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(Illustration by Sydbull.)
The organics had thought it was a disease.
Cassandra pitied them, of course, once she learned what had happened. She wasn't heartless – if anything, she was an idealist. And in an ideal universe, this never would have happened. Systems with physics like Thedas's were rare; systems with rocky planets formed under such conditions were even rarer. The odds that life had developed in such an unstable environment were infinitesimal; the odds of sentient life were so negligible that they went from merely acceptable risk into the realm of pure fantasy.
And yet, the universe was broad and filled with miracles. Life hadn't just taken hold on this far-flung rock, it had latched on, and covered every surface with its roots and tendrils. It grew valiantly in the face of cosmic winds and tattered spacetime, and soon was far more preoccupied with fighting its own than with anything the cosmic environment had launched its way. There had been vast photosynthetes, their crowns spread across the sky, their bodies weathering eons. There had been beasts in every climate, scaled monsters that flew across snowy peaks and tentacled denizens of crushing depths. It must have been beautiful.
She could still feel a pang of sadness for them as she scrolled through the gathered telemetry. But Cassandra would be a poor Seeker if she hadn't long since learned to overcome much deeper sorrows. She liked to think she wasn't numb to it; she just had perspective. The universe was broad and miraculous indeed, but it was equally filled with flame and radiation and crushing void. There were so many worlds lost to supernovae or gamma bursts, never to be seen or heard, leaving nothing but echoes of light cones, ghosts only visible long after they were dead. Entire civilizations pulled into black holes or cosmic collisions, their last gasps of communication bursting like bubbles over too few bystanders, too late. The loss of one more world wasn't even a statistic. It was the law of the universe that all things should die. Entropy was the only order that truly existed.
These organics had yet to learn that, though, and as she watched the records of their naive struggle against what they called the Blight, Cassandra was filled with a kind of admiration. Usually soon after the first wave of automated replicators arrived, planets were fully terraformed, smoothed and shining with helium and ethane. When the first replicators hit Thedas, though, it didn't even flinch. The nanomachines died inglorious deaths, swatted away by irritated immune systems and eaten by scavenger microbes. The surviving bots cut their losses, reconvened, evolved. The second wave was enough to make a few sit up and take notice; some grasses wilted, a few of the more elderly and infirm fish died. But as always, organic life had tricks up its sleeve, memorizing and evolving at pace with the most creative of machines, always willing to destroy what it had to in order for its genes to persevere. Fewer replicators survived this time – but the ones that did were ferocious, warped by battle. They knew how to wage war.
And by now, at the sixth wave of replicators, Thedas was unrecognizeable. This had been a blue planet once. Maybe one day it would be a blue planet again. Now, though, it was brown, rust brown. The photosynthetes were only massive corpses, dark skeletons against a sky stained green with tarnish. The ground was mulched with decay, tiny shards of bone and metal mingled in festering sludge. Most terrible of all, the replicators in their fury had learned to turn life against itself. Living things crawled with infection, dripping metal like mercury, their nervous systems commandeered to spread the Blight as far as possible. This was evolution at its most evil, the darkest side of the potential to change.
Yet even now the replicators' ruthless mission was not complete. There were sentients here, and as tricky as machine evolution was, it couldn't bring down the scaffolding of eusocial bonding. Primitive as they were, the sentients (called humans) strategized. They built fortifications to retreat behind, cutting off entire limbs of society if they needed to in order to survive. The most daring studied the replicator-infected individuals to the best of their ability, poking at them with what tools they had and scribbling down their findings before they too succumbed. Most fascinatingly, the humans bent the world itself to their will. Somehow, without any real understanding of the underlying physics, they managed to pluck at the torn and warped space around their strange planet, to pull energy through or push it away. In their simplicity, they called this process “magic”. It was unbelievable, the things organic minds could do, the things they could achieve through intuition and instinct. How alien, and how fascinating.
Cassandra watched all of this history, riveted. At some point she had begun to cheer for the humans, to feel the crushing frustration of their losses, even feeling the hope they sustained when they looked among their survivors. What an epic their history was! If this had been fiction, she would have allowed herself tears, but as it stood… It wasn't as though she could cry in this state anyway. She'd have to be embodied for that, and right now, she was little more than a memory encased in the crystal of a semiconductor.
When her people had found out what had happened on Thedas, the havoc their replicators had wrought and the suffering of living beings, of course they had sent help. The replicators were just machines, they were never meant to turn into weapons. There were so few planets that her kind could survive on, and so much space to explore, that they had simply scattered their machines across the stars like so much dust in the wind. It was an impossible task to see where every mote landed. It was noble that they even tried to scan the heavens. It was inevitable that they couldn't catch every mistake. This was what she told herself.
If they hadn't truly wanted to help, they wouldn't have sent Cassandra. She was one of the highest ranking Seekers, respected in the eyes of both public and state. Her policies firm but fair, her agents ever-vigilant. The organics would never understand the symbolism, but sending someone so powerful was a show of apology. Or at least, it would be if the mission succeeded. If it failed… well, then this branch of Cassandra would never be merged with the original. The mistake would be recorded officially and privately, but she herself would never have to live the aftermath, because this copy of her existence would be terminated. Perhaps an organic would consider such a termination “death”, but it didn't trouble Cassandra in the least; she was many, and if a few feathers fell from the broad sweep of her wings, so be it.
Her ship was nearing the end of its journey, and Cassandra was reaching the end of her files. Tempted as she was to go back and rewatch the most gripping parts, she knew the sooner she became embodied, the better. It was a sad truth of organic lifeforms that they were usually confined to one shape, and could barely comprehend those of others. It was a happy truth of Cassandra's race that they felt equally at home in a body of flesh, a carapace of steel, or a network of energy. She was more than happy to meet the humans as one of their own, and anxious to discover what weaknesses her body harbored. Know thy friend, as the saying went.
The ship had been busy printing cells, and the scaffolds of an organic body were beginning to come together on one of Cassandra's many cameras, muscles stretching around bone and nerves intertwining with veins. She hoped the external armor of this species was something durable; its internal structures looked so soft and uncomfortably sticky. By the time she finished uploading herself, the body would be complete. She would know how it felt from the inside upon awakening. Though Cassandra had only been conscious for the lattermost part of this journey, she admitted she would be refreshed to be able to feel the sensation of touch again. Then again, there were some nice things about being purely computational for now. Without breath to hold or a heart to pound, she barely could tell she was nervous at all. By directed thought, she gave the command for the upload to commence. The cameras went dim, and winked out.
No matter how well prepared Cassandra thought she was, that first gasp was always the hardest. Lips unstuck and peeled apart, air flooded raw lungs, innumerable particles of light flooded newborn eyes. She did not scream, but only because she didn't know how – the only sound she made was a guttural choke. Breathe, breathe, don't let the body's panic take hold, she told herself. Keep the mind calm and the autonomous systems will follow. In, out. Closing her eyes, she let her senses come on one by one: the cool touch of the wet gel against which she lay, the crisp pain of air entering her lungs, the faint hum of the ship's machinery almost above this species' hearing range, the glow and shift of fluorescent light visible even through what she realized were eyelids. She lay there for minutes, meditating, trying to accommodate to the sensory overstimulation. At least there was nothing arcane about this species; their senses were quite average, their body plan weird but very manageable. She had been many, many organics before, and she was sure she would be many far stranger in the coming eons.
Cassandra sat up. A bit too eagerly, it turned out – her head spun, and she almost fell back to the gel again. How inconvenient, to have one's mind and senses all balanced precariously at the top of one's body. She tried again, more slowly, and then stood. It was good that she had had previous practice being a biped – it was such an awkward configuration that it had taken weeks to learn initially. The bulkhead across from her in the synthesis bay was reflective, and she used it to assess her new self. This form was plain, but it did have a certain elegance in its smooth tough skin, its bright cluster of sensory apparatus (face? The word was face), its long powerful limbs. Cassandra took a swing with one of the upper ones, and found punching the bulkhead resulted in a satisfying ringing thud. The physics of it was a fair bit more fun than most defense mechanisms. She could definitely work with that.
A stack of cloth and metal had been printed and was folded next to her. External armor, a must in even the most primitive technological societies. Of course, this armor was advanced far beyond anything the people of this planet could produce, but it still had enough spikes and plates for any organism to understand what it meant. Cassandra pulled it on, carefully adjusting the helm on her head. It was ridged, black, and intimidating, and Cassandra spent a moment examining her visage in the reflective bulkhead, less out of vanity and more to imagine the self she wanted to portray.
The plan was simple and routine: approach the largest remaining settlement of sentients, a small diplomatic force of drones accompanying her, an army's worth surrounding the ship. Strange as the case of this world was, the procedure was always the same. Come in peace, arms concealed, offer salvation. If the offer isn't accepted… then finish the job as much as she can, and wait for cleanup. If this copy of her survived. Cassandra pulled on her gloves. Her people were unsuperstitious, and had no rituals or prayers to wish for good fortune. She would not admit to anyone else how often she wished they did. Instead, she kept this thought in her head like a mantra: these were organics, and their greatest fear was their only inevitability, the death at the end of their fleeting lives. Even a half-immortality would be more than they had ever dreamed of. As long as she kept that in mind, she could understand them. And maybe save them. She lowered the door of her ship as the green sunlight rose to blind her.
The gates to the citadel were open.
The citadel housing most of the remaining humans was astonishingly beautiful, almost decadently so, compared to the surroundings. It was unnaturally white, thin spires and columns rising hundreds of meters into the sky, gold leaf roofs glinting even in the muddy light. Within the battlements, Cassandra could glimpse vast glassy domes containing courtyards filled with something green. How could the inhabitants sustain something like this, given the state of their world? Stranger yet, beyond the outermost wall, there were no defenses in sight.
“Query: armaments,” Cassandra asked one of the four drones she had with her, not missing a beat on her march towards the citadel. Their ship had landed several kilometers away, in order to be out of projectile weapon range in case things turned sour. Not an eventuality Cassandra wanted to consider, but the situation required considering some rather unpleasant things.
“Scanned. No EM disturbances. No organic infrared signatures of human size. Clear,” said the drone from an empty helmet. The terrain was fortunately flat and sunbaked here, and the drones' bootsteps resounded along the dust. Though the drones were made of ceramic and crystal, they could easily be mistaken for an armored human barring close inspection.
“Hm,” Cassandra replied. She couldn't shake the feeling this was a trap, but these organics were too primitive to have much in the way of cloaking. “Maintain constant scan,” she told it, and squinted ahead towards the sun glinting off the gilded gates. Perhaps these humans, as they were called, were pacifists, and highly trusting? Unlikely, given the fact that they had survived so tenaciously, but it was the simplest explanation she could think of. But nothing was simple here, on this strange world caught in the whorls of spacetime.
As her small retinue approached the gates, two human guards came into view. They were dressed in tan cloth robes, finely embroidered in silver. The lower halves of their faces were covered with scarves – a primitive protection against inhaled toxins, Cassandra guessed. Each one held a carved staff; Cassandra briefly worried that these were weapons, but the drone had yet to issue an alert. The guards bowed to one knee as she approached.
So they had decided to greet their visitor from the stars with respect. Good, this was a good start. Cassandra nodded to each one. “You may stand,” she told them. “We will not harm you. I thank you for greeting me. My name is Cassandra, and we have come from another world to help.”
The guards rose. “My lady Cassandra,” said the slighter one, “we, the Citadel of Enchanters, are honored by your presence. Our leader, First Enchanter Vivienne, greatly desires to meet with you. On her behalf, may we lead you inside?”
“Please do,” said Cassandra. The humans' courtesy was a good sign, but the lack of surprise or fear in their voices and movements gave Cassandra pause. She was an alien to them, on a world completely isolated from interstellar civilization; why were they so unperturbed? She supposed she had to remind herself that every species' minds were inscrutable, no matter what insight she had from mimicking their biology. But she felt far more nervous than they looked, and she hoped she didn't show it. She didn't have much practice with human facial expressions.
The guards made their way to the doors, thick ornate slabs of a material Cassandra recognized from her studies as wood. The doors swung open for them; Cassandra glanced surreptitiously about for a mechanism, and tried not to show that she was disconcerted by being unable to find one.
Inside, the citadel was dark. The only light came from panes of glass stories above them in the vaulted ceiling. The smell of oxidants told Cassandra that they used fire to light lanterns on the marble walls at night. Cloth tapestries on the walls and floor, decorated in patterns that suggested at least a basic understanding of geometry, muffled her footsteps. The guards did not ask her questions or look at her, and she did not speak to them. Either their leader held very powerful sway over them or this species was possessed of a remarkable lack of curiosity. At the end of the foyer hallway, two staircases curled away to the left and right, while a set of arched double doors presided over the center. These doors, too, opened as if on their own. Behind them stood a woman, smiling.
Though Cassandra only knew humans from video and telemetry, she found herself thinking that this woman was a remarkable exemplar of the species. The woman was tall, immaculately proportioned, draped in shining white and silver silks that contrasted with her dark complexion. On her head was a two-pointed headdress making her height even more imposing, and on her face was a smile that gave no hints to the thoughts behind her eyes. Cassandra had to silence the part of her organic brain that was giving her sudden urges to stand down, turn tail, even kneel. Instead she kept her chin high, meeting the woman's unwavering gaze. “You must be our visitor,” said the woman, her voice soft and crystalline. She spread her hands palm-up in a gesture of welcome. “I am Vivienne de Fer. Please come in. You must be tired after your journey.” She beckoned Cassandra into the room, and Cassandra and her drones stepped inside.
The room was smaller than Cassandra expected – perhaps big enough for ten to sit comfortably on the lustrous cloth chairs. The powder-blue walls were lined with shelves of what Cassandra recognized as books, analog devices for holding one-dimensional strings of information. In one corner there was a brick pit of charred wood that must have been for providing heat. “Please, sit,” said Vivienne, never relenting in her smiling gaze. “May I ask one of my servants to fetch a drink for you and your guards? Water? Tea? Wine?”
“Water would be fine,” said Cassandra, chiding herself for letting the barest hint of a stammer into her voice. She lowered herself into one of the chairs, the drones standing clustered behind her. So far, none of the humans had shown the slightest hint of awe, and here she was allowing herself to be intimidated by one of them. Her fear of the unknown was getting the better of her. But in such a devastated wasteland, how could these people procure clean water, much less maintain such a lavish stronghold? And why was this Vivienne so confident – did she somehow know something Cassandra didn't? Probably just primate posturing tactics, Cassandra told herself, subtle biological dominance cues to trip up one's opponents. Nothing had gone wrong yet, and she didn't see why it would. “You may call me Cassandra. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“My pleasure.” Vivienne sat delicately across from her. “I imagine you understand just how many things I would love to ask you. It's not every day we get a visitor from the skies.” She waved to a human dressed in red that Cassandra hadn't noticed before, motioning for two glasses of water. “My astronomers have had us eagerly anticipating your arrival for days. But I also imagine one doesn't simply undertake such long journeys for pleasure. So, Cassandra, my first question is: what brings you here to our home? This land must be dismal compared to where you hail from.” Vivienne folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head very slightly.
“It is good that you asked. I come bearing urgent news, and a chance for your salvation.” Cassandra leaned forward. Vivienne's expression didn't waver, and Cassandra almost frowned at how disinterested she seemed. Didn't she want to save herself? “My people were scanning the skies and found that your planet was being devastated by the Blight, a disease we are all too familiar with. I am sorry to see that we have come too late to save much of your planet. But there is still hope.” If meeting an alien face to face didn't affect her, perhaps a display of technology would. Cassandra pulled a simple projector, small enough to fit in her hand, from a pouch clasped to her armor. It was silver and lenticular, a short beam projecting out of a disc on the top to display a three-dimensional image. Cassandra had cued up one of her recordings of a city of Thedas as it had been before the Blight. “There is a technique called uploading. It will allow your people's minds to be saved fully in crystal, safe from any disease. You will be free to flee this devastation and make a new home, or completely reconstruct your old one. We can build anything you desire, any life you want to lead. We ask nothing from you in return. We only desire to help ease your suffering.”
Perhaps Cassandra was imagining it, but Vivienne finally seemed interested. She was no longer looking at Cassandra, but at the hologram of Thedas past. People bustled past each other in thriving cities of brick and silk; massive beasts flew over rolling grassy hills, breathing flame; rivers and oceans sparkled with light and life. Was there sadness in Vivienne's deep eyes? Longing, perhaps regret? Cassandra could only hope so. “When you say we can rebuild our home… do you mean a physical reconstruction?” Vivienne asked. “Or would it be within this crystal you say our minds will be encased in?”
“In truth, there is little distinction between a physical world and a world in silico, in crystal,” said Cassandra. “From within, it is nearly impossible to tell the difference.”
Vivienne's eyes narrowed the slightest fraction. “So there would not be a way to settle another world in this realm, nor recover this one, I suppose.”
Cassandra began to feel irritation with those who had chosen to send her here. If they had sent someone with a more diplomatic way with words, perhaps this process would be easier. “You must understand, there is not a way to stop the Blight. With every wave, it becomes not only more powerful but more adapted and cleverer. Nor are there the resources to move all of your people to a new physical world, and even if you were to resettle, traces of the Blight would cling to your physical forms and reinfect your new land. This is the only way.” She held her projector forward slightly as if urging.
Vivienne smiled. “I'm afraid if that's all there is to it, we won't be taking your offer. We're doing quite well in our efforts against the Blight here. It'd be a shame to give up our holdings.”
“You do not understand how foolish you are being,” Cassandra said. She cursed herself for putting it so bluntly as soon as she had spoken. She was always too rash for her own good. But it was too late now. “You think you know the Blight, butyou've seen far from the worst it has to offer,” she said, trying to remove the hint of a growl from her voice. “You must understand, it is primitive thinking to cling to this scrap of land as though it will save you. Eventually you will no longer be able to outwit the Blight, and this physical realm you cherish so much will become hell before it claims you.”
Vivienne smiled and nodded, saying nothing. Cassandra frowned. Did she not understand? “Do you not wish to cheat death?,” Cassandra continued. “We are offering you an opportunity few organics ever have, and you are throwing it away based on an assumption about the superiority of the physical-”
“Enough,” said Vivienne. She was still smiling, but her gaze had become steely. She stood. “I've heard all I need to know.” Vivienne casually rested her hand against a wooden staff resting against the chair, and with the other hand made a strange gesture, pointing her fingers and flicking her wrists.
A bolt of blue flew over Cassandra's head, and she leaped up. A glance behind her showed that her drones had somehow been flash-frozen, and were now immobilized, their chassis beginning to crack under the thermal strain. Hostilities it would be. Just her luck. Cassandra drew her cloaked pistol from her hip and fired directly at Vivienne.
Vivienne merely stood and lifted her staff, her smile verging on smug. The pistol beam somehow deflected off of thin air, violet-hot ricochet sparking and hitting the ceiling with a hiss. Cassandra squeezed off three more shots, and each one shimmered against nothing and sprang away. With her free hand, Vivienne curled her fingers; a wisp of light appeared in her palm. She lifted it to her face and blew as if blowing a kiss, and the wisp shot up through the ceiling.
Some sort of signal flare, most likely. Cassandra tried two more shots – same effect. Whatever this barrier technology was, it was far less primitive than she bargained for. But often people failed to defend against the most obvious of attacks. Cassandra threw her gun aside and barreled forward. As she clenched her hands, her gauntlets extended to form blades.
For milliseconds Cassandra imagined she had caught Vivienne off guard, but the enchanter was only feinting to her left. She used the moment Cassandra took to catch her balance to make another gesture with her staff. Suddenly it was as though the air itself gripped Cassandra by the throat and chest, crushing the breath out of her. She fell forward, choking and struggling, trying to lift a hand to her neck. Damn this aerobic respiration! Behind her, one of her drones began to beep insistently. “Alert,” it said. “Standing army under attack. Aerial bombardment and atypical weather phenomena causing heavy casualties. Forward advance impossible. Will commence retreat unless instructed otherwise within five seconds.” Cassandra's vision swum as she strained for purchase, trying to raise herself from the floor. “Five. Four.” She coughed and gagged, in no position to give a verbal reply. “Three. Two. One. Retreat initiated.”
As if released by the countdown, the crushing prison suddenly began to abate, and Cassandra fell backwards onto the heels of her palms. She gulped in air and glared up at Vivienne, who looked down with that infuriating smile and began to make another gesture. Fine. If retreat was necessary, so be it. Cassandra could wait. It wouldn't be long before the humans had far more than her and her drones to handle. Cassandra sprung to her feet and darted between her guards towards the doors.
But it wasn't that simple. Somehow, it was as though time slowed around her; Cassandra began to fall in slow motion, the doors swinging open ever so gradually. Through the doors, she glimpsed rows of human archers, arrows pointed directly at her. How had her drones not detected them? Cassandra wanted to correct herself, to scramble away, but she was forced to entertain the infuriating inertia that overwhelmed her; and meanwhile, Vivienne, completely unencumbered, had appeared behind her in an impossibly short time -
Long delicate fingers rested on Cassandra's shoulder blade. “Sleep,” those ceaselessly smiling lips whispered in her ear. The world became fuzzy and gray. Cassandra staggered, and fell, and slept.
Cassandra didn't expect her prison to be so comfortable and soft.
For a few seconds, she didn't even want to awaken; she was tired and sore, and this bed was plush and downy, and she sank into it so snugly. Then she remembered her circumstances, and sat bolt upright.
She was in a bed, in a windowless room. The light cast by the two flaming sconces on the wall was dim but warm, illuminating the emerald and bronze tones of the walls and furnishings. It did not look like a prison. There was an ornate chair, and a writing desk, and a dresser with a mirror. Across from the bed were a fully stocked bookshelf and a fireplace. The door did not look locked.
Cassandra looked down at herself. She had been disarmed, of course. Someone had stripped her of armor and clothed her in maroon silk pajamas. Cassandra felt a swell of anger at the indignity of it, but decided to save her rage. Under her too-soft human skin, bruises mottled her arms and chest. Some blood vessels broken, but nothing the innate repair mechanisms couldn't fix. Perhaps she should consider herself lucky. Butshe was beginning to wish this iteration could have just been terminated and some version of herself back on the homeworld could have dealt with this mess.
The chair had been pulled out from the desk, Cassandra noticed, and on it lay a neatly folded mauve tunic and brown leggings, as well as oddly enough, her helmet. She staggered out of bed to pick it up. The helmoffered her no defenses other than structural protection, but the comm links were all intact. Was this a trick? Why would they give this to herand not the rest of her armor? Why would they give her anything at all? Cassandra scrutinized the helmet, running her hands over it to check for traps or damage, but there were no imperfections. Good enough. Anxious to assess the situation, she jammed it on her head.
None of the news was good. The drones that had accompanied her to the citadel had been utterly destroyed, completely dismantled – probably to be studied by clumsy organics who thought themselves scholars. The ones stationed at her ship had hardly fared better. A few retained enough structural integrity after the onslaught to stay connected, but none had enough to navigate autonomously – just enough to sit and sip what little solar power there was while transmitting. Cassandra pinged the ship itself with hope and dread. Best case scenario, it could fly and use orbital weapons; worst case scenario, she was well and truly trapped here with no exit but termination. The reality was disappointing, but not horrifying: the thrusters of the ship had been targeted, making takeoff impossible, but the rest of the ship was fully functional. A curious plan of attack on the humans' part, but certainly a gracious one. All Cassandra had to do was escape this building and return to stasis. If she was feeling benevolent, she might wait around until the humans' destruction was imminent, and give them another chance to accept her deal. Or she might just repair her ship and leave.
Regardless, getting out of this room was her first priority. Cassandra turned the cut glass knob and tried to force the door open. No luck, of course. She tried again, putting more of her weight into it. The door creaked but stayed firm. Cassandra put her shoulder to the door and was about to heave forward when she realized the door opened inward. Ah. She turned the knob and the door swung easily towards her.
A guard was stationed next to her door (a different one from either she had met, as far as Cassandra could tell.) “Ah, you've awakened,” the guard said. “I will be sure to let the First Enchanter know, she was quite concerned for your well-being.”
Cassandra scoffed and walked through the open door – or tried to. A bolt of electricity shot through her when she did, searing her flesh and sending her stumbling backwards as she cried out. Stunned, she checked her hands for damage. Nothing except redness, though she could feel her hair standing on end. Hesitantly, she tapped the air within the door frame with a finger. Electricity crackled across it like an arachnid's web and sent needles down her fingertip. “Our apologies, my lady,” said the guard. “Madame le Fer does not yet want to give you the run of the premises. A drastic precaution, she knows, but safety must come first.” Cassandra did not dignify that with an answer, only made a disgusted noise. She closed the door forcefully. “I'll be here if you need anything, my lady,” the guard called after her, muffled.
So she was indeed a prisoner now. Cassandra saw what the humans were after in giving her her helmet: they had hoped she would ping her people for help, and wanted to use her to bargain. Well, they were sorely mistaken if they thought that would work. Cassandra's drones and ship had been the only other technology within anywhere near real-time signaling range. If she wanted to ping her homeworld, the message would take years to travel the distance. But it didn't matter whether or not she did. The follow-up ship had been sent long before Cassandra had even landed, set to arrive exactly a year after she did. If her mission had been a success, they would load the uploaded databanks of human minds onto the ship and send them away to run happy little cycles in storage. If her mission had been a failure, they wouldn't bother doing anything with the humans before orbitally bombarding the planet and finishing the terraforming job with brute force.
The way things were heading now, it looked like it was going to be the latter. Fine by Cassandra. The thought of trying to ask more than one human to accept her offer crossed her mind, but this citadel was the only remaining human settlement of more than a few hundred people, and the chain of command in this place had been abundantly clear. Apparently everyone here had decided to entrust their lives to this fool woman Vivienne. So that would be their downfall, Cassandra supposed. If Vivienne hadn't the sense to take her offer, and no one here had the sense to resist Vivienne, then none of the humans here would be saved. Maybe on her way out Cassandra would abduct a few straggler humans from the other settlements for posterity.
Those plans were for later, though. Cassandra let her anger seethe on a low boil while she contemplated escape. She thought to perhaps dismantle her helmet and turn it into some kind of tool, but she had no implements for working at a nanoscale, and regardless its battery was not nearly strong enough to fuel any kind of weapon or destructive force. Dismantling the furniture and turning it into a battering ram was her next idea; within the better part of an hour, she had managed to turn the chair into a fine club. She then spent the next half hour whacking at what she thought might be weak points in the walls. Overall she accomplished little more than dislodging some of the plaster and making a fool of herself. Tunneling under the room might perhaps bear more fruit? Cassandra lost track of time as she pulled up the edges of the carpet and pried open the wainscoting.Unfortunately, the room appeared to be on top of solid bedrock, and the only effect of her efforts was to work up a solid sweat. Organic bodies could be so foul sometimes, she thought as she wiped the hair from her brow. And now she was hungry and thirsty besides. How long would her attempts be sustainable?
Cassandra let anger take the place of worry as she continued industriously trying to escape as the day went on. She conducted tests of whether any materials were immune to the barrier on the door. Unfortunately everything in the room was met with the same electric spark and scent of ozone, while the bemused guard watched from just outside. She spent some time trying to meditate on the subject, but found she was an incredibly poor meditator when trapped in an organic body full of barely contained rage. She successfully managed to use her fingernails to unscrew the hinges of the door, causing it to collapse inward; unfortunately, this didn't affect the barrier in the least, and eventually she sheepishly put the door back up again.
For as long as she could, Cassandra resisted sleep, but eventually she found herself nodding off on the plush carpet while looking for possible escape tools under the desk. Sleep was a luxury she wouldn't bother denying herself; all brains needed sleep, not just organics, and she needed her mind working as well as possible. Cassandra crawled into bed and slept a sound dreamless sleep.
She couldn't tell what time it was when she awoke, though she sensed she had slept perhaps ten hours, but she went right back to work. At one point, the guard opened the door and slid a plate of food – rice, eggs, root vegetables – towards her, completely unaffected by the barrier. Astonished, Cassandra tried to slide the food back through the barrier, and found the barrier as impermeable to solid matter as usual. She spent as long as she could trying to study and conduct tests on the food and plate to understand how it could have passed through the barrier, but eventually she concluded that it was in fact an ordinary plate and ordinary food and she was in fact starving, and she dug in.
Without sunlight, it was hard for Cassandra to know how much time she spent in that room, but perhaps a week passed by. The first few days she spent dutifully studying the barrier and every object in the room in order to attempt escape, but she had had no success. She briefly thought her lucky break might come from attacking the servant who came to empty her chamber pot, but she found herself flung back from the servant by the same sort of barrier while the human attempted to stifle a chuckle. So Cassandra pursued other ways to pass the time, hoping an epiphany might come to her. She meditated for long hours, learning the rhythms of this organic mind and how to attempt to suppress her emotions, resilient as they might be. She exercised her body as well; physical combat might be her only means of attack for the foreseeable future. She tried flipping through the books on the shelf as well, but they were all fiction. Useless distractions from her goal. Mostly, though, Cassandra waited, and thought. Strange as this Vivienne woman was, she had to eventually realize that her plan wasn't working. Vivienne had to act sooner or later, and Cassandra would be ready for her.
Vivienne's next move came at the end of the week, when she herself visited Cassandra. There was no announcement, no fanfare; Vivienne simply stepped into Cassandra's room, passing through the barrier as though it were nothing. Cassandra briefly wished she had attempted to make herself presentable, scuffed and disheveled as she was from her attempts, but as it was she merely sat still on her bed and watched Vivienne, making no attempts at greeting her.
Vivienne closed the door and stood across from Cassandra. She seemed to be dressed more casually; she wasn't wearing her headdress, revealing fine-cropped hair, and her dress was a relatively unadorned blue. Her smile was as calmly irritating as ever. “I see you've made a mess of my guest room,” she remarked. Cassandra didn't respond. She would let Vivienne give as much information as she wanted, but she intended to give none up herself. “You have probably surmised that I intended for you to call for help. Perhaps you've decided against it, or help has yet to arrive. Regardless, it seems that no one is in any hurry to come rescue you. Am I correct?” Cassandra was silent. Vivienne shifted her weight slightly. “Very well. As such, I imagine we could be more useful to each other than we would be simply waiting for an event that may or may not come. If you would like to negotiate with me, I am quite open to hearing any requests you may have.”
Negotiation? Laughable. What would Vivienne have to offer Cassandra? Her freedom, perhaps, but Cassandra wasn't willing to stoop to that yet. If she had to wait the year, at this point she was more than ready. Cassandra could spend the time in meditation, or perhaps even in stasis if she could figure out how to initiate it in this body. And she was confident she had yet to think of every possible escape attempt. Cassandra shot Vivienne a single glance, then went back to staring straight ahead.
Vivienne dropped her smile slightly, which Cassandrahad to admit was a relief to herself. “Lady Cassandra,” said Vivienne. “I have no intention to make any more of an enemy of you than I have to. True, I attacked your guards first, but only because I correctly assessed that you had come armed into my own home. Now that you are no longer a danger to me, I would be more than happy to make recompense. I understand all too well if compromise is unacceptable to you. All the same, I urge you to consider it.” She waited a few moments. Cassandra didn't reply. “I see,” said Vivienne. “I will be back later if you change your mind.” Quietly, she left the room.
Cassandra passed another week in that room, eating and sleeping and contemplating escape. An idea struck her the day after Vivienne's visit: perhaps she could learn from first principles the art by which the humans here manipulated physics, and not only undo the barrier blocking her exit but become evenly matched in combat with Vivienne herself. Though the books in her room were fiction, they contained many descriptions of the practice the humans called magic. Cassandra pored over them, studying every description of mages carefully: their spells of healing and destruction, of fire and ice and lightning, of summoning fearsome demons and even raising the dead. She theorized carefully on the connecting principles behind schools of magic, mimicked every gesture and sigil as closely as possible.
And… nothing happened, no matter what she tried. None of it made any sense, and Cassandra felt like a cultist trying to dance to make the sun rise. What was it about this world, and about the people in it, that made this magic possible? She understood that the local physics, the seam in the universe where it met another, made the laws unusual and perturbable here. But how that basic truth translated into praxis Cassandra couldn't fathom. Perhaps the people of this world were more advanced than she had given them credit for. Cassandra hadn't been tempted to speak to Vivienne before, but now she itched to ask her: what is magic? How can you manipulate it? Reluctant as she was to admit it, perhaps these humans had something to teach the rest of the universe.
Vivienne came by again after another week. She caught Cassandra bent over a novel, fingers knotted in her hair in frustration with her studies. “Hello,” said Vivienne. “I'm glad you're enjoying my novel collection. I do quite appreciate it when someone shares my taste. Though I cannot imagine what could possibly be so frustrating about A Compendium of Orlesian Novellas .”
Cassandra did not look up, only watching Vivienne out of the corner of her eye. This time Vivienne dropped the smile immediately. “Cassandra, let's not mince words. It was your people who sent the Blight in the first place, wasn't it.”
“How did you know?” Cassandra said. She hadn't quite meant to, but two weeks of not speaking had left the line between impulse and action somewhat blurry for her. It was just as well, though; she had begun to entertain the idea of speaking to Vivienne more and more lately.
“My alchemists and astronomers divined the composition of your ship. It contains an abundance of metals that are very rare in Thedas. Metals particularly coveted by blighted creatures, and found in strangely high concentrations in blighted lands and corpses.” Without her smiling mask, Vivienne's expression was piercing. “And we had other ways of knowing. I don't care to reveal all of our techniques. But that was the most obvious one. Really, terribly unsubtle.”
These people had yet to invent steam power or electrical circuits, and yet they could conduct spectral component analysis on an object as small as her ship… Cassandra was astounded. And, to be honest, somewhat ashamed. It was an accident, she wanted to tell Vivienne. We meant you no harm. But how would that help anything? The planet was still dead, and all that changed was Cassandra's people looked less malevolent and more like foolish cruel children. Cassandra hoped the embarrassment she felt rising in her cheeks was not obvious.
“From your offer, I think I've gleaned a bit more of your purpose. Your people intended to colonize our world, and sent the Blight to eliminate us. Unfortunately, we're rather harder to kill than your accounting suggested. So you've come here offering us a tidy half-life in a gem so we can be put on a shelf far away from your conquests, and allow you to resume business as usual. Am I correct?”
It's not like that, Cassandra wanted to say. We would be saving you. It's better to live forever, even on a chip, than eke out an organic existence full of suffering. But she only half believed what she was thinking, and she knew there was no way she could convince Vivienne. “Yes. You are correct,” Cassandra said, almost in a mutter.
“You understand why I did not take your offer, then,” said Vivienne. Her gaze was level, but perhaps some of the hardness was gone – not replaced with sympathy, just a degree of satisfaction. “You had nothing to lose by it, and plenty to gain. And while we have lost much, we have far, far more to lose than you may understand.” Vivienne looked away, and blinked slowly. Briefly, she brushed her hand against the bookcase. “I do not expect you to understand how I feel. But I do hope that you understand the reason behind my actions. I hope you understand that I am above all a very reasonable woman.” Vivienne met Cassandra's gaze, her eyes languorous and powerful once more. “With that in mind, please let me know if you have reconsidered my offer. I can offer you freedom, knowledge, luxuries… I don't presume to know what of that you desire, but perhaps some of it interests you.”
Teach me magic, Cassandra wanted to say, but that came from an impulsive, adventurous part of her she had long since learned to ignore. “No,” Cassandra said. “Nothing. Thank you.” She turned back to her book. Vivienne silently closed the door.
But during the third week, that old adventurous side of Cassandra, the part that had driven her to become a Seeker in the first place, became harder and harder to ignore. As Cassandra continued skimming the books, prying deeper and deeper for the secrets of magic, she found herself enraptured in the stories themselves. More and more she found herself simply enjoying reading, enthralled by the struggles of the humans – dragon-hunting, or rebelling against tyrant emperors, or pirating on the high seas. Even the romances intrigued her; more than intrigued, to be honest. Cassandra's species didn't pair bond, but she held a spark of envy for those that did. It was often lonely, being a Seeker, traveling for eons between stars. How nice it would be to have a faithful companion!
The week seemed to go by an order of magnitude faster as Cassandra devoured novel after novel. When she was reading, she found herself in the Thedas of old – braving mountain passes to find holy relics, traveling on landships with nomadic tribes, fighting crime in tunnels beneath bustling ancient cities. Making friends, finding family. Gradually, Cassandra came to a new understanding. She thought she knew what had been lost, but now she knew that what had been lost was unknowable. All the stories of all the people of Thedas were impossible to recover. But what Vivienne was fighting for was for those stories to continue, for at least some of those books to never reach their final page. And that… that sparked a sympathy in Cassandra that was hard to deny. She too valued beauty, and uniqueness, and belonging. Who was she to presume her people's way was a superior existence? As much suffering as there was in this world, there was so much more it had to offer and teach than just its landmass. Perhaps there could be worth in preserving it, at least for a little while...
When Vivienne returned, this time Cassandra rose to greet her. “Hello, Cassandra,” said Vivienne. For once, her smile seemed notunfriendly.
“Hello, Vivienne. I appreciate your visit,” Cassandra replied. She was telling the truth.
“Have you perhaps reconsidered my offer?”
Cassandra thought for a moment. “When I saw your citadel from a distance, I saw green within glass domes. Am I correct in thinking these were gardens?”
Vivienne's smile was almost a laugh. “Indeed they are. We've preserved what plants we can in the courtyards. It wouldn't do to have a world without flowers.”
“I find myself wondering,” Cassandra said, wary of looking stupid, “what does Crystal Grace look like? Is it as beautiful as they describe? And Black Lotus, is it actually black?”
Vivienne actually did laugh this time, a single soft peal. “Are you asking to see them for yourself? Is that all?”
“Well,” Cassandra said, even more self-conscious, “if you have them. Or if you by any chance have Dalish mosaics? I have only recently learned what mosaic is, I've never seen one. Or crystals of lyrium?”
“Of course,” said Vivienne, and her eyes laughed too. “Is that your request, then? A tour of my citadel? My dear, I'll offer you that one free of charge.”
Cassandra was definitely bright red, but she maintained as dignified an expression as she could manage. “I would be honored, Madame de Fer. Perhaps afterward we could discuss more extended negotiations.”
“Gladly. Come with me.” Vivienne ran her hand along the top of the doorframe, and a flash of light suggested the barrier was gone. Cassandra tested it with her hand: she truly was freed. Vivienne looked back at her, and in the arch of her eyebrows Cassandra knew that her smile meant that she thought she had won already. Cassandra kept her expression firm, but inside she came to a realization: she no longer resented Vivienne for having the upper hand. Perhaps she could even want the enchanter to win. Mostly, though, Cassandra understood: Thedas still lived, and she wanted to be part of it, and perhaps for a time she could. And in the back of her mind brewed an admission: she had lied about the Blight being unstoppable. Maybe, just maybe, this world could be different.