"You're sure it's fine if I'm not there?" you asked your daughter, watching her closely in the ways only a mother can. She'd been more subdued than normal since your frantic return to the Adamant. You were in the quarters you shared with Mary, sat close together in the set of cosy lounge furniture you'd managed to squeeze into the allocated space.
Your daughter smiled up at you. "I'll be fine, mom. Really. Sunset and the rest of the intel section are good people. And it'll be important to have their perspective when putting this all together."
The smile didn't entirely reach her eyes, but enough of it did for you to feel like she wasn't trying to avoid taking up time she knew you'd indexed for other things. You'd caught her doing that sometimes when she'd been younger, still new to her ability to access your schedule but all too aware of how important you considered her well-being over your own plans.
"Alright." You reached up and pulled her into a quick hug, delighting in the feeling of warmth the simple act inspired. You hoped you'd never lose that. "I just-"
"You worry," Iris said, rolling her eyes affectionately. "I know. And I'll make sure you get a copy of our report the moment it's done."
"Thank you sweetheart." You kissed her on the forehead, then let go. She rolled her eyes again, but the smile you'd prompted didn't fade one bit as she walked to the door to your quarters.
"Just do something for me, okay?" she said, coming to a stop as the hatch cycled with a gentle hiss. You looked round to see her watching you carefully, and very seriously. It was a rare look, especially directed at you.
"What?" you asked.
"Talk to Sidra, like you said you were going to," she said gently. "Don't get distracted with something else this time. Like all the other times."
For a moment you thought about protesting. It wasn't a very long moment, but it was there, and you weren't sure how you felt about that. It was strange to have your daughter tell you to do something, but she'd had that right for more than a few years now. And she, well, she wasn't wrong.
"I will." You bowed your head, and a subtle pressure flowed out of you in the admission. "I promise. I owe them far too much."
"You really do," Iris agreed. Her eyes shimmered with tears for a moment, before she brought up a hand to wipe them clear. "Thanks, mom."
"You're welcome." But she was gone, leaving the reply drifting in the sound of the hatch to your quarters closing. You looked around the place, thinking. Mary wouldn't be back for some hours, and everyone else had their own duties, self-appointed or not. That left you with the time you'd promised, and not just to your daughter. And-
You were trying to distract yourself.
"Enough of that," you said. The longer you kept doing this, the worse it would get, and you couldn't betray a promise like the one you'd just given. You took your mug from the table, slipping it into a dispenser with a quiet clink, and dropped back onto the sofa. Nothing left to dodge anymore.
:Sidra?: You sent. Your breathing steadied to a slow tempo as you waited for the intelligence, the person, behind your Unison Platform to reply: in, hold, out, hold. It took long enough that you wondered if they were going to.
:Yes, Amanda?:
:Can we talk?: Asking the question was somewhat redundant, given the connection you shared. But not asking, expecting Sidra to simply know and act on that knowledge, that would've been so much worse.
:Of course,: the Unison replied. You felt their attention focus on the bond you shared, a feeling like meeting a dear friend's eyes, and yet so much much more intimate. :What would you like to talk about?:
:I think.: You reached up, detaching the brilliant jewel of crystalline circuitry that formed the heart of every Unison Platform from its necklace. :I think you know, Siddhartha. But I need to say it, don't I.:
Energy and thought pulsed agreement from the impossible creation you and Vega had forged across two Miracles as you settled it onto the coffee table. Then you took a breath and reached inwards, for the channel of brilliant energy that was the wellspring of your Practice. Endless power surged up immediately through the lens of your Focus and you sent it all rushing down one arm to where your left hand rested on the core of your Unison Platform. You didn't really know why you were doing it, but your instincts told you it was the right thing to do.
They were also telling you it was better to say this straight. You'd spent too long skirting the edges already. :There's been something wrong since the Third Sorrow and I promised to talk to you about it, and more, weeks ago. I'm not going to leave you waiting any longer.:
:So?: Sidra asked, stretching out the question. Not with any malice, you could feel that. And behind it, the reason they were playing so coy.
:So I'm here, now,: you sent, investing the projected words with the will that guided them, the certainty that you could be there for however long this took. That this, that Siddhartha, mattered to you. :Can you please tell me what's wrong?:
Silence reigned for a brace of heartbeats, then something flowed out of your Unison, into the power you'd gathered for them. Energy flowed into light above your Platform, taking the shape of a human with no true features drawn in shifting colours. It took you a moment to recognise it, recognise the scale of action Sidra has just taken. Taking form to speak out loud was not a common thing for Unison Intelligences.
"How much do you remember about how each half of a Unisonbound shapes the other's existence?" the avatar of your Unison asked. Of all the questions they could've asked, you certainly hadn't expected this one.
"I," your mouth worked for a moment, thoughts racing to catch up. "I know that changes to one will usually bleed into the other. It's a result of how the Unisonbound synchronisation process functions, how the life of every Unison Intelligence is partially drawn from the Potential who connects to them.
"Over time, that connection grows into what's believed to be the heart of what makes a Unisonbound what they are. It's how a Unison can access their partner's Practice and shape it in ways that Potentials can't. It's the source of our shared power, but also more than that. Changes to a Unisonbound's life have been shown to filter through to the Unison, and though the reverse is more rare, it's happened too."
"Just so," Sidra nodded their featureless head. "I could complain about the risks you've been taking lately, but I've realised that they aren't what I'm worried about. Not really. And it's not like taking risks is anything new to us."
"I suppose not," you admitted. For a moment, you matched small smiles. Then Sidra's avatar smoothed back to blankness.
"I'm starting to have questions," they said, then shook their head. "No, that's not right. I've had questions for a while, and they're starting to scare me. What I've seen in monitoring your soul, Mandy, it's unlike anything we've seen. All we have to go on is what Tahkel told you, and we're still not sure what that truly means for you.
"That made me worry about you," Sidra admitted heavily. "But it wasn't until more recently that I realised that there was another question. If you change, what happens to us?"
Sidra paused, a tracery of lips twisting on their avatar's face. "What happens to me?"
You tried to find words. You really did. But for a moment, there simply weren't any. You couldn't answer that question where it came to just you. Trying to make sense of what it would do to your Unison, to Sidra, it was entirely beyond you. And for a moment, you felt the sheer enormity of that question bear down upon you like some mythical titan.
But then you pushed back. You and Sidra were still connected, letting you feel the source of your Unison's confusion and pain. They weren't searching for an answer you couldn't give. They were looking for the answers you could.
"I'm sorry," you began. You knew these words well, and you'd never failed to mean or make them count. "I'm not sure I have any choice in what's happening to me, but you've got even less. I could, maybe, control what's coming for myself, but you've no choice in the matter. The way we share our existence means you'll be dragged along beside me into whatever we become, and I should've recognised that."
You shook your head. "I should've done something, at least. Before now. But what I should have done before, I can at least do now." You faced the projection in front of you squarely, reaching deliberately inwards at the same time, melding your words with the feelings that drove them. A hope, at least, that that would reach your friend.
"Whatever comes," you told them, "Whatever I drag you into becoming with me, I promise you this: I won't let it change who we are. If I have to, I'll find a way to break the connection between us, to make sure you survive free of whatever's going to happen to me, when it happens."
"Amanda," Sidra replied sharply. "I'm not, I don't-"
"I'm not saying that we have to do that, Siddhartha," you said, shaking your head again. "But I want you to know that the option's there. You have a right to choose the shape of your own existence, just like anyone else. I don't think either of us want to do something that drastic; I'd like to hope there's another answer for us, once whatever I'm turning into becomes clear."
"I think we both know where the change is taking us, Mandy," Sidra said quietly, as if to themself. "You've just not wanted to think too hard about it. And I've been too worried about what it will mean to really face it."
Two images flickered into life around the blank-faced silhouette of their avatar, and you recognised them immediately for what they were: snapshots of your soul. Patterns of colour, within which were framed the shape of your sentience.
One of the images was the same one you'd looked at before leaving Sol, the picture that had proved Tahkel was telling the truth when the Uninvolved had said you were becoming something more than just a Potential. There'd been something in the patterns woven across your soul in that scan, something that begged for comprehension and demanded respect for the beauty of its complexity. It had proven Tahkel right, but that had been it. Not even Mary had been able to make sense of what the new patterns meant.
The other image was, you knew without any doubt, what your soul looked like today. You tried to make sense of it, of the twisting light and fractal patterns, resonating and reflecting across the image in ways that something in the depths of your mind told you just shouldn't be possible. Something sharp stabbed at a place between your eyes as you tried to look closer, and you flinched away, blinking back tears.
"Do you see?" Sidra asked gently. You could feel their regret for hurting you, but also the certainty that you now shared that nothing else would've proved the point. Whatever it was, at least; neither of you seemed to know that part.
"I do," you said, wiping at your eyes. "I don't understand, but I see. How long have I been like," you gestured at the image, not wanting to look at it again right now, "that?"
"It accelerated after the Third Sorrow," Sidra admitted. "I've been logging reports, but there's no guide for something like this. I think Mary's been trying to work out what's happening before bringing it up. She wants to give you something that isn't just more questions."
"Whereas we," you sighed, "we don't need to make sense of it to know what it probably means. Not when we've talked with an Uninvolved."
"You recognise the similarities, then?"
You nodded in reply to the Unison's question. "They remind me of what we saw when we watched Tahkel create the Adamant's drive. It's not an answer, not exactly, but it's a direction. And that would explain some of your worry, I think."
The head of Sidra's avatar tilted contemplatively to one side. "It would, wouldn't it," they admitted after a few moments. "The way Uninvolved exist, they're a melded consciousness. What went into them still exists, but they aren't…the way Tahkel explained it, they weren't distinct."
"Well," you said, resolution filling your words. "We'll just have to find a way around that, then. Because I don't care what it might give me, how continuing down this road might change this terrible game the Shiplords have made. I'm not sacrificing you to do it."
"Not even-" Sidra began, only for you to slash at the air with one hand.
"No." You didn't give any space for a reply. "Maybe it's hypocritical, but I don't much care. I won't lose you to this, Sidra. Understand?"
Tension hummed in the air between you for a moment, before flowing out of your Unison in a gentle sigh. "You're impossible."
"You'd know."
All danger to Unison synchronisation between Amanda and Siddhartha has been cleared.
The changes noted to Amanda's soul in the aftermath of the Third Battle of Sol have continued to progress, and similarities are beginning to emerge when comparing the imagery of her soul and her own, albeit limited, observations of an Uninvolved.
"What do you mean they're no longer in-system?" Krea's nanoshell twitched in frustrated confusion, the young Shiplord breaking away from the dataflows that were as much a part of the star system around them as the planets themselves. For a moment, the flickering irritation of her nanoshell seemed enough that she'd slam herself into the nearest wall.
Fortunately, Niden had come to rest beside his younger, more passionate sibling, merging shells in a motion of casual intimacy. Moments later, both took on the stillness of direct linkage. It was not the first time that her creche-group had watched her reduced to physical feedback when presented by a problem she couldn't solve. Everan doubted it would be the last, either, though in this case her curiosity seemed to be catching. And who could blame them, really.
"Odd, no?" Raine's soft voice intruded, a no-doubt unmeant proof of Everan's thoughts. As was common with Raine, they didn't say anything more, leaving it to him to make up the rest of the conversation.
"That they'd leave so suddenly?" It couldn't really be anything else. The creche-group that his own had shared a momentous broadcast link with had been polite, insightful and kind. But they'd also left with unseemly haste, falling back on more formal language in an attempt to blunt any offence. It was an odd way to go about it, but in a civilisation as massive as theirs, well, it took all sorts.
Raine's nanoshell flicked in agreement, but there was a tilt to it, something outside the norm. Everan flickered a sigh back, trying to coax them into explaining. All he got in reply were the shapes of an enigmatic stare.
"Yes, it's odd Raine. They never made any promises, or exchanges of contacts, but I know Krea would've liked to speak more with them."
"Dreamers dream together," Raine nodded, and Everan fought to restrain a sudden surge of laughter.
"Does that make all of us dreamers, then?" he asked. His creche-sib pouted elegantly at him. "I will have to tell Krea when she and Niden rejoin us."
The pout transitioned to a glare, and this time he did laugh. It was a rare enough sound among pilgrims at any Sorrow, but their little ship hadn't lacked it so far. Why start now?
Their transport was a tiny thing, especially compared to the vast liners and pilgrim ships that ran the jump routes between the Sorrows and Shiplord core worlds. Niden said it had probably once been a mail courier, before developments to the interstellar communications network made them obsolete. The building-sized brick of memory storage had been ripped out and replaced with comfortable, if cramped, living quarters for a small creche-group or family.
Raine had dubbed the space intimate, a point of high praise. Aki-lai might be a minnow of a ship, but it was also theirs, which meant freedom. In this case, however, it also meant something else: unrestricted access to a sensor package.
"Will we search?" Raine asked, innocently curious, yet there was a definite tension beneath.
"I think that depends on what Niden and Krea find," Everan replied soothingly. The entire creche knew that Raine could sometimes struggle with change, especially if it wasn't their change. It was important to be kind with that. "But it'll be a decision for all of us."
His creche-sib seemed to consider that, then sunk down to rest against him. They didn't extend to merge, but that was the norm. Just sitting with him told him what they were feeling. Anything more would have to wait.
Thalim found them like that some time later, noting without judgement the way Krea and Niden had fallen into direct link again.
"How long have they been?" The fifth member of your creche-group asked. You consulted the shared clock, trying not to frown as you realised how long it had actually been. You could feel the standby-sleep of Raine next to you, and the clock was showing several hours. You were about to get up, have the two opposites take a break, when they preempted you.
The links between the two rippled and then flowed back, the two groaning faintly as the strain of it hit them. Yet there was an undeniable satisfaction to Krea's movements, one that made you extend a gentle ping to Raine, drawing them back into the space.
"What did you find?" Thalim asked.
"The start of a path." Krea said, excited. "I don't think anyone else would understand it, not without us telling people about our chat with their creche-group."
They still hadn't done that. Niden supported doing so, Krea wanted to try searching herself. Everan and the rest? They weren't sure yet.
Everan sighed. This really would have been simpler if they'd found nothing. Now they had a choice to make.
"So, do we follow it?"
[] Yes
[] No
