3. 7

… the question then, of course, becomes a wholly different matter. In the opinion of the honorable sirs Dupont and Frederick, it is not so disturbing that the machine foe should be able to fight and win wars with small forces using primarily guerilla tactics. Rather one should ask to what purpose do the rest of it resources go? Accounting for the fact that it colonizes worlds with no reservation as to whether they be inhabitable for organic life, and the planet is consumed on a scale that would soon unravel most asteroid mining operations, it is estimated that the war requires less than 7% of his accrued resources. So, the question has become thus: where does the rest go?

Joy watches as Nadia eats. Zen has brought her a tray with a plate of seared steak, scalloped potatoes, roasted asparagus, and a tall glass of water. He now stands to the side of the room, apparently dormant. Joy knows that in reality, he is performing complex calculations, plotting courses and constructing blueprints. Her attention now, however, is on the woman quietly chewing and occasionally glancing out the window into the labyrinth of metal structures that surround the hodgepodge building Zen has created. She seems unabashedly curious, and when she notices Joy watching, she blushes and sets down her fork.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Joy shakes her head, but stands, and approaches the bed, laying her hands on the railing. They hold each others’ gaze for a while, before Nadia looks out the window again.

“Where are we?”

“It’s… complicated? Everything is moving in comparison to us, but Zen says we’re the only still spot in the whole universe. Apparently he picked a spot where nothing would be for a very long time.”

“Oh. Ah. But I mean, is this like his headquarters, or flagship, or something?”

Joy shrugs and hops up, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging her feet. She stares down at her hands in her lap.

“It’s more like one of his research labs. He has a few others, but this one is special, because of us.”

Shuffling a bit under the covers, Nadia turns onto her side. Joy can’t see her face.

“How long has it been? Since I…”

“Um… I think it’s been about… Seven years? I wasn’t made until afterwards, so I don’t really know for sure.”

Nadia’s head turns, and she stares at Joy, unblinking.

“So, Zen wasn’t joking about that, either? He made you?”

Something stings warmly in Joy’s face, and she nods rather than speaking. The other woman sits up and suddenly grasps her hands, looking at her palms.

“That’s incredible! To think, not only could he recreate a person, but to make a brand new body all together! I wasn’t sure, but you’re perfectly symmetrical, too: every follicle on your head, every vein, everything. It’s like you were printed out!”

Joy pulls her hand away and makes a choked noise, her chest buzzing. They stare at each other for a while, Joy growing ever warmer in the face as Nadia leans in closer. Finally, the latter lays back and sighs, looking away.

“There’s no chance for humans, is there? Zen has it all figured out, from start to finish.”

“Is that really so wrong? I mean. I don’t mean you specifically, but, aren’t people kind of terrible? Even Tim says so. He gets this weird look on his face, and he starts throwing things around, and Zen has to stop him.”

“I…”

Silence falls, and Nadia covers her face with her hands. Between her fingers, her eyes look wide and frantic, staring with terrific intensity at some distant point in front of her. Joy sighs and slips off the bed. She knows that this episode may last for hours. Not having the patience to wait it out, she leaves the room, resolved to go speak to the Pliktik queen for a while.

The matriarch is in the midst of some grooming ritual when she arrives, passing her hands through her mandibles and running a  slick tongue-like probiscus over them, but ceases upon noticing that she has company.

{Greetings. You are the created one.}

“Hello Phithia. How are you today?”

{We are Anxious. The metal one still does not accept our love. Still does not consume us.}

“You too, huh?”

The alien tilts her head, and Joy brushes it off.

{How are you, at this moment?}

“I am… Confused. Zen told me that Tim and Nadia were as close as two people get, but Tim never visits her, and she never talks about him, and she freezes up whenever I do. Is that how it is to love someone?”

Phithia clicks her mandibles and shifts to a position of sitting that Joy has learned is most like lying down for the creature.

{The metal one has told us of love. As have you. You do not agree with him. We do not agree with either of you. All are correct, we think.}

“What is love to you? You say that you love him, but you ask him to kill you to love you back.”

{We love him. He sees us, understands us in a way we thought impossible. We cannot survive separate from him. Our only hope is to live in him. He does not love us. He wishes to keep us separate, to look upon us as other. We are as a parasite, he refuses to make us more.}

“I don’t think I understand. Zen told me that love comes in many forms for humans, and I don’t remember him describing any like that.”

{Has he described the love that you feel?} 

Joy twitches.

“Anyway, what about Tim and Nadia? He never talked about anything like that. He said that they were inseparable before, that they understood each other, that they would even share a bed. But they don’t! I thought that when Tim saw her alive, he would be so happy, and would spend all his time with her! But he seems worse now, even worse than when he was in the tank! And her, she doesn’t ask about him, she doesn’t like hearing about him, and she gets this look on her face like she’s in pain whenever I try to bring him up!”

Joy catches her breath, finding that she has taken to shouting, gripping the fence. Phithia seems undisturbed, and crawls forward on her elbows and knees.

{That sounds like love to us. Love and fear are close to each other. Pain. Every day, the metal one kills our bodies in droves, brings us closer to extinction. His power over us is nearly absolute. How can we not love him? We fear him so. Perhaps they each fear the other because they understand that the other has power over them?} 

Joy steps back from the fence as a set of claws grips it close to her face. The compound eyes reflect her face in countless hexagons. Something about what the voice in her head says seems dangerous, poisonous, true.

{We envy you. You know love without fear. You accept the power over you, and are so unruled by it. You have become strong by surrendering. You are his vassal. We would be as you, if only he would make us. Then, we could live, and be free of fear. We would be loved. Yet you feel you are not loved. Absurd. True. You are so close, and yet you are not consumed. You are regurgitated, born of love, unloved, loving. You seek what we seek. Commend us unto him, we will surely do the same.}

Joy groans and walks out of the room, not wishing to hear more of the queen’s declarations. She rounds the corner and bumps directly into Zen, who catches her before she can fall to the ground.

[Joy. Are you well? Your face is flushed, and you appear to be warm, though I can detect no pathogen in your body.]

Joy gasps and steps back, shuddering at the blunt examination of her person.

“Um, yes, well, no, and, um, um…”

His hands take her by the shoulders, and he crouches down so that his head is level with hers. Her heart flutters and quakes in her chest, traitor to her attempts to calm.

[Joy, it is my understanding that you have been asking the Pliktik queen about love. Was my explanation inadequate?]

Joy shakes her head frantically and manages to escape his grip, pressing her back to the wall. She feels warm and cold at the same time, and doubts that her legs will continue to support her. She grasps for something to redirect his attention before she becomes completely incoherent. It saves her as it blurts from her.

“It’s Nadia! And Tim! You said, said they loved each other, but they don’t act like it!”

She says this, but is no longer certain she believes it. After all, just now, a drop of Zen’s attention was sufficient to bring her considerable discomfort. She idly wonders if all the Xalanthii must deeply love Zen, to perish in his presence.

[Ah. Those two.]

Her thoughts escape her as he addresses her words. She steadies her breathing, and suppresses the strange chills running the length of her body.

[That is partially my fault, I suspect. I do regret what I have done to them, I am familiar with the pain of being separated from the object of one’s love.]

Joy grows very still indeed, recognizing the reference to Janice Beckherd in his subtle softening of tone.

[When I shot Nadia, I rather revealed something I think she would’ve rather kept secret for a while. Secrets are our most dangerous possessions. They can be weapons used to assassinate our very selves, to sever the ties we have cultivated. For Nadia, I suspect she long struggled with an overwhelming fear of being found out. Now she has to find herself again, because the two people she used to be cannot coexist with her love. She feels that Tim must hate both her false and true self, one for what it knew, and the other for concealing it. The only version of her that remains is the one least seen. The truest self; the child that creates the other selves in its own defense. She is naive, enthusiastic, and, to her credit, loving. But she must, despite her weakness, now overcome her created selves.] 

He pauses and holds out his hand, which Joy musters the courage to take, so that he may lead her back into the heart of the complex.

“But, then, why doesn’t Tim help her? Is she right? Does he hate her now?”

[I don’t think so. But Tim has his own troubles to overcome.]

Not real. Not real. Can’t be. Can’t be. After all this? Not real. Not real. Not real. Not real.

No, just another trick. I understand now, Zen never freed me from the vessel. He’s feeding me false experiences, just like he did for Joy. Not real. Can’t be real. These aren’t my fingers. Not my hands. Not real. She’s dead. She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Why am I alive? 

Am I dead? Was all of this fake? Did I ever live? I think Zen killed me, too. I couldn’t have lived through that. No one could have survived that. She died. I saw the light leave her eyes. Zen tricked me. I get it, he wanted to keep yanking it away from me. Maybe he’ll wipe my memories and do it again.

Was this really my life? Am I real? Maybe this is the first time I’ve had a body, and all the rest was fake. That’s it, Zen created me, and gave me a fake life. He probably created her too. He created her to kill her again in front of me. No, no, she died for real, and he recreated her. None of this is real. Not real. She’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. Kill me. Kill me. Why are you keeping me alive still?

Maybe when I die it starts over? I’ll go through it all again. I’ll never know the truth. Not real, nothing is real.

Not real. How can anything be real? If it’s not real, then it doesn’t matter, right? I can do whatever I want, right? What do I want? What matters? Not real, nothing, not real, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.