:I want to see what Vega does,: you said, after only a moment of consideration. You'd not sensed the difference that the Harmonial had clearly keyed into, but you couldn't fault her judgement. :You mind a third?:
The question had more weight than it might have. Vega was clearly deeply drawn by the feeling of youth within the great museum, and the last thing you wanted to do was to get in her way. The sudden twitch of movement as you asked the question would have made you worry, if you hadn't been able to feel the impatience that drove the frustration behind it.
:Not at all,: she replied. It was odd to see her like this, really. Usually she was so calm, something she'd likely copied from you during your time in government together - or even before. And even when excited…you'd never seen her like this. :Come on.:
Then she led you into the crowds. She never seemed to move a step faster than the countless Shiplords around you, yet you crossed the ground level of the building like the passage of an invisible scalpel, reaching the ancient, sweeping stairway up to the middle levels in less than ten seconds. Exactly how she managed that you couldn't tell, but the Harmonial dragged you along like ripples in her wake, somehow keeping you by her side through will alone.
It was enough time to wish the rest of your team luck, though. You lingered a little on Mary and Iris, as you always did, but your daughter had surprised you here. You weren't sure you'd have been able to stand beside her in going to talk to a Tribute Fleet officer and that made your daughter's courage all the more profound. Some of those feelings must have bled through in what you said to her, though.
:It's not that sort of bravery, mom - not like you see it,: she sent in lieu of acknowledgement. :You only have hopes and we need some of those to survive for you to carry them. I just believe in the family you gave me.:
:And I know,: she added, turning towards the circle of curious Shiplords around the officer. :Most of humanity wouldn't care. 'M not sure I do, either. But one of us needs to try. We'll never get a better chance.: You felt the smile on her face without ever needing to see it. The little, thinking one that rarely lasted long, but always led somewhere interesting.
You wondered what she saw this time?
The stairs vanished beneath a drumbeat of footsteps, each one stretching the limits of local gravity and propulsion systems, until at the top of the stairs Vega tensed a moment, then leapt straight to the level above you. She caught the side of an opening with an easy motion, and you followed her up.
This level was less crowded, scattered with smaller exhibits and seating to observe them. Some of them were recordings, art, but the movements of a handful of the groups implied some were music, too. Nothing you could hear, which tracked – humanity could do that simply enough, too.
Vega led you across the level with an utter disregard for the exhibitions around you, largely examples of artistic culture drawn from the entirety of those who'd made up the Teel'sanaha Peoples. Portraits in strange paints and colours, sculptures in scores of materials and styles, musical compositions that you couldn't stop to hear, but dearly wished to. Some exhibits seemed to be entirely based on texture, if the extended manipulators of the Shiplords around them were any clue, brushing across the surface of ancient creations with delicate care.
Snapshots from the tens of cultures who'd joined together to create the unique existence that the Peoples had represented. And, here and there, what you guessed to be fusions born of that shared creation. Proof that the Peoples had not just been many races bound by convenience, but a single vast nation made up of all its members.
It made you want to stop to take even a fraction of it all in. To look, listen and weep for the death of a nation that had been everything you wished humanity could become. To take this opportunity to learn and remember, to do what these Sorrows had been built for according to the Gysian Warden of their own world's death cry. But you couldn't.
There wasn't time.
Perhaps one day you could come back and see this place in its entirety, but that wouldn't be today. Vega led you on with focused steps, through a twisting route that made no sense whilst you were walking it, yet led seemingly inevitably to the Harmonial's goal. Without the links of a Heartcircle, you'd never have known how close you were without being told.
But it wasn't hard to tell when you got there.
A great sculpture of matter and photons filled the centre of the room, twisting through impossible angles and spliced curves to create something as unique as anything you'd ever seen. A small display, easily accessed by your Unisons, narrated the tale of the piece's creation, and the many artists who'd collaborated to complete it. The design had been sketched by a pre-space master, who'd looked to the stars and dreamt of what wonders might be possible up there. They'd died long centuries before their species had reached those stars, but the design had outlived them to kindle inspiration among the Peoples.
It was just another of the countless rooms of this level, with a small group of Shiplords taking a moment to rest on an open square of long couches. There was almost nothing about the physical appearance of the group to make their difference obvious, all in the same sheath of nanotechnology, glittering silver and gentle pastels in the dim light of the display. It was all in the smaller things. How they moved, how they sat, the way their veils shifted in ways you'd never seen before.
It did raise a question, though; how much of Shiplord society were actually children? Though to answer that question, you'd have to ask another. In a society where immortality was the right of every citizen, what constituted a child?
"Hello," Vega said, stopping just past the open arch of an entryway you'd come through. "May we come in?"
The informality of the question was almost shocking after the stacked formality that had overshadowed most of your interactions with Shiplords so far. No one here seemed worried, though.
"It's a free room," one of them said, veil flicking an indication towards the empty couch across from them. Welcoming, but there was something else there…as if they were distracted by something? Vega caught it too, clearly, given her next question.
"We'd not want to intrude," she began, and another of the Shiplords laughed.
"Don't fuss on our account," they told you. The veils of the group flicked between them, carrying the feeling of an exasperated eyeroll at having to repeat the answer. "There's space, you're looking. Nothing more to it."
"Well, in that case," Vega started forward, her Masque flaring out curiosity and soothing smiles. She flicked her datalinks open, closed, open again at the same time. A moment later, you felt the young Shiplords reply in kind. Your IDs were all set and ready to go, but it would probably be better if you didn't have to answer any specific questions.
"It's good to meet you," a slightly taller Shiplord in the centre of the group greeted. "Sorry about the first impression; it's rare that we find people close to our own ages, and everyone else here seems infected by Sorrows formality."
"It's so boring," another – the datalink informed you that their use-name was Everan – said. "Seeing this place is good to do, and being here right now is better, but it's nice to not be the only ones who can speak normally."
"That's alright," Vega said, her veil twitching in laughter, hiding any sign of confusion. Some formality, yes, that you'd guessed. But all of it? Maybe your experience had just been more unique. "There's enough to think about here without dressing it up."
"Stars make it so," the first Shiplord to speak, the oldest apparently from the shared interaction data, replied. It felt almost like a prayer, and wasn't that interesting. "So, how have you found your stay?"
"Krea, you know that's meant to be offered," another of the group scolded, their veil a picture of laughing scandal.
"Do they feel the type to take offence?" Krea shot back. "I already know how half of you react, but they're new."
"Well," you said, entering the conversation for the first time. It was odd, not having the formality to fall back on. But you'd wanted to see who the Shiplords were, and here was a chance to find out. "I wouldn't take offence, but I'd hope a trade would be alright?"
You'd layered your Masque with meanings in asking the question, hoping to make clear that you were only curious. A surge of vindication rushed across Krea's veil and she scooted a bit closer over one of her fellows. No awkward movement either, the change in position as smooth as gravity manipulators could make it.
"Of course!" She said happily.
"Careful there," the older one, Niden, warned. "They've a lot to say about it all, and not all of it can come out nicely."
"It'll come as it does," Krea replied. "Not my fault I have my own opinions."
"Radical," another tsked jokingly. "What would we do without you."
"You mean you don't agree with these places?" Vega asked, and Krea shook their head.
"That's not it." They sketched a pattern of light in the air, five rings, connected by a weave of lines that drew them closer. With each new connection, the shape at the centre of the pattern became smaller.
"I see the connections, I understand how we got here. But I'd hope," they paused. "Is it wrong to hope we could do better? That the circle in the middle of these lines didn't narrow every time."
"I can understand that," you said, trying for warmth. It seemed to work.
"Well, at least we're not the only group thinking so," Krea sighed. "That helps. Seeing the bigger picture, it's good, but it highlights things. Gives me ideas to strive for, maybe things we can all make better, one day."
"Dreamer," one of the quieter Shiplords sang gently. It wasn't teasing, you realised a second later. Simply a recognition.
"We all have something," Krea replied. The words were touched with sadness, but also resolution, and a hope so pure it was hard to recognise coming from a Shiplord. All the others had seemed so lost to endless time. But here, here it seemed different.
"Not happy with what the Peoples failed to fight, then?" Mir asked, his own voice modulated to a steady tone. Only a Third could've asked that so easily, you thought. Not really fair, as immediate assumptions went, but not entirely wrong.
Krea winced, but straightened quickly. "Not particularly. It's a big responsibility we're raised to take, even if it'll be hundreds of cycles before we touch any of it properly. But legacies are bad enough when they're just from my parents. The one these places were built for, that's worse."
"Hey." Everan reached over, brushing their veil against Krea's, the two mixing at surface level in a display of intimacy you'd…never seen before. "None of that. It's not static, no matter how long it takes to see things move sometimes. Remember why we came here now."
"Why did you come here?" You asked, jumping on the latest reference to something before it could slip away. Confusion rippled across the veils around you, and you made your own respond with tentative embarrassment, touched by your own confusion.
"Have you been keeping your out-links blind?" Niden asked at last, several realtime seconds later. "I know people talk about making the Sorrows a pilgrimage, but it's rare to meet anyone who takes it seriously."
Silence seemed the best reply to that, and the Shiplord's veil flickered into a grimace. "I've probably said too much in that case, apologies. We can g-"
"No," you said quickly. "I'd…if it's important enough, I'd like to know."
They looked between each other, veils flexing and flickering between emotions too fast for you to keep up. Then the one who'd called Krea a dreamer spoke.
"The Sorrowful is going to address the Authority today," she said. You caught her name from the link this time: Thalim. "Very soon, in fact. It's why we all came here, to see her do it from a place of the Hearthguard, to make it…a memory. And none of us had seen the Sorrows before, so it seemed time."
"Helped give us some context to it," Everan added. "All the commentators say it's a historic occasion, won't stop talking about the reasons, but it's not the same as seeing them here."
"We can extend our link if you'd prefer to keep yours down?" Krea offered. "Make up your mind quick, though, they're getting the chamber back in order after the latest address."
"Did Bikant have anything reasonable to say this time?" Thalim asked. "I just muted it."
"No," Niden said wearily. "But that's, well."
They stopped themselves from going further, and you guessed it was for your own sake and not wanting to cause any offence.
You glanced at the other two humans in the room, and realised that this really wasn't a question. If Kicha was going to speak today, if she was starting to take action as she'd promised, you wanted to see it.
:Yes, we can handle the dataflow.: Sidra added, before you could ask. No excuse, then.
"We'd like that, please," you said. No sooner had you said it before a link query pinged against Sidra's firewalls. Everan blinked through their veil.
"...damn, that's some security," they muttered as you opened the connection. "It's a full link from one of the floating bots. Standard controls and walkabout through the integration, but I'd be careful using that here. The place is pretty packed."
"Of course," you nodded. "Thank you."
The world flowed into a blur, then you were blinking through sudden bright lights as you looked out into your first glimpse – the first non-Shiplord glimpse in hundreds of millennia – of the Authority. It rose through multiple levels above you, each one draped in exquisitely understated finery, all of them spiralling subtly in around a surprisingly spartan speaking position.
Just a circle of bare stone, with hovering mics outside a direct field of view. You had little time to take any more of it in, before a figure flickered into being on the dais. You didn't need the datacodes flicking up in the stream to recognise the figure. The air of ancient sorrow around her made it very clear.
Kicha.
Now what would she have to say?
The world flickered around you, then realised itself into an image of a world so very far from your own. It overtook your reality in a brilliant display of networked systems that had been built to span the galaxy. To allow your people to come together and decide the future, a task that had grown ever more terrible as the endless train of centuries passed into millennia and beyond.
It made you wonder, for a moment: how long had it been since you'd stood here? More than a million cycles if you counted it in person. A few hundred thousand since the last time like this, at the final vote that had condemned the Zlathbu to inevitable extinction. A vote that had, you'd thought, snuffed out the flames that had long since sustained you.
"Honoured members of the Authority." Your voice shook a little as you remembered that vote. You'd fought that battle, harder than any you'd done before, and all of it had been for naught. "You know my name, but for those watching today who might not, allow me to introduce."
The veil of merged Secrets around you flickered through motions of sincerity, of pain, overshadowing the spark that you'd been hiding ever since you sought out this moment. It had been easier than you'd expected, really. The Authority was still split, unsure of what action to take against the rising tide of chaos around them. The wisdom of elders was rarely refused in these moments, and there were relatively few among even the highest of the Authority's stations who could match your own now.
It had made connecting something of a challenge, in fact, finding those who could remember you beyond the title you bore. Stories begun thousands of cycles past had only grown in time within the halls of the Authority, and it was hard to breach the towering influence of those legends. Harder still to pull away from them, but you'd made yourself do it.
A signal flickered from the seat at the centre of the grand, vaulting chamber, granting you that which you'd requested. It would be expected by those who could remember, a setting, a marker to many. But that wasn't what it was, what it ever had been, for you.
"The name I use in this now is Kicha, and I am Warden of the Hearthguard." you said, feeling the shape of the words to come, and casting out a wish for them to come steadily. You needed that. "But to this place, to all those now who watch from nearby and the furthest corners, you might know me by others. I am Kymri. And I am the Sorrowful."
A rustle swept the chamber, as much true sound as signal noise felt through the datasphere, as those present recognised the statement for what it was. Some, the young ones, stared in shock as strings of authentication codes unfurled from your implants like some ancient heraldry, bringing the vast hall to a reverent silence.
It wouldn't last, you knew that. It could only bring you this moment. Anything more was up to you. And you felt it now, dancing behind the eyes that few ever saw. Of those among the chamber today, only a handful had seen it speak. Now, you hoped, more would.
"I don't like to use these names," you admitted. A wave of sorrow accompanied them, the memories that had made you that figure, a piece of Shiplord legend in your own way. Tarnished, as all living legends became, but still. "But today, I feel that I must."
"A vote stands before you today, as it has in the days and weeks since a fledgling race struck a War Fleet from their skies. A vote, to decide what comes next. What path our people take into the future, and what lessons we chose to learn from history. Many of you, I know, don't see it that way. But it's here, and what you are deciding now is far more important than you might imagine."
You saw glimmers of recognition in the motions and stillness of scattered veils all around you, reflecting silver and gold and colours true and impossible through optical outputs and network wizardry. Saw the first sparks of realisation in the micro-responses of those who had seen you speak before.
"I know that many of you see the events of the past months as a terrible danger to our people. I know that many of you here, and beyond, will have been told that it threatens the galaxy so painstakingly protected across more cycles than many of you can even imagine. And I don't need to turn on the relays, watch the feeds, to say that. Because I've seen those messages before."
A request signal flared in the datasphere, and you smiled slightly at the identity behind it. An old ally of sorts, and perhaps one still, but not someone you could relinquish the floor to. Not yet. But there was no need to be rude. The denial you cast back was a gentle one, caught with grace.
"I ended our war with the Gysians before it became a genocide. I stood beside the fleets of our own, and our allies, in the war against the Sphere. And I stood here many times since, fighting to preserve those that we had sworn in those moments to teach and protect. Until the Zlathbu Alignment drove me from this place, for I could not stomach the walls that sheltered our people after what we did to that young and terrified race."
Already there'd be groups reaching out, working in steptime to assemble arguments that would disarm what you were about to call upon. All, they believed, that you could call upon. The weapons of the Hearthguard were those of your people's history, after all, and that made them impossible to hide. But did they recognise, did they know, how many of those you still held?
"I abided by the decision of the Authority then," you continued, in a steady tone. "And it has haunted me for a quarter of a million cycles for what it represented. For the failing it represented. I am called the Sorrowful for what I did, how I created what would become known as the Second Sorrow through my actions. The Third…the Fourth…I did not believe they could have been prevented. Not as we were."
You took a breath, for all that they were unnecessary, and your voice hardened. "But the Fifth? The Fifth should have been different. It was a chance to change, to rise past the fear that had begun to define us, and instead of doing so we embraced it. In facing something new, something that could not be immediately controlled, we chose the hammer instead of the veil.
"There are many things I wish I had done differently in that time, but none of it matters anymore." You tilted your head, wondering if that had thrown calculations aside. It was certainly different to those few addresses you'd given before retreating totally into the role of Warden. "Because I have found that we were wrong. And that's what makes me weep."
You lifted a hand, made a casting motion with it, letting it carry the data that you'd so carefully enshrined within your personal storage into the open spaces of the Authority's chambers. And an image formed, an image that any who'd chosen to Experience the Third should recognise. The vast wall of almosts and could-have-beens, not one of them enough.
Simulation born of the Seventh Secret, and as perfect as it could ever be, had created this archive of failure. But now it held something new.
"There was a solution," you said, reaching up, expanding the vision, letting the marker within the archive become clear. The simulation that those humans – those leaders among humanity, now that you'd read the files – had created.
There was no silence now, and more request markers burned in the infospace, voices rising in protest against your words. But only some.
"And so what, some of you will ask. What use is a solution to a problem a million cycles put to rest? But the rest, you already know." Again you saw it, the reactions, the movement. Recognition and response, thousands around you trying to piece together the direction of your address.
Deep within the twilight of your soul, something ignited. Returned or recognised, it mattered not, because it was a quarter of a million cycles too late for those you should have saved. Yet it was, it was here, and it was now, and maybe that could do something.
"It's hope. A million cycles past where we needed it most, but it's hope. And we can't ignore it, because it shines on everything we've done to beg the question: was any of it necessary? If we could have been wrong in our approach to the Sphere, then what else have we been wrong about? What else have we closed our eyes to, and let pass in the certainty that we knew what had to be done?"
Shouts rose from sections of the assembly now. Outrage, support, all of it noise and none of it mattering. A flaring signal carpeted the infosphere, the hand of the Authority's speaker, dictating order. A voice bellowed from the middle levels, demanding the right to be heard, that the sacrifices of a thousand fleets lost to time be honoured and you thundered across it.
"I led a battlegroup through the hell of the Burning Line. I watched as the Teel'sanha overcame the strength of our best, only to be broken by our weakness. And I have watched for longer than I could believe I ever would as our race has spiralled into darkness."
More codes flared out from your presence, unfurling like banners, unsheathing like blades, to stand and cut the maelstrom of confusion, anger and hope too that you'd unleashed.
"But no more. I fought against our descent until I was forced to retreat, to become what the Gysians named me." Your veil was a barely-kept storm of seething emotions. "But in this, I find that I'm not broken, only wounded. And now, you will listen. I have the right, and I will be heard!"
Data and sound railed against your words, but you'd had spoken no mistruths, and in this the Authority's rules worked to your advantage. It took time for order to assert itself again, as well as several temporary mutes of certain members to make it clear that, in this, the rules most certainly did apply. But many, on further examination of the idents you'd flared, had quieted of their own accord.
You couldn't blame that. You'd lived a long time even for a Shiplord, and time rarely came without benefits. It better not, given all it took in exchange.
"Order is restored, Sorrowful. But I would ask that you keep to the matter of this vote in your further discourse, inasmuch as you can." The speaker clearly didn't like asking me to do that, but it was their role, and I could respect that.
Your own veil had calmed, and through it you offered that respect in the clearest manner, before turning back to the matter at hand.
"You know who I am. You know what I have seen. You can see what I have brought here, and you know that I'm right. You have your own gifts, your own knowledge, but mine is of our past and in that only three of you could challenge me." And of those, only one would dare.
"I am a Warden of the Sorrows of our people. I helped create them, I walk them, and I know them. But I sometimes forget, in my own sorrow, what they were for. That they were to make us better, not be constant reminders of what might have been. And now I find that two of them might never have needed our tending."
Even the best outcome of the humans' simulation still led to war, but it was a war that my people would've been ready for, and able to win with far less bloodshed. Still a Sorrow, I had felt, but for all they'd taken instead of what it had cost to destroy them.
"And I cannot let that pass. I looked away for millennia, I kept the Hearthguard intact, I told myself that I was doing all that I could until something changed. Until you were ready to change. Maybe one day, one day, you might have found your way to that path on your own but I'm not so sure. I look at the columns around this place, and I see nothing that I did not see a million cycles past, the last time I stood here in person.
"I see nothing that has made our galaxy better, nothing that has improved beyond our ability to destroy, our skill to oppress. And I know what some of you will call me, I know that they will say that the time I'm from was a luxury, one that was proven we couldn't afford. That we must close our eyes, shoulder the pain, and move forward in hopes of…what, exactly?"
Your eyes swept the room, flashing up at the ones who'd heckled before, and you saw one of them drop their gaze away from your own. And you realised that you'd missed this. Not the fighting, not the pain that came with it. But the intensity. The clarity of focus when the whole world shifted and became clear. When you could look at the path before you, and know that it was right.
How long had it been since you'd felt that?
"There is too much at stake now for us to lose any more of what we once were," you said, lowering your tone to a soft thing, remembering what you'd learned a long, long time ago. One need not scream to be heard, need not shout for others to listen.
"And now here we are, facing a galaxy that has rallied against us at last, and who could blame them? We've let the pain of our survival fester in the heart of our culture, and now I'm not sure that any of them will listen when we try to say that killing us isn't the cure. Maybe it's not too late, maybe we can still salvage what we once were. I hope so.
"But if we do, will the galaxy listen?" You asked, barely above a whisper now, forcing them to lean forward to hear. "Do we have any right to demand that they do, when the last time we truly stood against a threat to creation was a thousand centuries past? When the lifeblood of trillions stains all of our hands, those who carried out the sentence, and all those who let them."
You raised a hand, pulling in towards your chest, and the images you'd cast into the gathering space vanished. "I know many of you hold the Tribute Fleets in honour, for what they do, for how they are said to protect us. But I remember a time when those fleets were called something else. When we looked to the stars for life that we could welcome into the galaxy beside us. And I have to believe that some of what made us protectors once is still there.
"Because we aren't them anymore. Once upon a time, what would become the Tribute Fleets served a purpose. In the aftermath of the Third Sorrow, much was lost, and much was left to drift between stars by the Sphere. We needed to be able to be sure that nothing of the Hjivin would return, but that only required presence and power enough to protect it. Not what it's become."
"So as a Warden of the Hearthguard, I tell you all this." Your eyes swept the room again, and this time delegates flinched away from them. "We know, now, that we tend to two more Sorrows than were ever necessary."
"We shall not abide a third."
Coming out of the link was a weird feeling. Your own experience with telepresence was quite limited, and this had been far more in-depth than those rare occasions. But that oddness was swallowed entirely by the thoughts racing across your mind in reaction to what you'd just see. At least you weren't alone in it, and that extended to both you and the humans in the room.
The younger Shiplords – Shipteens? – seemed just as taken aback by Kicha's declaration of intent, though exact reactions appeared varied. Not that your response wasn't being torn in at least four different directions, mind. It was just that you had a different perspective on what you'd just seen. You were one of the relative handful responsible for Kicha doing this, and that…
For one of the only times you could remember since adulthood, you weren't sure how that made you feel.
What does Amanda feel about what she just saw? This choice will affect how she interacts with the rest of this Sorrow, as well as how she judges some future decisions:
[] Hope – "Maybe there is a way out of this. Maybe what the Uninvolved told us was true."
[] Worry – "...is making this a point about us, about humanity, really a good idea after what happened to the Zlathbu?"
[] Doubt – "This is…certainly something, I guess? But can it really do anything to help us?"
[] Shock – "She actually did it. She did what she promised. The heck."
