Pain will become a forgotten word.
Arnon D’Bvaym
DIVINITY, I HAVE come to report. Id, suspended just above the floor by a life-sustaining column of tubes and wires, rested in front of her experimental communication terminal. She waited impatiently for Prophet to activate his line.
The terminal itself, when only her line of communication was active, appeared to be just a large, gray patch on the floor composed of thousands of miniscule metal cubes. Once active, the cubes would roll upward on each other to create a three-dimensional image of whoever she was speaking to. It was difficult to make and had few benefits over a hologram— it was unable to represent color, and it was much more likely to malfunction than a hologram, for example, but it gave Id some limited ability to physically interact with the person she was speaking with . . . which was admittedly rarely useful. None of this mattered to Id. She’d had the urge to create it, so she would use it until she was satisfied with the finished product. It was one of the few distractions she had left.
Id’s attention refocused on the terminal as it pulsed, cubes softly undulating as Prophet established his side of the connection. In a moment, cubes began rolling upward to create a gray idol of the man, about two-thirds his usual height. The dark cubes, combined with the dark of the chamber, made it difficult to make out Prophet’s features, but Id preferred it this way.
Gray cubes rolled up Prophet’s body to form his arms as they spread wide, likely intended to be welcoming, while his face broke into his customary smile of unnecessary proportions. “Id!” he said, his voice rolling out of speakers set around the terminal. “It’s so good to be speaking to you again so soon.”
If that were true, you would have arrived on time, Id thought to herself. Her mouth twitched and drooled slightly, but she was uninterested in using it to speak with Prophet anyway, as her words always came out slowly, awkwardly. One of her favorite rozie servants dabbed drool away with a cloth as Id began projecting her thoughts to the terminal, which she knew would carry them all the way to the Gates of Heaven and then broadcast them audibly. The valley settlement fell easily, Divinity. Your recommended application of force and rozies were far more than adequate to make quick work of it.
Prophet dropped his arms to the side, represented by metal cubes simply falling out of the air and then rolling up his body to form his arms again. His smile transformed into a frown. “Please, Id, let’s be respectful of our brothers and sisters—even if they have yet to become Enlightened, they are still in the embryonic stage of the final ascension of mankind.”
Id managed to bow her head slightly to imitate respect. Of course, Divinity.
Prophet waved a hand. “You are still learning, my child, and I am impressed with your growth. Small slips here and there are readily forgivable. Besides—when you are incorporated with the Hive, such things will be wiped away anyway.”
A small streak of hatred lanced through Id at Prophet’s comment, but she prevented it from becoming thought.
Prophet continued, “I’ll have the Hive review your report of the reaping and share the important particulars at a later date— that isn’t why I’ve called you today.” A hunger entered Prophet’s voice as cubes rolled into place and fell away to simulate his movements. “I wish to know of the core processor. Have you had the opportunity to examine the youth? Is he what we have been looking for?”
Id hesitated. I . . . I did not send the proper equipment to do an analysis in the field. My intention was to wait until the technomancers were brought to me. I imprinted my . . . Enlightened . . . to bring some human herd back with them, to grow my flock. That will greatly slow the return journey.
The cubes forming Prophet’s face trembled. It was difficult for Id to read what her master was feeling. Eventually Prophet said, “That is understandable, if unfortunate.”
There was something else, but Id did not feel compelled to share it. The two technomancers that Prophet’s disciple, Hannah, had collected did not completely fit her initial intel— the smaller one was a child, not a youth. If this were just any settlement, Prophet would not have cared, but he had already proven himself to be more eager than Id was willing to cater to, especially where this core processor was concerned. Id twitched her head in a nod, feeling an aching in her spine despite her slight movements. Do you wish to know anything further, Divinity?
Prophet stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “No, Id. Thank you for humoring my excitement. I am grateful to know that you are as fervent and . . . meticulous as ever. Contact me the moment you take the technomancers in—I will want to process them with you.”
As you wish.
“I bid you good night, my friend, and I look forward to the day you may permanently join us here in the Gates of Heaven. It has been too long.” With that the feed ended and the metal cubes composing Prophet’s figure collapsed to the floor before settling themselves flat against the ground, such that the communication terminal once again looked merely like a large, gray patch on Id’s silvery floor. For many long, long minutes, Id stared at the ground, turning the future over and over in her mind like a locket that she couldn’t open with her nearly useless fingers.
Which option would keep her from being summoned to the Gates of Heaven longer—if the boy lived, or if the boy conveniently died?
\ END INTERLUDE
Copyright © 2023 by David Ludlow
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