Mike Allen - Clockwork Phoenix

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

Vegar turned back toward the sand sculpture and sat down. “Nobody deserves cruelty, not even someone like you.”

Akhila sat beside him. “So I’m a person, then?”

“I think so. I don’t want to think so, but I do.”

“That will carry me a long way.”

Vegar examined her body. Her breasts were round and dark, there were thatches of fine hair in her armpits and her skin looked real on close inspection. He reached out a hesitant hand and touched her arm. It was warm. “How long has it been since you were Organic?”

“Bharati was never my mother, and Dhiren was never my father. They were deep sea miners who sold the right to copy their little girl’s mind. It doesn’t hurt to have your mind copied; you just go to sleep, and they wire you up and take an imprint. Only their Akhila went home with them, and I stayed in the machine.”

Horrific, he thought. She must have been terrified. Then he remembered something she had told him. “Did your sister get her medicine?”

Akhila nodded. “For the rest of her life. Or at least that’s what my parents were promised. It was a long time ago.”

Vegar gathered his robe around his body and buried his hands in it for warmth while Akhila brought the tips of her fingers together. Sparks flew between them, and a fine dust began to accumulate on her legs. He watched her for a while. There was a faint smell of hot metal, and he had the sudden urge to hold his hands up to hers the way he had held them up to the fire shrine. After a moment he asked, “What are you doing?”

“My nanoparticles are self-policing. When some of them malfunction, I use others to destroy them.” The flame faltered and died. “Vegar, I didn’t just decide to come here. I was sent, like you said, to blight the hospital and surrounding community.”

He stiffened. “But you haven’t.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“I recently found my granddaughter and made a carrier of her before I realized who she was. Gorgeous girl, about five years old. Her father must have been fair-skinned because her hair was blond, and her eyes were green, but her skin was like… was like her mother’s. Of course, she wasn’t my granddaughter, but she might have been.” Akhila grew still, and her body began to shine blue in the darkness. “So you see, there isn’t anything you or anyone else could do to me that I don’t deserve, and I had to land somewhere.”

They sat together in silence for a while. Akhila closed her eyes and tilted her head while the barren branches above her creaked in the breeze. Vegar watched his sand sculpture soften.

“Are you familiar with the Tao?” he asked a few moments later.

“I know the data.”

“Humph.” Vegar’s lips lifted in a half-smile. “This isn’t a good representation of it.” He pointed at the sculpture. “The one on my back is better. Here, I’ll show you.” He shrugged off his robe and unbuttoned his shirt but sucked in a breath as he tried to pull it from his shoulders.

“Let me help you.” She lifted his collar and moved his hair. His torso was still swathed in bandages, but the Yin and Yang was tattooed above them. Akhila leaned down to look.

“Do you see the two halves?”

“Yes.”

“The dark half represents the receptive part of nature and the bright half the aggressive part. The opposing spots in each are the seeds of one in the other, the hope for integration.”

She raised her head. “You think I can heal.”

“I don’t know. Your path is a hard one. But I do know there’s a place beyond duality where the Tao is eternal, a place we all come from, a place we all return to.”

“And what happens when we return?” Her hand rested on his bare shoulder.

“We come to understand why we had two halves to begin with. Help me with my shirt again, would you?”

Akhila slipped the garment over his arms and helped him with his robe.

“It would be better if nobody else saw you out here.” He stood and prepared to leave.

“I know. I won’t be much longer. I just want to take in a little more light before it gets too dark.”

“All right, then. Good night, Akhila.”

“Good night, Vegar,” he heard her say as he walked toward the monastery kitchen, where a cup of evening tea and other human comforts could be found.

Sigurd was waiting in Vegar’s room when he returned there.

“Where have you been?”

“In meditation.”

“Ah.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Father?”

The older man opened his mouth to speak, fell silent, and then opened his mouth again. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m better than I was.”

“Good.”

“Are you all right?” Vegar sat on the bed and put his elbows on his knees.

Sigurd shifted in his seat. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Well, I believe our ancestors needed the idea of fate, and I think our thoughts and behaviors create ripple effects we often don’t understand, but no, not really, not in the way I think you mean it. Why do you ask?”

“I… do you know how I came to be a priest?”

Vegar smiled. “I’m afraid that was before my time.”

Sigurd gripped the chair seat between his legs, shifted again, and looked out of the window. “This war with the Augments has been going on a long while.”

“Did you lose someone, Father?”

The knuckles on Sigurd’s hand whitened. “I’ve tried to be a good priest.”

“And you’ve succeeded.”

Sigurd turned his head and stared at the floor. “Some wounds never heal.”

“Priests don’t have to be perfect; they have to be present. You taught me that.”

“You’re a good man, son.” Sigurd rose from the chair. “Remember I said so.” He left the room and closed the door behind him before Vegar could formulate a reply.

Akhila was still sitting beside the sand sculpture when Sigurd finally found her. She rose and turned to face him in a single, fluid motion. “Good evening.”

“How did you get out?” He raised his weapon and aimed at her chest.

“You’ve never imprisoned a nanobody before, have you? You’re a long way from the war, here.”

“Not long enough.” His hands shook, and the lines of his face were hard.

“I see. Well, you don’t need your weapon, Father. I’m here of my own free will.”

“Stop calling me Father.”

“Of course, Sigurd.”

“You look just like a woman.” He took two steps toward her.

“I am a….”

“Shut up.” He took two more. “You shouldn’t look like a woman. You shouldn’t look like anything you’ve killed. It’s obscene.” His eyes filled with tears, and he ground his teeth together. “Obscene.”

“You went to the root cellar to kill me.” Akhila looked from the weapon to his face, so red and full of rage. This is it, she thought, and waited for the blast.

“There is no sanctuary for you, no redemption, no peace.” He lowered his weapon and closed the space between them. His free hand grazed the skin of her belly and then gripped a breast. “No.”

“What are you doing?” She put her hand on his coat and pushed a little, but he lunged forward instead, closing the space between them. Then he buried his nose in her neck and his hand traveled upward, tightening around her throat.

“You don’t smell like a woman.”

“You don’t want to do this, Sigurd. I don’t want you to have to live with this. Please, shoot me or go back inside.”

“Are you a woman?”

Akhila shuddered. “Yes, I am.”

“Didn’t you invite me to do whatever I thought was just to avenge my loss?”

“Yes, I did.”