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“I’m certain to speak in the name of the whole of Belobog when I say that we're honored to have your contribution to the reconstruction effort, Mr.Ratio.”
Bronya Rand is a much younger woman that he had imagined. Plantes bordering on extinction such as Jarilo-VI are easy prey for the IPC’s rhetoric of “environmental requalification and civilization preservation” that - at least in theory - embodies the Amber Lord’s ideals. Which is why he had expected a much more experienced leader to be in charge of denying Miss Topaz’s somewhat half-hearted attempts at acquiring it.
“No need for flattery. Simply ‘Doctor’ is appropriate enough.” He crosses his arms. “For the sake of transparency, I feel compelled to punctuate that while I do intend to put my knowledge at your disposal, it is also my objective to further my personal research.”
Miss Rand takes a sip of her tea. “I’ll make arrangements for the Silvermane Guards to escort you to the interested areas.” Her voice is remarkably calm, her gaze from behind the cup's rim firmly set on his own. “Now that the Stellaron has been sealed it’s also in our best interest to know how deep its effect runs.”
He sighs. Beyond the window a thick layer of snow covers the rooftops of Belobog’s Administrative District. “I will need some time to confirm my theory, but Jarilo-VI’s unforgiving climate will likely take decades, if not centuries to recede to a somewhat acceptable state.” The cure for ignorance is often a bitter medicine to swallow. “You should give up any expectations of having a comfortable life any time soon.”
It’s not like he enjoys breaking difficult news to people. Just like when it comes to grading his students’ papers, he has a duty to offer the most objective evaluation possible. Sugarcoating any kind of judgment will only make people feel compelled to rest on their laurels, convinced that they cannot reach far greater achievements simply because they feel that is the best they can do.
"We’re aware of it.” The harmonious chime of porcelain resonates through the office. On Bronya Rand’s blooms a smile that brims with quiet determination. “But this won't stop us from being the first step in changing our world.”
He stands up, his chair rattling on the floor. Such a marvelous display of humanity's intrinsic resilience is not what he expected to find on this planet consumed by the Cancer of All Worlds. “Then further prolonging this conversation would be a waste of time for the both of us. I shall accept the accommodation you’ve prepared for my stay.”
Mundanity truly is extraordinary.
§
The Engine of Creation is a remarkable feat of mechanical engineering. It’s no wonder the people of Jarilo-VI regard it with pride, but it’s also impressive how aware they are of its limits and shortcomings.
“So yeah”, Miss Landau says, pointing to a surprisingly detailed sketch of the mech’s innards. She could be a B or even an A student if it wasn’t for her flashy appearance.Those in search of the truth should be elegant both in appearance and thought. “We still have some overheating issues here. The Geomarrow core is big enough to power this baby boy with thermic energy alone but the cooling vents are definitely not enough to disperse the high-temperature steam the engine produces.”
He frowns. It’s always the apparently simpler issues that hide the most complexities. After all, the same could be said for some cases of idiocy. “I suppose that adding further outlets is not possible, am I correct?”
“If that was possible we would have done that months ago, but according to the calculations more vents would just make the structure more brittle.” Miss Landau shakes her head with a grimace. “I mean, we’d have more Engine uptime but the gains would be basically nullified by the need of using lighter cargo.”
“I see. I can think of a certain number of solutions but I will need to see the interior of the engine for myself to exclude the less feasible ones.”
It’s not everyday he has the chance to look up close at something that would likely be considered lost technology.
“I would have taken you there, I guess, but I’ve left the shop in Pela’s hands all morning and Geppie’s a no-go, since he’s busy with the guard’s daily drills. What to do…”
People’s tendency to create problems even where they aren’t present will never cease to be appalling. “No need to fret over inconsequential details. Rushing things would only increase the chances of error.”
“It wouldn’t sit well with me having you come here in this freezing cold only to leave empty handed,” she says crossing her arms. “Let at least one of the workers here accompany you for a preliminary inspection.”
He pinches his nose with a sigh. “Fine, then.”
Serval Landau shoots him a toothy grin - how is it even possible that this woman is older than him? - and waves at a group of three heavily-dressed men busy taking inventory of the contents of a few boxes. “Hey, Vasha, mind taking our good Doctor here on a quick tour of the Engine?”
A short man with tufts of blonde hair messily peeking out from a fur hat turns around and ogles him with a barely-there smile. He’s young, not older than his late twenties, the slight emaciation of his face failing at hiding familiar lineaments that many would probably consider handsome. Under his bangs his eyes are brown. An unpleasant heaviness settles on Veritas’ stomach.
The man raises one of his hands, the other still behind his back, and his expression turns apologetic. “Sorry Serval, gotta run, my shift at the museum starts in half an hour.”
§
“You’re here just as I supposed you would, gambler.”
A vast plane dotted by thousands of icy bodies offers him glimpses of a world on the brink of self-destruction. This is where Jarilo-VI’s time had stopped 500 years before, silent under the cosmos’ starry gaze.
The man he once knew as ‘Aventurine of the stratagems’ looks off in the distance, seemingly unbothered by both his presence and the likely freezing temperature of the metal he’s sitting on. “I see nothing still gets past you, Doctor.” A smile plays on his lips. “Still, can't a man catch a break after a sequence of life-threatening experiences?”
“I heard that those who fall under the shadow of IX and manage to survive to tell the story return as ghosts of their former selves.” Veritas’ feet dangle in the endless space of the ancient battlefield. The metal of the giant mechanical hand that is a vestige of past times is just as freezing as he predicted. “Yet a peacock remains a peacock even when stripped of its feathers.”
Hollow laughter echoes in the quiet night. “How harsh, Doctor. I didn't think your opinion of me was so abysmally low.”
“What happened to your eyes?”
“Didn't you just say it yourself? I encountered Nihility and survived, so I had to change somehow.”
Frustration bubbles up in Veritas’ chest but no words come out of his mouth. Simple problems require simple solutions, but no matter how hard he questions his knowledge, everything involving Aventurine becomes unnecessarily convoluted.
Brown eyes look up at him with mirth. “Just kidding. Ever heard of contact lenses? They're pretty useful when you have conspicuous eyes to hide.”
“You…”
“Don't make such a scary face, Doc. The IPC might not be welcome to Belobog anymore, but Avgin eyes have a reputation that attracts too much attention for someone who wants to hide under the enemy's nose.”
With the exception of Belobog, time in Jarilo-VI flows in a way comparable to that of a black hole’s singularity. Past, present and future cease to hold any meaning, merging and scattering in a way akin to memory bubbles in a dreamscape. The man next to him is Aventurine yet at the same time he is not, as if all of the possible versions of him across the sea of quanta converged in a single, infuriating individual.
“What happened in Penacony?” The words come out of him more imposingly than necessary. Impatience is not like him at all.
Thin fingers caress his chest. They’re freezing, just like the world surrounding them. “Heh… How rare of you to be so curious about me, Ratio.” This close, the faint outline of Aventurine’s two-toned irises is visible even behind the lenses, shadowed by pale lashes. “I’ll gladly tell you everything, but…” Warm breath tickles his lips, coming out in a white evanescent cloud. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else, shouldn't we? Somewhere more comfortable for this kind of… discussions .”
He sighs. “I won't have sex with you so you can disappear after that to avoid giving any kind of explanation.”
Aventurine’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly and his breath hitches like a stylus on the scratch of a well-loved record. The defeated smile on his face makes him look even younger than he is. “Bust, huh?” His face pulls away and cold, pristine air rakes Veritas’ lungs. “You’re no fun, Doctor.”
Somehow it’s even colder than before. “I am far too used to your questionable stratagems not to see through your intentions, gambler.”
“I suppose you do, don't you?” Aventurine’s smile doesn't falter. “But hey, since you claim to know me so well it’s only polite you refer to me by my name. I did call you by yours, after all.”
Only twice , his mind supplies unhelpfully. Even though their far from amicable cooperation wasn't a spontaneous choice, they do have some history together. Ever faithful to his name, ‘Aventurine of the stratagems’ was flashy and opulent, irrational and yet somehow finely calculated, a man of hazard through and through. But when it comes to the man behind that title, what does he know aside from the shape of the letters burned into his neck and the taste of his skin?
Veritas frowns. “Bold of you to advance such requests while being well aware that I lack that specific knowledge.”
“Oh, but you don't. Didn't you once say I am a ‘doomed Sigonian thrall’?”
‘Not much is known about Sigonia-IV’s culture. The harsh climate and the scarcity of resources divided the population in several clans often in conflict with each other, each with their own set of traditions. One of the few that survived the erosion of time is that of the Avgins’ festival of Kakava, an occurrence that is depicted by a few vague sources as two days of incessant rain blessing the otherwise parched land.’
‘Hey, Vasha, mind taking our good Doctor here on a quick tour of the Engine?’
“Kakavasha.”
The man he once called ‘Aventurine’ inhales sharply. “I was a very lucky child. Because my father, my mother and my sister loved me enough to last for a lifetime.”
A gust of chilly wind shifts the bangs partially hiding his eyes. Albeit illogical, it feels somewhat wrong to him to see him without his striking irises. “Now, now, don’t make such a worried face, Veritas, it doesn’t suit you.”
‘Also, I didn't go to school, and my parents didn't teach me any of that. A pity, they left before they could impart any life lessons.’
People dislike the truth more often than not but, due to its nature, they can’t fight its existence and end up redirecting that very same discomfort to those who preach it. He was given the truth's name as a blessing but names could as well be a shackling curse.
“... I’m not making any particular faces.”
“Is that so? It must have been my imagination, then.” The playfulness in his voice doesn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, my past isn’t anything that you need to be concerned about, because I don’t regret it one bit, you know.”
Veritas exhales slowly. “I see.”
The boundless horizon is pitch black. Even on such a rare clear night Jarilo-VI’s ocean is indistinguishable from the sky, making Everwinter Hill a singularity suspended in the vastness of cosmos where they’re the last vestiges of humanity.
“Hey, what do you think there is out there?” The faint outline of an arm stretches in front of them.
“Mostly void, partially stars.”
Laughter resounds in the darkness. “I didn’t take you for such a romantic, Doctor.”
“ Hardly. Outer space is nothing but a near-perfect vacuum of predominantly hydrogen and helium plasma at various densities. Its temperature is about −270 °C and planets retain their atmosphere through gravitational attraction. ”
“Still… ‘mostly void, partially stars’, huh?” Kakavasha’s voice is as faint as his outline against the night sky. “How fitting.”
What really happens when a human steps into IX’s shadow? What is it that they see that it changes them so deeply? He isn’t likely to receive answers from a man that has gone from hiding behind gold and jewels to becoming a vague silhouette merging with its background, just as he wasn’t able to obtain them from that Self-Annihilator in Penacony. Maybe they’re bound to eventually return to the very same shadow they witnessed. Maybe if he closed his eyes a moment too long Kakavasha would disappear again with no prescription to hold on to.
His body surges forward. The lips he finds with his own are cold and chapped, barely pressing back but still clinging to life.
“Doctor,” they whisper in disbelief, still grazing his own. “Didn’t you reject me just a few moments ago? I’m getting mixed signals here.”
How foolish they are being, it wouldn't be surprising if Aha were to bestow their gaze upon them. He retreats, his body temperature several degrees warmer. “I recall no rejection. I simply prevented a display of lack of self-preservation.”
Power flows through his fingertips, coalescing into a small midnight sun. Kakavasha’s eyes are open wide enough for him to see the purple edges of his irises outside the lenses. They blink slowly despite the sudden burst of light only to close abruptly with the sound of laughter.
“How very like you, Veritas”, Kakavasha says, mirth still in his voice. This close he looks younger than ever. “Then, would you do it again?”
“Do what.” He isn't in the habit of asking rhetorical questions. People who do are often disingenuous, hiding their intentions behind convoluted wordplays. Regrettably, it must have rubbed off on him, at some point, even though his thumb is tracing the outline of chapped lips.
“Kiss me.”
Is it an order, a request? Or simply an answer to his question?
His hand drops away from cold skin. “No, I won't.” Not now, at least. He slides off the cold metal, landing on the snowy ground with a soft crunching sound. “I’ll retire for the night. Even with an Aeon’s blessing such low temperatures are deleterious for one’s body.”
Another golden light flickers from above. “You’re truly no fun, Doctor.”
“Do take care of yourself.” A tingling sensation lingers on his fingertips. “I’ll be in Belobog for a while.”