the fading light, slicing at the ground beneath her feet. She jumps back as the creature bursts from the ground. It’s a Zomboid!

Protect my child! is the mandate surging through me when I jump towards the doorway of the dome. Don’t make it unscathed though. Tiny prick in my neck, what the glitch? Involuntarily, I hand goes to where the hurt is coming from. Find something sticking out of me there. Reflexes take over and I pull it out. It’s a short, jagged metal splinter. Something green oozes out of one end of it. There’s blood on my fingers and my thumb. Ouch. Guess that red stuff is mine. Green stuff probably isn’t though.

Glitch. Have a sinking feeling I’ve just been poisoned. The numbness that’s filtering through my body is confirmation of my deductive powers. Hey, (3)ela’s crying somewhere. Oh, she’s on the ground. But where’s her carrier? Ah, there it is. How’d it get over there, and how did she get out of it? Is she crawling already? No, that’s doesn’t make any sense. Oh, I dropped the carrier didn’t I? And (3)ela with it. She’s on her back, and she’s spilling out of her swaddling that I had folded so carefully. Well isn’t that upsetting? Okay, now she’s a lot closer to me. No wait, I’m closer to her. What happened? I see. I’m on the ground. Hearing and touch and taste and smell are pretty much glitched. Can still see just fine. (3)ela’s crying, screaming her pretty little cranium off. Looks like she screamed that adorable little cap that em(0) made for her right off her head. Girl’s got a set of lungs on her. Too bad I can’t hear her.

Oh okay, vision’s starting to go now. Still, beyond my screaming daughter, I can see 7-07 and em(0) locked in combat with that Zomboid. Guess I’m pretty much useless in this fight. I should probably be worried. I should probably be frightened. For some reason I’m not either of those things. What I am is sleepy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes until all of this is over. I make one last effort to will my body to move. No luck. Guess em(0) was wrong; my will isn’t all that strong after all.

Even though she’s fighting a Zomboid, em(0) is stealing glances my way. During one of these times, I notice her mouth move. It’s quick, and I only understand it because she’s said it to me once before.

Okay, yeah, love you too, em. I’ll talk to you in a little bit. Give that thing a good hit for me.

I’m gonna go to sleep now.

I barely register the fact that em(0) goes down a second later. I’m sure she’ll be okay though. I’ll find out how she escapes after we’ve beaten the Zomboids back, like last time. Assuming, that is, I survive this whole “being poisoned” situation.

Okay, I’m passing out now. Bye.

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: Unknown
Time: Unknown

A Piece Of Me Is Dead

The buzzing in my head is a low drone. Eyes only see blackness, no wait, it’s not complete blackness, more of a dark brownness, light filtering through some barely-transparent medium. Eyelids are closed, okay, that makes sense. Flicking them open, then back closed because the light is too much, gotta give it a second or two. This time I just raise my lids a fraction of a centimeter. Interesting, the light in here is actually turned down. As I continue to let my eyes adjust, I take a quick self-inventory. Can wiggle toes and fingers. Ears and nose and mouth all appear to be working. I’m breathing, and I’m not feeling any significant pain outside of a general stiffness that’s just now beginning to awaken in my muscles. I’m on my back, staring at a low ceiling devoid of anything except for a solitary light fixture, which has been hung crooked, or perhaps knocked askew. The fixture sways, as if blown by a wind, shaken by an invisible hand. Patterns of shadow and light shift in time to the swing of the fixture.

Eyes adjust, I swallow, licking my lips. Dry, horribly chapped, ouch, need to put something on that.

Raising my head, sitting up goes smoothly. Muscles ache, but not unbearably so, and the buzzing in my head stops. Ah, that feels much better. Thank you very much to whoever turned that annoying vibration off.

Wearing a loose-fitting brown top with half sleeves. It’s open in the back, tied there with a small cord that I can locate if I bend my arm back there and really concentrate on what I’m doing. The limb doesn’t totally want to obey my command, protesting with a throbbing ache and a general lack of motor control. Just plain white undergarments down there. My loose top only reaches to the top of my hips, so my legs and feet are exposed.

Hand in my hair confirms that my hair’s loose and a tangled jumble. I claw my fingers and rake them through the blue mess up there until I convince myself that I’ve coerced most of my strands into some semblance of order—though some of them are stubbornly refusing to cooperate, instead hanging down in my eyes. Well, at least if they’re down there, I know they’re not sticking up at some weird angle. Maybe some people find the just-woke-up look attractive—reminds them of what can happen in a bed or something—but I’m not one of them.

I’m in a smallish room I don’t recognize. The bed is simple, similar to the one that JACK and I share, but with only room for one. The covers have been kicked to one side where they lay crumpled. Guess I’m not a peaceful sleeper. Next to a closed door, there's a sink on the wall opposite the bed. No mirror above the sink, so I can’t go confirm the condition of my hair—or any other part of me.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I bend my knees. My legs tingle, not quite like they’ve been asleep for a long time, but close.

Thinking about trying to stand, thinking about putting those two lesh (writ)-scarred feet onto the floor and seeing if they’ll hold the rest of me up long enough for me to progress to walking. Ah, what the glitch, I’m going for it.

Sliding off the bed more than pushing off, toes touch floor, then heels, so far so good, legs still a little tingly, but they feel strong enough. Standing, keeping one hand on the bed, my legs hold. I take an experimental step, and everything seems fine. Releasing the bed, I’m free and clear. Should be second nature, this walking business, but it feels a little strange and unnatural right now. I think I’ve been asleep for longer than normal—feels like more than twelve hours, or rather, how I’ve felt when I’ve slept that long before—that’s what’s causing this unbalance, this grogginess, this disconnection.

I’m walking, with only a little wobble in my step.

I don’t see any cups in the room, so I drink directly from the tube in the wall, lapping cool water from a pool in my hand.

Moving toward the door, something tugs at my arm. Ouch, what is that? Looking down and raising my arm, I see that I’ve got a long needle stuck in the vein at the juncture of my left bicep and forearm. The back end of the needle terminates into a tube, which is filled with a clear blue liquid, which seems to be seeping into me. Tracing the tube, I see that it runs up to a transparent bag that’s hanging on a hook screwed hastily, and crookedly, into the wall material. The bag is less than half full with the blue liquid. Can see the liquid dripping into the tube, then into my arm. Wonderful. It’s either take the bag full of mysterious blue liquid with me, or pull this needle out of my arm.

Glitch, easy choice, I don’t know what that blue stuff is, and I don’t like needles. Or at least, I’ve decided that I don’t like this needle. The needle’s been taped to my arm. The tape doesn’t come up easily, taking forearm hair and skin with it when it goes. I grab the needle and pull it out. Ouch! Okay, that’s more uncomfortable than I expected, hurts more than I hoped. As the needle comes free blue liquid starts pouring freely from the end of it, and red liquid starts pouring from the hole in my arm. I drop the needle, letting it dangle from the tube, where it traces designs on the floor in blue drips. I bend my arm, pulling my fist to my shoulder, crimping off the blood flow. It’s only then, watching that needle swing back and forth, that I notice that the tube is designed to disconnect from the back of the needle, presumably to allow the needle to stay in while the bag and tube are changed.

Well.

Glitch.

Guess I won’t try out for that gur (dan) position after all.

Double-check my body, no additional tethers to hinder me from leaving. Walking toward the door, body’s steady enough that I don’t feel like I’m going to keel over. Even though I just had a drink, mouth’s dry again, dry enough that I’m back over at the sink again, sucking water from my palm like an animal at a watering hole. When I’m done, water’s dripping down my chin and onto my shirt. Probably should do something about that, but I’m not really sure what, so I just leave it. Water feels good, cools my skin.

The door swings inward; takes more effort than it probably should to figure out how to get it open, but I get it, and I’m free. Stepping out, a cool breeze flows through the hallway.

There’s a big wirewitch in the hallway. I recognize her. The hairstalk sprouting from her forehead is draped over her shoulder. She doesn’t seem disturbed by my presence, but her face does show some form of surprise. “You’re awake,” she says.

Yeah, of course I am, why wouldn’t I be? Maybe I said those words to her, or maybe I just thought them to myself. Don’t really care at the moment. She doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response, so I move past her, toward the end of the hallway, where there’s more light. Hopefully, it leads outside, because that’s where I want to be right now.

There’s another door at the end of the hallway, but thanks to the knowledge gained from my previous encounter, I have the door open in half the time. Outside, I have to shield my eyes from the sun. It’s in impure light though, cloudy and dimmed, as if shining through a piece of dirty glass. I look down at my feet while my eyes adjust. My shadow is short; sun’s directly above me, so it’s about midday.

I hear the wirewitch nearby, standing in the doorway. She’s following me. I wonder if I should be worried about that.

Finally able to look up, I see the city around me. Can’t count the domes, but there’re quite a few of them, most of them damaged, some of them emitting smoke. One, over there, looks to have collapsed in on itself, smooth surfaces no longer smooth, but punctured and broken. That one, behind the other one, looks like a giant reached down and tore a chunk out of it. Another, off to my left has had its walls peeled down, just a rotting piece of fruit with its skin stripped away, shriveling in the afternoon heat. If the domes are a mess, the streets between them are worse. Debris is strewn all over the place, though much of it looks to have been moved up against the sides of the domes, so there is adequate room to walk most places.

Not really having a purpose or direction, I nevertheless step forward, being careful not to step on anything sharp or hot or wet or icky. Bare feet wouldn’t like that.

Outside, in the open, the air is cool—the sun is doing little to warm anything—and it wafts against my skin, my legs and under my shirt, lifting it till my belly’s exposed. Skin is a little loose there, as if it’s been stretched and released. Not really attractive. Still, the skin there is unspoiled by the markings I’ve got everywhere else, so that’s something at least. Gooseflesh rises on my entire body. I shiver. Maybe I should’ve put on something warmer before coming out here. Didn’t see anything else in that room, so maybe this is all I have to wear.

People, there are people wandering around. None of them look lost or anything—they’re moving with purpose, or it appears that way—but their faces make me think that they would actually welcome the feeling of being lost. They look as if they want to be taken away to somewhere unfamiliar. Now why would that be a relief to them? Seems strange. Of course, I could just be assigning them emotions they aren’t experiencing. Don’t think so, but could be.

That wirewitch is still following me. She’s quiet. Her head keeps swiveling, as if she’s looking for something. Like the others, she doesn’t look lost. I feel a little lost, but maybe I’m the only one.

My stomach rumbles. I’m hungry. Should find something to eat. Might be a good idea. From the looks of this place, there might not be much food here though. Maybe somebody will be generous enough to give me some. Mouth’s dry again too, glitch it. Briefly consider going back to that room I came from, but if I do that, somebody will probably find me and try to hook me back up to that needle, inject some more of that blue stuff into me. I find that prospect rather unpleasing, so I’ll just stay out here, in the open, where I can run and escape if I need to. Not sure why anybody would be chasing me; I’m not hurting anybody out here, just walking around, not interfering or anything.

A few more minutes of aimless wandering. A young girl in front of me, stops what she’s doing—sweeping off the area in front of a dome that’s relatively unscathed compared to most of the others—and rubs her forearm against her forehead. She has long yellow-red hair, tied into a braid with an orange bow. Underneath long lashes, her eyes are bold yellow, almost glowing even in the dirty light. One leg is bowed enough that she has to stand at an angle, her hip twisted. The arm raised to her head is marred with an arch of bone that exits just short of her elbow and reenters right before her wrist. The bone is pure white except for where her skin markings—which are thick on that arm—have managed to creep onto one end of it. The deformity manages to be one of the most unsettling sights I have ever seen while also being one of the most wondrous. How that’s possible, I don’t know. Such a contradiction: the sudden welling of these confusing feelings inside me.

“You’re her,” the girl says, sparing only a moment’s glance for the wirewitch behind me. She’s no more than seven years of age, and her voice is sweeter than candy. She drops her arm and grabs the sides of her knee-length dress, which was obviously white at one time, but now is gloriously dirty.

“Who?” I ask. My voice, in my own ears, is not as sweet as I’d hoped, but scratchy and low. Didn’t realize how dry my throat was.

The girl gives me a smile that hides all her deformities behind a row of perfect teeth. “Everybody talks about you.”

“They do?” I ask.

“Uh huh, especially my brother. He’s in love with you. He draws pictures of you and hangs them all over his room.” Her eyes travel my entire body then. “You wear a lot more clothes in real life.”

What a strange thing to say.

As I walk away, the girl runs inside the dome, shouting something I don’t understand. Wonder if she’s going to go get her brother.

Walking further, I realize that, more and more, people stop what they’re doing to look at me when I walk by. When one older man stops to stare, I ask him if he has any water or any food. He nods and bows, his white hair flopping into his eyes. He runs off for a few minutes, leaving me standing there, with only my wirewitch escort for company. We’re in the middle of the street, but I find a chair with the back broken off it laying on its side. Turning it upright, I brush dirt off and sit down. Stares all around. Maybe it’s not normal to sit in the middle of the street with a wirewitch by your side, but it doesn’t look like this place is in any condition to be judging. Something happened to this place, and it appears to have happened fairly recently.

A few feet away, there’s something that looks like an arm, just laying there, severed from whatever body it came from. Doesn’t look to be human though. It’s got wires and metal rods sticking out of it, and it’s covered in a dried black fluid.

What happened to that old man? I’m thirsty and hungry.

I hear the sound of someone approaching. Looking down that way, it’s actually more than one someone. More wirewitches and more people. Like the wirewitch beside me, I recognize them all.

My friend, the one with the orange hair, rushes up to me, followed closely by the others—all my friends. It’s good to see them. Maybe they can tell me what that blue stuff in the bag was. Maybe they know where that old man is so I can get my water, and my lunch.

“syl!” the orange-haired one exclaims. “What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here like this. Oh look, you pulled the needle out of your arm! Wonderful. And I know you’re more comfortable with your markings, but it’s probably not a good idea to go outside in just your undergarments.”

My other friend—the wirewitch with two hairstalks at the base of her skull—is talking rapidly with the wirewitch that followed me over here from that room I was in. Talking too fast for me to understand. She stops when she sees me watching, comes over, bends down and gives me a hug.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says, her voice a pleasant hum in my ear. She smells familiar, nice. “I was worried.”

“What was the blue stuff they were pumping into me?” I ask.

My wirewitch friend looks at my orange-haired friend for a second, then turns back to me. “It’s medicine, to make you get better.”

“Oh,” I say. “I guess it worked.”

“Let’s get you back,” the orange-haired one says.

“Are you gonna stick that needle back in me?”

“I don’t think we’ll need that anymore.” Another glance between the wirewitch and my friend. Why are they doing that?

“Good. I didn’t like it.”

“Hold it,” the wirewitch says.

“What?” I ask.

“Something’s wrong with her,” the wirewitch says, not looking at me, but at my orange-haired friend.

“No glitch,” is the response. “She’s not fully with us here in realspace yet. Glitch, she got hit with some cosmically potent j’aa.”

“I think she’s over the worst of it. Maybe a few more days of the…medicine will pull her through the rest of this.”

“Maybe,” the orange-haired one says. She steps directly in front of me, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet, touching her nose to mine, so close I’m cross-eyed just to focus on her. “syl, what is my name?”

Sure. Easy. “Your name is…” But it’s gone. Weird, I had it just a second ago, I’m sure of it.

“Tell me my name, syl. I’m your blod (sis), and I want you to say my name. Right now.”

“It’s…”

“Yes?”

“It’s…”

“You can do it.”

I shut my eyes, because I can’t stand to see that much hope staring right back at me.

“It’s…it’s…it’s…”

     (boom)

It all hits me at once, an explosion in my mind. I exhale hard, coughing, hands flailing, grabbing for shea(3)va’s shoulders and digging in with my nails as hard as I can. Don’t mean to do it, but it’s a self-saving move, keeping me from falling, keeping me from losing contact with my dear friend.

I bow my head, willing my body not to disgorge whatever’s in my stomach. Saliva fills my mouth, and I can’t stop it from dripping from my lips, stringing to the ground in a glistening thread.

Oh God oh glitch! OH GOD!!! OH GLITCH!!!

Something horrible has happened to me! Mind races to catch up as I run through everything I just did. The room with the blue liquid and the needle, the wirewitch guard at the door—PIIX, the destruction of the city, the young Driftling girl, the old man, and then my friends rushing to me. What was I doing? What was I thinking?!?

I’m breathing hard and shea(3)va is whispering something to me, comfort words or words of calm. Doesn’t matter; I don’t hear her, because all I can think about, with sudden panicky thoughts, is—

“Where’s em? Is she alright? I saw her…I saw her fall. And…and…” Something else I’m forgetting. Thought things were clearer, but apparently there’s still some muddling going on in my brain. “ela!” I shout, bringing my face back up to shea(3)va’s. “Where is she?”

shea(3)va’s eyes go wide—in shock or relief I can’t tell, but she pulls me into a tight hug regardless, almost crushing me so I can’t breathe. “Oh, syl, I don’t know how to tell you this!”

Something cold and damp shoves its claws into my heart. “W-What do you mean?”

     (you lived too long, angel)

shea(3)va’s lips brush my lobe, tickling me, even as she whispers words that cut chunks from my heart. “The Zomboids attacked. They hurt us bad. Real bad.” I can feel her tears against my cheek and she clutches me tighter. “em is dead. And ela, they…they took her, syl. The Zomboids took your baby!”

Post: 12.31.2005
Date: Unknown
Time: Unknown

The Dying (ii)

“No,” I say, trying to push her away, but she’s holding on tight.

“Yes, syl, I’m sorry,” shea(3)va says. “We tried to save her, but there were too many, and they were too glitched fast.”

“Let me go,” I say, letting my arms drop to my sides because it’s useless to fight her in my condition. She’s stronger than I am even when I haven’t been poisoned.

“Okay,” she says as she relaxes her hold on me, allowing me to stand on my own.

I can feel it, legs shaky, equilibrium unsteady—I’m gonna go down any second. I sit back down on the chair before my legs give out. Only a little better here, but I can cope from a sitting position.

The took her. They took my baby.

Oh, God…

Mind races to bring a picture of her to my head. Doesn’t come instantly. For a few moments, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to conjure her face—I’ve already forgotten her—but then it comes, relief settling into me. Then relief becomes panic again.

OH, GOD!!!

“This can’t be happening,” I say, fighting the urge to vomit, not completely sure I don’t want it to occur. Feel like something needs to happen, just not sure what. “Don’t let this be happening.” Who am I talking to? shea(3)va? The wirewitches? God? I don’t know—whichever of them can take this away from me, whichever can make this not be true. Any of them will do.

Nobody responds. Guess none of them are gonna help me out. Shouldn’t I be crying? Why aren’t I crying? Feels like I’m crying, but there aren’t any tears coming out. Why is that?

“She needs to cry,” a wirewitch voice says. It’s PIIX. Coming from her, it’s a strange comment.

shea(3)va rounds on her. “What the glitch do you know, witch?”

“Look at her,” PIIX states.

She’s right, I do need to cry, but nothing’s coming, and it hurts. Mouth open, out comes a sorrowful sound, from down deep. It’s a wail and a sob, all rolled up together. Don’t want anybody to look at me, touch me. Push shea(3)va away when she tries. The backup of tears becomes a burning fire at the corners of my eyes. I’m wailing, head in my hands, pulling at my hair.

It hurts, inside and out.

Let me cry, please, let me let it out.

Nothing. No answer, no relief, no release. My body shakes with convulsions, gasping for breath between the bursts of sound coming out of me. Everybody just stands around me, letting me do what I need to. They’ve closed in, so that I’m surrounded by my friends and my friends only. They’re shielding me from everybody else, granting me at least the illusion of privacy. How long I go on like this, I’m not sure, but my friends stay with me. Eventually, my body tires itself out. I’m left with my head between my knees, my hands clasped behind my neck. It’s uncomfortable—hurts the skin at my stomach, and my back—but it’s as close to the ball I want to curl into as I can get without getting up or falling off the chair.

I can’t believe my baby is gone. Seems like I was just holding her an hour ago. And just before that I was changing her, cleaning up a rather spectacular soiling of herself. Mind tells me I still smell her clean scent on my hands. It’s lying to me, I know, but the memory of her is still so fresh that I can’t shake it.

Not looking up, I find my voice. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

“We should move inside,” JACK says.

“I can’t move yet. Tell me here.”

“The Zomboids attacked,” shea(3)va’s voice. “They took us completely by surprise. They did something they’ve never done before—they burrowed. Tunnels were everywhere underneath the city. They hit us in a hundred different locations all at once, and there was nothing we could do about it except react.”

“What about the domes?” I ask. No Zomboid could cause that much damage, could they?

“Good, you noticed. Some of them exploded themselves.”

“Suicides?”

“Yes. Their deaths caused the most damage, both to the city and to life. The casualty count is…well, it’s devastating.”

“How many?”

“Over a thousand dead. More than that wounded.”

I unfurl. Can’t keep asking questions like this and not be looking at them. These are my friends and they’re protecting me. Outside my circle of friends are my people, and some of them died trying to protect me. The least I can do is look the survivors in their eyes.

“vannis?” I ask, praying. Too late for that, but I do it anyway.

“He’s fine,” shea(3)va says with a knowing smile that shows just a hint of concern at the thought of ever losing him. She’s a follower of blod (eth), so her own death is not something she fears, but the potential loss of her husband is clearly a different matter.

“The coven is intact,” JACK says. “Though 2-85 did suffer some severe wounds.”

“Is he okay?” I ask, because I don’t see him here.

“He will heal fine, as all of us will. More severe wounds take longer though.”

I get the feeling she’s holding back something.

shea(3)va crosses her arms, trying to suppress a shiver. “All of the Sphek members survived except for em.” She looks at me, perhaps to see if I’m going to cry. “In addition to the general casualties of the population, we lost a quarter of the security forces—most of them in the initial few minutes of the attack. The Zomboids that blew themselves up were definitely targeted.”

“And ela, what…” Can barely bring myself to finish. Tears finally feel like they’re going to start flowing, but they don’t, again my eyes burn, somebody pouring acid into my ducts. “…what did they…do with her?”

JACK sighs. “At the beginning, 7-07 was closest, because he was guarding you. He actually killed the Zomboid that poisoned you right after em was wounded. Unfortunately, there were others—too many for him to effectively handle. He saved you, and he saw a Zomboid take your baby, but he couldn’t protect you and give pursuit at the same time. Luckily, 2-85 was close by. They put you inside the dome where we stay. 2-85 made his stand with you there, while 7-07 went after the Zomboid that had taken your baby. He was never able to get within reach. The Zomboid that took her was small and fast. Large numbers of bigger Zomboids were set against 7-07 to slow his pursuit. There were just too glitched many of them; he was not able to evade them. The Zomboid with your baby escaped. 7-07 slew many of them, and yet it was still not enough. I’m sorry.”

“Tell her about 2-85,” shea(3)va says.

“Yes, tell me,” I say. Anything to take my mind off what happened to (3)ela. Anything, glitch it.

JACK blows out a deep breath. “We really should go inside, get you back in bed.”

“Please, JACK. Not yet.”

“Fine. Like I said, 2-85 made his stand with you in the dome. You were poisoned, unconscious, and utterly useless. Worse—you were a liability. The assault on the dome you two were in never really let up until the attack on the city was completely over. It was as if they were after you intentionally. 2-85 thinks they were going to take you, just like they did ela. After hearing him describe it, I’d have to agree. They just kept coming. Forcing him to retreat with you, make a stand, then retreat again. He’d put you in a room then defend the doorway until it was full of Zomboid bodies. Then the Zomboids would break through the wall. He’d do the same, only in a different room, so you could escape, then he’d make another stand. He caused as much structural damage to that dome as the Zomboids did, but it worked—it saved your life. In the end, he got trapped in the common room, forced to defend from attacks on all sides. He used their own corpses to block off entrances, but they still kept coming. With all those corpses, and with the continual flood of attackers, there was no real way out of there. He was trapped with you. It was your last stand. He held that position for over an hour. When it was finally over, the floor was covered in Zomboid blood up to his ankles, and you were unconscious, laying on a bed of corpses. He was hurt, pretty glitched bad. One of his arms was broken, and one of his fingers had been bitten off. He was bleeding from hundreds of cuts, some of them several centimeters deep. When we found you two, he couldn’t actually stand due to deep wounds in both calves. But the worst of it was the damage to his hairstalk…it’s shorter by half a meter now.” JACK pauses before going on. “That never grows back.”

Let me cry, glitch it, please, can’t you just give me this one thing?

“He did all that for me,” I whisper.

“He would’ve died protecting you,” shea(3)va says. “I think that’s clear.”

He wouldn’t have been the first wirewitch to die protecting me. How many more of my friends are going to be hurt because of me? Be better for them if they’d never met me.

shea(3)va shakes her head. “Oh, no you don’t, syl. I know that look. You always get like this when somebody makes a sacrifice for you, or does something for you that you think is too much. Well, glitch that! We do what we do because we’re your friends, not because we owe you anything.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“You will not show disrespect for his sacrifices, or those of anybody else who chooses to make them for you.” shea(3)va’s eyes flash with irritation. “Don’t demean yourself in that way. You are not lower than any of us. You are who you are, and that’s enough. You’d do the same for us if it came down to it.”

Would I? Would I really? I’m not sure. Oh God, I am glitched.

     (how)

          (sad)

          (liar)

JACK moves up next to me, the torrents in her eyes casual flows. At least she’s not upset at me. “Let’s get you back.”

“I’m sorry, shea,” I say as JACK helps me to my feet.

“I’m not upset. I just don’t want you lapsing into self-deprecation right now. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You have enough to deal with right now.”

ela…oh God no I…just…let…me…cry…!

I stumble, but strong arms prevent me from falling.

I feel shea(3)va’s arm at my back, as well as JACK’s hairstalks. “She’s in no condition for this,” shea(3)va says.

“I’ll carry her,” JACK says.

Don’t want that. “No,” I say, voice getting hoarser by the minute.

“Yes,” JACK says. Suddenly, I’m lifted off the ground, pressed against wirewitch skin, held tight. Even though she’s less than ten centimeters taller than me, I feel small and insignificant in her arms. And secure. I feel that too, in great heaping quantities. She’s a youngling in years of life, but her body is that of a fully-grown wirewitch. Her physique is mature, her muscles solid, power held in check at all times. Those muscles support me now, as effortlessly as 2-85’s did the time he carried me. “Just hold onto me and relax. We’ll get you back inside, and then we can figure out where we go from here.”

“Don’t leave me,” I plead, ducking my head against her chin and my arms around her neck.

JACK’s pulse is strong against my forehead, and her scent—wirewitch sweat mixed with the smell of her metaskin—is pleasant in my nose. “We’re not going anywhere at the moment.”

We approach the dome I remember leaving. It’s not the one we were staying in before.

shea(3)va must see the confusion on my face, because she says, “We’re still repairing ours. It’s gonna be awhile, since the damage was very, very…thorough. For now, we’re here. The previous owners—well, they got themselves dead in the attack, so they don’t need it anymore.”

There’s a hardness in her voice that I don’t remember being there before, and I’m sure I don’t like it.

JACK takes me back into the room I woke up in. shea(3)va follows, but the others stay outside.

“Where is 2-85?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too curious. I’m just asking because I want to know. It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I should probably thank him for saving my life, right?

          (thank him)

          (angel? is)

     (that all?)

JACK sets me on the bed, but gives shea(3)va a quick glance before answering. “He’s here.”

Oh, that feels much better than I imagined. Didn’t realize how tired I was. Now, what the glitch are you two sharing looks for? You did it earlier, when I asked what that blue stuff was.

“Until his wounds are fully healed, he has to take extra rest each day,” JACK says. “He’s supposed to be sleeping right now.”

“I want to talk to him when he wakes up.”

“I’ll tell him,” JACK says.

shea(3)va bends down to grab the needle and the tube, which is hanging just like I left it. The bag is empty now of course, and there’s a big puddle of blue liquid on the floor underneath it. I look at my arm. The blood is all dried and crusty around the place where the needle was inserted. Gross. Not the most serious wound I’ve ever had though, so I won’t worry about it too much. Sure could use a drink of water though. And some food. I wonder where that old man went.

“I’m thirsty,” I say. My scratchy voice lends credence to my statement.

“I’ll get a cup for you,” JACK says, stepping out the door.

“You know,” shea(3)va says, tapping the clear—and now empty—bag on the wall. “This stuff is probably the only reason you are alive right now. 2-85 kept you alive through the Zomboid attack, but nothing was going to save you from the poison they injected you with.” She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, her back to me. “It was a glitched horrific feeling to watch you like that, knowing you’d just been saved from one form of death, only to have to watch you slowly die from another. I really thought it was over for you. Fortunately, we found a way to fight off the effects of the poison.”

“I was still hooked up to it,” I say, wishing that JACK were back with my water. “That means I still need it, despite what you said earlier..”

“You seem to be better. I’m not a gur (dan) though, so yeah, you might still need it.”

em(0) is dead. My baby was taken from me, and I’m recovering from a poisoning. Somebody hates me, and my life is filled with glitch because of it.

“It’s medicine?” I ask.

Pause, brief, but detectable. “It’s making you better.”

I sit up, pulling at shea(3)va’s shoulder so that she’ll look at me. “That’s not what I asked. You aren’t supposed to lie to me.”

“It’s not lying, syl. I’ll never lie to you; you’re my blod (sis). Anything that makes a person better is medicine.”

“Glitch it, shea, just tell me and get it over with.”

She sighs, her eyes going soft at me. “JACK wanted to tell you herself, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s wirewitch blood.”

My mind accepts this answer a lot more calmly than I had expected. Maybe subconsciously, the blue color tipped me off. Maybe I was more prepared than I thought I was. “Oh,” is all I say as I let my torso drop back down, my head back on my pillow.

“It’s the only thing that worked, and believe me, they tried everything else. The medical staff had you pumped full of so many other chemicals, it’s probably a miracle you didn’t die from them.”

I’m sure I should be upset, but right now, I can’t bring myself to get worked up over it. Technosite infected blood is coursing through my veins right now. This is not good news. Not good at all. Yet, it kept me from dying. Kept my friends from losing me. Kept me from leaving them one final time. I should be upset. I probably should be furious. But I’m not. I’m thankful to be alive, because if I’m alive, it means that there’s more to my story than she lost her memory, then got poisoned and died, the end. If there’s more to my story, then I have to do my best to find out if there’s gonna be more to (3)ela’s. All they said was that the Zomboids took her. They never said they saw her die. Then there’s still—

     (hope is a terrible thing, angel)

JACK returns. I can’t help it—my face betrays me. JACK looks over at shea(3)va. “You told her.”

“She made me,” shea(3)va says.

JACK face is impassive when she turns back to me. Without a word, she fills the cup in her hands with water from the wall tube and then brings it to me. When I reach to take it from her, she doesn’t let go. “syl—”

“You’ll give me hairstalks yet,” I say. I’m not mad—the anger just isn’t coming—but I’m not going to let her off without a reprimand, even if I’m not manifesting metaskin yet.

The fluids in her eyeballs flow at an agitated rate. Her expression pleads with me, along with her tone of voice. “syl, it was the only thing that worked.”

“Don’t blame her—she was against it from the beginning,” shea(3)va says.

“I would never violate Covenant Zero with you,” JACK says, still not letting me have the cup. “None of the coven will. Our vow binds us to not infect anybody else. Nothing has changed.”

I pulled harder at the cup, water threatening to spill out. “What changed your mind?”

“2-85 took it upon himself to treat you. He did it without my approval. When it was obvious that you were going to die despite the best efforts of the Driftling medical facilities, he brought you here and injected some of his own blood into you. The results weren’t revolutionary, but they were immediate. You began to improve after only a few hours. Instead of withering away, you began to grow stronger.”

“If he hadn’t done what he did, you would be dead right now,” shea(3)va says. “You can be upset all you want, but I’m glad my blod (sis) is alive and breathing so that she can be upset. I’ll take you angry any day over you being dead.” She crosses her arms then, daring me to respond.

“I’m not upset,” I say, and it’s the truth. But if I’m not upset, then what am I? Relieved? Sad? Happy? Hurt?

Glitch if I know. Guess that means what I am is confused.

“He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t believed you were immune,” JACK says.

“Oh really?” I mutter. Not so sure that’s true. He tried to infect me once, before he knew I couldn’t be infected. Then we struck a deal. Covenant Zero. No more infections, or somebody dies. After that, he said that he loved me. And now he almost died defending me against Zomboids. He’s shown every indication that he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep me alive. I’m not so sure he wouldn’t try to find a way to infect me if he thought it would keep me alive. “You think he would’ve broken Covenant Zero to keep me alive?”

JACK can hold my gaze for only a second. “I don’t know.”

“Would you?”

This time, no hesitation. “Don’t ask me that, syl.”

Glitch glitch glitch! I knew it! She would. She’d go against my wishes, try to keep me alive any way she could—even if I didn’t want it. Even if it meant infecting me, turning me into one of them Even if it meant she had to be killed for breaking Covenant Zero. She’d give her life for mine.

     (she would but)

          (would you?)

I don’t understand a glitched thing about her, or any of the other wirewitches. How can they be actually be my friends? How can anybody value me enough that they’d be willing make an ultimate sacrifice? I just don’t glitched understand.

          (sacrifice is such an unfamiliar word to you, angel)

     (how sad)

I have no idea what sacrifice is. I know that, and perhaps it is sad, but maybe I don’t want to know what it is. Why should I have to know? I didn’t ask for any of this.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” JACK says, firming up her stance on the issue: It had to be done, so there’s no sense complaining about it now.

After a moment, I realize that we’re still holding the cup between us. I raise an eyebrow at JACK, and she lets go. Glitch, water never tasted so good. Burns on the way down because I’m so parched. I drain the cup in seconds. Can’t help it then; I burp. Hand goes to my mouth, but too slowly.

shea(3)va snorts and JACK smiles. Both of them quickly fade back to some measure of solemness, but the mood in here is a little calmer. Even though em(0) is dead. Even though my baby has been taken from me. Despite these things, or maybe because of them, a little distraction feels good.

A silence settles over the room. I give the cup back to JACK, then lay back. JACK climbs onto the foot of the bed, pulls up her feet, and rests her back against the wall. Her hairstalks wriggle on the sheets. shea(3)va sits down on the floor beside the bed, the back of her head sticking up above the mattress.

“How long has it been since the attack?” I ask.

“Ten days,” shea(3)va says so low that I can barely hear her.

Ten days! Oh, God! The city is still burning! I struggle for some modicum of serenity. (3)ela…you must be so scared, all alone, away from your mommy for so long…

Lost in our thoughts I suppose, we sit like that for at least half an hour. Quite an accomplishment for JACK, who never has her mouth closed for more than ten seconds it seems. I pass the time by staring at the wall, or the back of my eyelids, and idly twirling my fingers in she(3)va’s hair, all the while thinking of (3)ela, and what I’m going to do about her. Mind tries to interrupt me with thoughts of other things: 2-85 and em(0) and Calamity and Black Vale Six and Kiiziiziixii and nin(9) and cyn(7)dar and Phoenix and wirewitch blood and Aran and a thousand other things. All of these are overwhelmed by thoughts of my baby daughter. Somewhere in there I realize that my breasts are aching. I think of nursing (3)ela. Want to, need to cry at that. Of course it doesn’t come. It’s being blocked. I miss her so much. At the low throb in my breasts, I realize that my body misses her too. The two of us had so little time together, and yet I miss her more than I can describe.

The ache goes deep.

Part of it’s because I turned away from her at first.

Wasted precious moments.

Stupid.

Selfish.

Another part of my soul is dying.

Just lying there bleeding.

I can’t save it.

But I think I can save her.

It’ll hurt. A ton.

Both myself and others

Have to do it.

To save her.

To save myself.

“We need to find her,” I say, still laying full on the bed.

shea(3)va turns towards me. I can see she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She knows me very well. “That’s going to be a problem.”

“Are you saying you won’t help me?” I ask.

“You know I’m not saying that—I’m saying that it’s going to be a problem.”

I turn to JACK. “I won’t be able to do this without you.”

JACK tickles my foot, which is sticking out from underneath the covers. “The coven will help you. You don’t ever need to ask something like that.”

“syl, you need to listen to me,” shea(3)va says, turning so that she’s on her knees beside the bed, facing me, grabbing my hand. “You are important to Athara, now more than ever. Like it or not, you’re a symbol here, and that means you have certain obligations. You left once. They didn’t stop you. I don’t think they’ll remain passive this time. The Sphek won’t permit you to leave—even to find your baby.”

I had a feeling she’d say that.

“I am not afraid of the Sphek,” I say.

shea(3)va can’t help but smile. “Oh, I know that. You never much cared for anybody telling you what to do.”

“Then, sis, you’ll support me, no matter what I do? I aim to find ela, no matter the cost. She’s not in Athara, so I have to leave. I will not be confined while there’s a chance she’s alive. Just tell me I have your support.”

“Always and forever, syl. I didn’t take the blod (sis) job for the pay. I’m with you.”

“Good, because I agree. The Sphek is going to be a problem.” I take a big breath and blow it out. “And that means I’m the only one that can be the solution.”

“What are you going to do?” JACK asks.

“Simple,” I say, trying to sound casual. Difficult since my voice is trembling. And then I tell them.

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