Tsaimath
patreon
DLM - Bk 5, Ch 1
🕑 Added 2020-07-05 22:01:31 +0000 UTC
A dim, red light illuminated the bare concrete around me. It was coming from an array of screens, set above and around my desk, allowing me to observe, without danger. It had taken me a few days to get everything as I wanted it to, even if my part of Technica’s underground domain had, as she put it, all the aesthetics of a war-time bunker, crossed with the lair of a mad scientist. She had, on more than one occasion, joked that there was some truth to it.
Part of me wanted to reject her assessment but there was a kernel of truth to it, maybe one bigger than I was admitting, even to myself. After all, how big a claim to sanity had a person who not only created an Artificial Intelligence, called it, unironically, most of the time, her daughter and finally incorporated it into her own body? Granted, the last step had not been fully voluntarily but still, I had taken it and there was no regret within me, even ignoring the circumstances. I enjoyed having Galatea joined to my mind, allowing me to connect to her directly and through her to virtually every computer I wanted. There were databases we could not crack but that was mostly a question of physical access.
The scientist part, on the other hand, I did not even try to reject. I enjoyed the eternal struggle, to form a hypothesis using observed phenomena, create experiments to falsify it, study the results and, if everything went well, apply the hypothesis to a real-world problem, creating something new. Something that had not been possible before.
The process itself was both incredibly simple and difficult, mostly because I generally decided against sharing my ideas and findings with other scientists all over the world, due to the nature of my research. My biggest obsession, the question that was percolating in the back of my mind, was what were Powers. The how, maybe even the why or who.
The progress on any of those questions was a little paltry, thus the experiment I was running now, essentially an attempt to build a particular toy, to see if I could do it already.
“That looks interesting. You are trying to make a Lightsa…” a familiar voice asked from behind me, at least until I interrupted Technica, with a harsh shushing noise.
“Do not say it, do not say the word. It is a beam-sword, do not say the other word, you never know where a big-eared mouse might lurk, ready to pounce.” I told her, over-acting quite a bit, looking around as if I was searching for hiding rodents. Not there could be any, not with the rather extreme security-measures I had in place around the space I had claimed and expanded, building downwards, into the rocks of Accord Island. It was quite impressive what a small army of robots could accomplish over the course of a couple of month, especially if they were constantly monitored by both, an artificial and a biological intelligence.
“So, you are trying to make a Beam-Sword?” Technica asked, with a smile on her face. Before I could answer, the next stage of the experiment automatically started, testing the plasma-blade against a length of metal-tubing. The whole test was set up automatically and behind thick walls of concrete, steel and rock, with a couple of cameras and measuring-gear to observe and transmit the observations to the screens in front of me. On one of those screens, I watched as a robotic arm moved the length of tubing downwards, into the waiting beam of the sword, only to see a brief flash and hear a muted rumble.
“Well, that did not work.” I muttered, looking at my screens, some of them blank, the others showing devastation and quite a bit destroyed gear.
“I think, if you don’t want to use it as a beam-sword, you can always market it as a grenade, don’t you think?” Technica asked, her voice amused.
“Certainly, if I wanted to use that amount of resources on a literal throw-away weapon, not to mention the confidential parts involved. No, that is simply not feasible, but thank you for the idea, Mother.” I said, making myself use the M-word, without sounding sarcastic or bitter, at least over that word. It was a project I had been my therapist, it had taken me months to get to the point that I sounded sincere when using it and calling Technica the M--word, without being bitter about it, had been my Mother’s Day gift to her.
“Anyway, why are you down here?” I asked, fully focusing on her, even as I tasked a few robots with cleaning up the mess in the containment-room. And it was big mess, explosive release of high-energy plasma that had been under considerable pressure tended to cause those.
“Mordred is back and asked for you. Something about some sort of focus he wanted to have made and engraved?” she answered, a single eyebrow questioningly raised.
“Ah, good. Yes, I agreed to trade some labour, apparently he needs some precisely carved engravings, for his ‘magic’.” I explained, not hiding my scorn.
“Still banging that drum, I see.” she grinned, knowing fully well that, since shortly after the beginning of the year, I had been in correspondence with Mordred, discussing the class of power designated as ‘magical’, as I tried to glean a little more understanding about the processes and logic involved. He had visited a few times and our discussions had been spirited, to say the least, as he was of the opinion that Powers, particularly magic, were simply supernatural and thus could not be explained with natural law. I disagreed, vehemently at times, mostly due to a vastly different idea what natural laws were.
To me, there simply was no supernatural, only natural processes that had yet to be understood. Just like a few thousand years ago lightning had been the power of the Gods, cast down to smite the world, or some nonsense like that, we now understood that there was no deity involved, only a difference in electrostatic charge das was bridged by an electric arc. Similarly, I believed that there were laws governing Powers, even ‘magic’, laws we simply had yet to describe.
Working with Mordred was another project, this one proposed by both Sophia, my Girlfriend, Galatea, my artificial intelligence daughter, and my therapist, in an effort to reduce the behaviour I had conditioned into myself, an innately hostile and distrustful attitude towards males. It was something I had a bit of problem with, mostly because I could not observe myself, not directly. Thanks to Galatea, who lived in my head and was able to act as a third party I had improved but there were still misandrist tendencies within myself that I wanted to get rid of. And voluntarily working with another Powered, especially the apprentice of another councillor, on a project that interested me was seen as a step into the right direction.
Turning, I gestured for Technica to lead the way, back to the elevator taking us into the more public parts of her lair, where people other than the two of us had access. Mordred would be waiting there and I could get the strange silver-rod I had made for him on the way. I was quite interested in the items he had promised in return, or rather the labour he had promised, something that I would have to get for him as well. In return for the precisely carved silver-focus, a meter long rod, with a few thousand tiny symbols carved into it, with tight tolerances in position and form, he had promised to enchant warding cubes, something that would keep magical and psionic snooping out of an enclosed area. The cubes had been similarly crafted by me, at least the base, but without whatever he did with them, they were merely decorative blocks of metal, without any special significance.
It irked me, the need to rely on other people for personal security, but unless I was able to unravel the mysterious laws governing Powers and Powered I was unable to change that need. Even Technica, with all her experience and knowledge, had to rely on the other councillors for defenses against those powers, an exchange quite similar to the one I was making with Mordred. He could perform a service I could not perform, I could create objects he could not create. But I did not like it and in this case, it had nothing to do with Mordred being male.
Stepping out of the elevator, following after Technica, I looked into the lounge, seeing Anath, Sophia’s alter ego, waiting next to Mordred.
“Good Evening, Metis.” Mordred greeted, while Anath stepped over, taking my hand and giving a soft squeeze. It was the closest we came to public displays of affection while in costume, even if both of us had the minimalist-version of our costumes on, black, hooded bodysuits with silver masks.
“Good Evening, Mordred. Come, I’ll show you your focus.” I offered, squeezing Anath’s hand back, before gesturing for him to follow me, after giving Technica a short nod.
“Certainly, lead the way.” he nodded, just as I pushed the part of me that rebelled against letting a potential threat walk behind me away, deeper into my psyche. Not that it really mattered where he was walking, not with a few cameras allowing me to keep watch in every direction. But it was the gesture that counted.
