Hila has sat down at the base of a pillar beside the entrance, cradling a necklace. The air roars with silence. Idiotlight twinkles overhead, showering her in hollow constellations, incomplete colours, unknowable ideas. Her selves erupt in chatter. She turns the necklace in her hands, a silver chain clung to a set of three interlocking rings; they have a new weight here. Her fingerprints swirl throughout the metal, dancing in the opalescence.
It burns with nostalgia.
On Earth, every moment of every day, there are thousands of androids roaming the surface, disguised or ideatically cloaked, recording as much information as possible.
Every android operates individually, aided by a single researcher back on Tehk. Henry was one of them, and he partnered with Hila.
Hila took "partner" to a different meaning.
She looks up from her necklace, squeezing it in her hand. The vestibule is empty save for the guards. There's no motion but the idiotlight, its crackling, its roaring, the way it dances and echoes like laughter. Hila tucks the necklace under her shirt collar and scrambles to her feet. She glances at the guards; they stand motionless. Hila's eyes flush green. Her footsteps jarr the silence. They don't echo. She stares into the sentinels' ancient, spiteful faces, their permanent righteous anger plastered to their heads like the phosphor head of a match. They don't appear to think. Hila approaches them. There seems to be some threshold where a mind leaps into their bodies and they spring to life, their weapons ablaze, blocking the archway. Hila jumps. Wiping the spatter of pink from her cheek, she leans as close to the entrance as she can, searching for a glimpse of Henry or Amelia, but the crowds are too dense.
The pink remains.
She steps back, watching the guards return to their idle position, watching the blades unfurl, clearing a path ahead.
Hila steps forward and the guards bar the path again like clockwork.
Her eyes turn violet.
She steps around and approaches one of the guards, climbing their shoulder, waving her hand in their face.
They seem unfazed.
Hila gives up. She returns to her pillar and falls a little too hard on the ground. Stupid gravity... She stares ahead a moment, the plans in her head dying down, flecks of green fading from her eyes. The stone forest is illuminated by ribbons of idiotlight that dance like a winter breath. Her hand creeps unto the impression of her necklace under her collar. The fabric muffles the chatter of its rings.
About every time the Earth revolved around the Sun, Henry would be returned home so he could allow Hila to probe his memory, gather useful information.
Hila did a lot more than gather information.
There was a year of conversations to sift through, to compare with the previous year, to carve out some indication of a history. There were countless faces, countless people met, coffees had, small children teased and played with, minor accidents and trips and falls.
Laughter would ring through Hila's room, both past and present. Even in the blur of lives, the months of new names and voices, Henry was himself.
Shades of blue swirl into Hila's eyes.
Her selves twinkle just behind her vision. Each of them loves Henry a different way. An ocean of affection swirls through Hila's mind; the sky in her eyes runs only richer.
Heavy footsteps break her lovestrike.
She looks up to see an Unanswered pacing across the antechamber. They pass through the guards unimpeded. Hila jumps to her feet and the sentinels actually turn their heads. It disturbs her instantly; she shrinks, peeking between their blades, wearing a rose-eyed expression.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of All
Science Fiction"Knowledge is power," most say, but power corrupts all the same. See, knowledge exists as a pyramid. Very many things know nothing, but only one knows everything. To climb the pyramid isn't difficult, up to some point. The climb can be a taxing thin...
