Blackridge Institute (wlw)

Chapter 10

"How old are you?"

Casandra didn't even turn around. "The question doesn't apply."

"Why not? I'm twenty-seven, in years. You?"

"Eleven months, I suppose."

Solomon gave her a scathing look. "I didn't mean your vessel."

"This body was grown for almost a year before it was ready. Do we count that?"

They were planning another excursion into the library, into the room they found. Belatedly they realized how difficult it would be to break into an underground cavern; potential collapse, safety precautions for Solomon's unfortunately fragile body, and sneaking mining implements into the library were proving to be challenges. It was taking them longer than they both wanted.

But Sol was distracted by new information. "How does that work? Do you germinate?"

"Vessels are synthesized, but remain empty until they're commissioned. For the most part, they come as adult bodies but some prefer cherubic vessels to start with."

Sol imagined a creepy child version of Casandra. "I'm immensely glad you don't have that."

"I couldn't even if I wanted—and I don't, because I find it distasteful. I'm not ranked high enough."

Sol swung her legs off her bed and sat up properly to hold this conversation better, even if she was talking to the back of Casandra's head. "Is it real? The caste system?"

"Of course. It's organized. I'm ranked close to the bottom, to tell the truth."

"That sounds super not great."

"I'm trying to move up, be patient."

"No, I mean," said Sol, pulling her legs up onto the bed and pressing her soles together with her hands in a stretch. "Like, some of you are just inferior to the others? Just born like that?"

Casandra's chair stopped creaking when she went still. "We're not born. Not really."

She rocked her chair again, like she had been doing in minute movements. "That's just how the society works. If it was a problem, surely we would have changed it."

Solomon stared at her, less seeing and more feeling Casandra's growing unease. She let up. "Well, how old are you, then?"

"I don't quite know what you mean, when you ask that."

"What makes you, you?"

Silence again. And then, "I don't know."

Sol was not ready for this answer, and less ready for how lost Cas sounded. She shouldered on. "But you grasp the idea of there being a you?"

"Maybe. I believe so."

"All right. How old is that?"

"Decades. Almost three. You're not really supposed to keep track."

"How come?"

This time, Cas turned around. "I'm not sure if I should be discussing this with you."

"But we're having a very productive discussion! I know so little about you guys, and I'm learning so much. My research is progressing wonderfully."

"Well, us guys don't particularly appreciate being catalogued, if we're not the ones doing it."

Solomon pouted, and Cas frowned before continuing. "It's not that it's prohibited. The rules are dubious. But as a point of pride, most angels won't let themselves be so observed."