His communicator heralded the morning, waking him from a fitful rest. He glared at the beeping device, running a hand over his cheeks out of habit. He should be free of stubble today. Then the glare turned inward, noting he overslept. He never overslept, not when there was plenty he still needed to attend to. He never overslept at all.
Ignoring the possible omens of that irregularity, he tossed the sheets aside, feeling his joints slide over each other and announce the start of another cycle with cracking and popping. His feet slapped against the cool floor as he entered the refresher. He relieved himself, washed, and studied the dark spots beneath his eyes. There was something to smile about: they had faded in prominence from a week ago.
He slid into the skinsuit hanging from a hook on the wall. The yellow band fit snug around his bicep, gleaming despite the dim lighting. Before exiting the room, he stepped out onto the balcony. In a light breeze, the remnants traveled far from one of the greater tunnels, coolness laced his face. But he wouldn't have felt it even if he stood there nude. He leaned against the railing, eyes crawling over the buildings below.
Last Light was a marvel of engineering. The initial constructs came to be more than two centuries prior, and the city prioritized expanding and evolving since then. In the absence of common infrastructure restrictions, it built out for a time, and after erecting the city walls, up. The streets below flickered in and out of clarity, covered by moving dots every second.
Ceilingscrapers jutted out of the ground, each struggling to reach up to him. The illusion was interesting. But pointless. He resided in the tallest building there was, after all. He went back inside, snagging his communicator.In the next room over, he waited for a bowl of paste. He browsed the selection and selected a yellow and pink striped paster. When the bowl emerged, wisps of steam rising, he tore the packet open and shook the powder--similar in color to the packet--into the bowl. After mixing, he scarfed the contents of the bowl and washed it down with cold syrup.
He stepped into the lift, selecting the ground floor. The anti-grav generators built hidden under smooth corners and shiny metal--not scutumsteel, too rare to waste on civilian infrastructure, lessened their influence, and the pod dropped. He stared past the glass, watching as the ceilingscrapers he looked down upon came closer. He was above them. Then he was level with their tops. And then they towered above him, their roles reversed.
A pleasant click, and the lift door slid up. He stepped into the lobby, pulling the band from his arm and slipping it into a pocket. Still moody from waking late, he'd prefer to avoid the usual greetings he'd receive. Without the yellow strip around his bicep, he was another middle-aged man, old enough to be on the cusp of joining the ranks of the Ancients. Not enough people knew his face to recognize who he was, why he had the yellow band.
His steps joined the menagerie of others in the lobby. A counter staffed by dozens stretched along the far end, each member with a pleasant face and a pleasant smile as they handled the affairs and concerns of the lodgers. Fake plants--the conditions for something that large to survive no longer persisted outside of dedicated greenhouses--dotted the perimeter. Hanging from the ceiling, a luminous orb lit the entire space in a pleasing orange glow.
Leaving the cluster of lifts behind, he greeted the woman by the doors. It was a quick conversation, exchanging pleasantries and vague plans for the day. Asking how each other fared. She was one of the people who knew his face and what it meant. But she never let the brightness in her eyes whenever they talked escape into her words. He liked that about her.
They traded goodbyes, and he promised to check on her after finishing the day's work. Leaving the residential scraper behind and going past another door, this one far larger and impressive, the streets of Last Light greeted him. More people, a river of movement trickling from one intersection to the next and extending out of sight. He breathed in, appreciating how the cold, dewy air contracted his diaphragm and joined in with them. Although hitching a ride from the rail skipper would make sense and be more efficient, he valued his free time. His position afforded him limited freedom and the amenities it came with.
His head tilted back and he traced the outlines of the ceilingscrapers. Amazing to think they stretched for dozens or a hundred stories; the residential scraper dwarfed them all, at three hundred and seventy-nine. Yet despite how far they reached, it was still beyond humanity's means to reach the top of the Gaiss Hollow.
Turning a corner, a new sight met him, something the city only became involved with in his lifetime: military constructions. Interspersed throughout the city were towers. Not buildings, but towers. These towers weren't for agriculture, public services, residency, or anything civilian in nature. No, they were the property of the First and Eighth Rays. Although the towers looked bare currently, that was to keep the aesthetics of the city clean and to assist the Third Ray in keeping the populace calm. Built like Titans, each tower came with hundreds of hatches along the length of the tower walls hiding emplacements. Sonics, electrics, netting, and cylinders. They had it all, and then some.
The top of each tower remained flat, as opposed to the simple, yet stylized domes or flourishing curves the rest of Last Light's infrastructure sported. The roof of every tower was a hatch too. But for the entirety of the roof to be a hatch, it was hiding something big. He had never even seen what those hatches housed. It would be a pipe dream to hope he never would.
His destination wasn't the tower, so he walked on past. Beyond the tower was a park. Although the education centers were open, there were occasional groupings of children accompanied by adults. He observed the trees littering the length of the park grounds, surprised to note that at least three didn't look fake. Had the Fourth and Sixth Ray made a breakthrough? He'd inquire if he still remembered after the obligatory meetings.
A left, a right, and down two blocks. Before him stood a magnificent building. It wasn't fair to call this a building, since it took up an entire block's worth of space. A measly nineteen stories, it was nothing compared to the buildings across the streets. Yet this was the most important location in the city, contested only by the residential scraper. Ardiseg Hall, the home of the One-Light Directory. Before entering, he slipped the yellow band around his bicep once more. It would be his identification.
Two servicemen greeted him at the door. Although unnecessary, he went through the verification procedure without fuss. They scanned his eye, palm, and his band. He shook hands with both, tactfully ignoring the poorly concealed adoration in their eyes. He was thankful nothing needed saying. He collected his band and stepped through the scanner. Few who worked at Ardiseg Hall knew what it scanned for. But to this day, it never went off once.
Today was no different.
Entering the lobby, he watched a controlled flow of men and women walk by, each immersed in their worlds and duties. Responsibility took precedence over curiosity; he hardly received a glance. These people were more used to his presence and identity than those outside, and a chunk of the awe they held for him faded. They understood, if only to a limited extent: he was only human, no different from them. Smiling at the thought, he went through the bald heads and climbed the stairs.
Tradition, the architects of Ardiseg Hall claimed, was why no lifts were installed. Steps were the only transit tool to move between stories, and as much as he badmouthed them in the recesses of his mind, even he could be grateful that they didn't choose to go with something even further archaic, like ladders. He reached the apex of the stairwell and began climbing the next. And the next, the one after that, and the one after that.
His office was on the fifteenth floor, near the northwest edge of Ardiseg Hall. Upon the door opening, he grabbed a coat hanging from the wall and slipped into it, enjoying the comforting tension from the padding. Extra clothes other than skinsuits were a luxury few possessed, but he made the cut. Along with the sparse furnishings he obtained: a desk, a console built into the wall, and a sofa--real, not with the replacement materials substituted to save on costs.
He made himself comfortable behind the desk. Someone delivered a mug prior to his arrival. It steamed to his left. He took a sip, finding a spicy, unrecognizable flavor that softened the hard knots in his joints. He was so immersed in the drink that he missed there was a visitor until he heard the telltale scrape of metal on metal. He sighed, moving to the sofa and berating his declining peripheral vision.
He sat on one end. On the other, legs tucked beneath a delicate frame garbed in black, lounged someone. He remembered when he'd mistaken the soft posture and thin shoulders as signs of physical weakness. Tucking one leg over the other, he rubbed his knee."Nice to see you. It's been three weeks for me."
Someone tilted their head in response. It was more than he received most visits, but also a sign this wasn't normal. The two had established a tentative understanding, like this someone had with his father before him. Their relationship was one of convenience, mainly for him. After so long, he continued failing to see what they got out of it.
The nonresponsive atmosphere settled, and he made his HUD lock the door and disconnect his chip from his vision nerves. Several past meetings ended prematurely when others knocked or tried to enter. Someone didn't like to be seen, or couldn't afford to. He never asked, taking it as another quirk of this strange character.
Resting on his knuckles, he studied someone. Today, they looked--felt--off. Spending so much time around them accustomed him to strangeness, but a repressed playfulness too. The someone once tipped over his mug. Then they chuckled, the most noise he'd ever heard. They had the unfortunate habit of tripping him, too. But there was none of that as it knelt next to him on the sofa.
There was agitation. Undirected aggression. Something went wrong? He didn't probe using words, preferring to continue with his eyes. The eyes were the same yellow as always. Up close, he could hear the low buzz, a subtle confirmation they weren't natural. They smoldered in the dark lighting of the office.
And the hands. Or the lack of them. Beginning past the elbow and stretching past where the fingertips should be, someone had no forearms or hands. Instead, there were blades, both ends sharp enough to split scutumsteel like a hand parting water. They should be pristine and glittering even under the dimmest lights. But their current appearance, raggedy. Dented and chipped. Blood of various colors stained their length. He had learned to rely on the condition of someone's blades to measure the severity behind their visits. This was the worst he had ever seen them.
"You…aren't…safe…" Like grinding gears, the words clawed free. He hid his surprise, hearing someone speak for the first time. "Humans…aren't…safe…"
"I…tried…helping…but…it's…larger…than…me…"
"Do you need help?"
"You…did…enough…now…the…end…approaches…"
"For humanity?"
"Yes…for…you…but…not…only--"
The someone halted, sucking in a tortured breath. "Ooh…the…project…is…finished…yes…?"
"The Sword of Damocles is nearing completion. I don't know when they'll be back, but I sent a force in secret to retrieve the final components. Why did you need me to hide them? Weren't they safe enough here?"
"Stupid…child…you…think…your…walls…are…unbreachable…unless…they…all…come…yes?"
"The Aud will, won't they?"
"One…day…but…not…today…" They dragged their blades across each other, sending small spouts of sparks flying. "You…live…on…for…now…"
"Is your only reason for coming to check on the project's progress?"
"No…my…master…informed…me…I…have…finished…my…duty…here…"
"Here. As in this place, or this time?" That was always tricky for him to understand. The someone tried explaining it to him many times, but in the end, they both agreed some people weren't meant to grasp some things. For him, it was the principles of time travel. Time travel. What a ridiculous thought.
"Both…but…I…am…not…abandoning…your…fight…wholly…"
Someone lifted one arm, took in a shaky breath, and chopped down with the other. He was on his feet, watching as the stump clanged to the floor, a spray of black fluid flooded from the injury, and someone muffled a scream. He ran back to his desk, tearing a drawer free in his haste to grab a medical kit. Before he could extract a syringe of liquid sun, he heard someone call out. "I…am…fine…leave…it…"
He placed the kit down, but his hand remained on it.
"Leave...it..."
He returned to the sofa, wincing as someone tucked the new stump into their armpit. "Take…the…blade…"
"What?" His eyes left the injury. Why did it feel like this someone was smiling?
"Mine…is…superior…to…yours…it…will…serve…you…better…"
Oh. With oddity clawing around his chest, he leaned down and gingerly retrieved the stump from the floor. He was careful to pinch the flesh and avoid the blade. He tilted it, watching the light reflect off the spots clear of gore. "Why would you give me this?"
"I…no…longer…need…it…but…you…? Soon…you…will…wish…I…left…you…both…kekeke…"
"This won't please your master. What will you tell them?"
Someone stiffened. "That…is…not…your…concern…"
"What will you tell them?" he pressed, unwilling to let this go. Not after this someone did so much for him. He owed the strange character that much.
"We…are…are…not…on…terrible…terms…but…I…will…say…I…lost…it…in…battle…"
"Will they believe you?""They…don't…need…to…they…only…need…me…whole…and…as…I…said…we…are…not…on…terrible…terms…"
"Thank you, then."
"No…need…for…that…! I…am…Tool…and…I…serve…who…my…master…wills…"
"So you finally tell me your name right before disappearing for good?" Knowing he was testing his luck, he chose to pat someone--no, Tool, on the shoulder. "I appreciate it regardless. Make sure you get that treated."
Author: Hey guys, I just wanted to inform you that updates will take time to resume. School just kicked up a notch (or two), and I'll be busy.