4. COLDIS
4
COLDIS
OpenLog/entry (review mode)
Guardian Vin has rejoined his team. He is quiet and can hardly be coaxed into words or telling me what he wants.
He brought weapons back from the clinic. That’s unusual, but not a direct violation of the rules that govern the Grounds, and even if, I am a butler bot. I owe those I serve my silence.
I cannot tell if they like the hospitality agents or not.
OpenLog/entry (review mode)
Conduit Coldis confided in me. He told me the secret to a team as strong as his.
Family. They must be family.
I’m thinking of how bots can be a family to become that strong. We already talk on a regular basis to make sure our Guardians and Conduits have everything they want and need. Perhaps the Op-AI is part of my family and everyone’s family? Or all of Ferrea’s bots are a family? But no, we have little contact to those AIs outside the Grounds.
I will think on this more.
(From Butler Bot 35’s personal log.)
~Coldis
Coldis jerked awake. It was dark. Everything hurt.
“Shh.”
The house. The house in the forest. Alesa attacked us, and Karmine got burned. And all of it is my fault.
“Karmine?” he asked, worry dissolving the burning pain in his spine and head. There was something on his head. A bandage? He had no memory of when that had happened.
No one answered, and in the confusing silence, Coldis realized where he really was, a room in a clinic with someone holding his hand. Through all of that, the memories came back, the ground splitting beneath his feet, and then—
“Light, thirty percent.”
As the illumination grew, Coldis saw the green eyes first, then the hair, red but looking brown in this dull room. Hyran. Coldis looked at his hand, the one that had the IV in it. Hyran held it cradled in both of his.
“You started moving, and I didn’t want you to pull the needle out,” the Guardian explained. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to get you to buffer or channel. It’s just that you need that medication.”
He has very long hair. Odd. It has to be annoying for a kinetomancer. Probably gets in the way when he runs.
“You imprinted on me.”
Hyran was very still for a long moment before nodding. “You were falling. I couldn’t let you fall.”
“Do I remember correctly that you apologized?”
“I did.”
“Guardians don’t normally do that when they imprint.”
Hyran looked away, looked out the window. Last Col remembered, it had been daytime. Early evening. Now, only the faint glow of the city was shimmering through the semi-opaque setting of the glass.
“We should talk. As soon as possible. You are still recovering, of course.” Hyran stood and walked to the table. Col remembered the bags Hyran had put there, but it looked like he’d unpacked at some point. “I brought you a selection of toiletries. Also sweet nut candies and sorono hummus with three-color crackers with a small selection of fruit. Oh, and sweet Kiki Tea.”
Col’s stomach rumbled as if on cue. It was embarrassing, but Col was too desperate to brush his teeth, too desperate for food to really care. And yet.
“Kiki Tea? The last time I had that I was in Year Nine.”
Hyran shrugged. “The white flower flavor isn’t too bad. I can get you—I can have someone get you something else.”
Col sighed. “I want a shower and to brush my teeth, and then I want the sorono, all of it. By the way, why did you get sorono hummus with crackers?”
Hyran picked out some of the toiletries. “I asked the butler bot, the one in your suite in the Champions’ Tower. It mentioned this had been your late-night snack, and I figured you might want it. Last time I was concussed, I was craving food after the hyperdecarin. Do you need help?”
“Help showering?” Col sat up and let his legs dangle off the bed while black spots danced across his retinas like Taros after too many drinks. “I don’t think so, Guardian.”
Hyran bristled. Col felt almost bad.
“I understand. I can call a nurse bot if you don’t want me.”
The Guardian’s voice was flat, and for that, Col did feel bad. He knew, rationally, that he should. He also knew that Hyran hadn’t chosen this either.
So many things I didn’t choose. To be here, for one.
“I will be fine, Hyran. It’s just a shower.”
Col slid off the bed. His feet hitting the ground sent a jolt of pain through him, and he winced.
Hyran was there immediately, an arm around Col’s middle.
“What? I can get a physician. Come on, lie back down.”
Col shook his head. “No. It’s just my feet.”
He looked at them. So did Hyran. Col was wearing warm clinic socks, the kind with non-slip soles.
“Did you hurt anything down there?”
Col smirked. “I don’t think I did. But seeing myself dressed in those socks gave me a shock. You stopped me from falling to my death, but you didn’t stop them from putting these on me?”
If it had been Taros, Karmine, or Senlas, they would have laughed. Vin would have told Col not to be stupid and would have proceeded to get in the shower with him. Hyran was not them, and he looked confused.
“I’ll get the physician to see if you’ve had enough of your concussion meds. Please lie back down.”
“The fuck you will.”
“Excuse me?”
Col grabbed the rolling IV holder thing and pulled it toward him. He’d lean on that if things got too bad. “I said the fuck you will. In Argentea, that means no. Give me that soap.”
“But you’re—”
“Filthy, and I don’t like it.” With the pretense of energy he didn’t have, Col made his way to the bathroom. Hyran stuck to his side. He wanted to turn his head toward the Guardian, but he was hurting too much, so he spoke without looking at Hyran. “Where’s my team?”
“One of them’s outside. Taros. The others are back at the Champions’ Tower. Getting rest, I assume. Sleeping. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Yes, of course.” How long was I even out for? I hate being medicated.
Without another word, Col put a hand on Hyran’s firm chest and stepped across the threshold to the bathroom alone before sliding the bathroom door closed behind himself. Once there, he was exhausted. He wanted to sleep, he wanted everything to stop hurting. He wanted to be home. The nondescript bathroom with the highly dirt resistant servi-floor in the dullest shade of white imaginable felt as far from home as Col had ever been. He hated it.
Pull yourself together. One step at a time.
He started by brushing his teeth, going through the routine twice. That was a huge improvement. The shower wasn’t as easy a prize to be had, given he still had the IV in his arm and couldn’t take the unflattering clinic shirt off.
“Can’t wash my hair with this bandage either. Fuck me.”
Really, it wasn’t all that bad, not a reason for desperation at all, but Col found himself sitting on the shower stool they used for people who couldn’t stand and just crying.
It wasn’t the pain, and it wasn’t the battle at Starlit Stage. It wasn’t really even that he had lost Senlas, sort of, because he was happy for Senlas and Orrey both. He definitely wasn’t crying for Karmine, for Karmine’s damaged eyesight, or for all the pain the Guardian had tolerated and suffered through. The tears weren’t for the mother whose face he didn’t remember, but whose voice he had missed, ever since they had left Thistletown. I wish I could have hugged her. I wish she’d been there. I’m so selfish.
The sobs soon made his chest heave and came out in ugly squawks. It hurt, crying like that. It was unnecessary and embarrassing, and Col wanted it to stop.
“Coldis?” Hyran knocked. “What’s the matter?”
“Fine,” Col said, the word half smothered by the hand he kept over his mouth.
There was a thump at the door as if Hyran had slapped his palm against it. “I’m sorry,” Col heard, and then the door slid open.
The moment Hyran laid eyes on him, the Guardian turned into the caricature of a frightened vookas lizard, eyes wide, mouth open and teeth showing.
“Are you—what’s wrong?”
Hyran came right over, kneeled in the shower area, and carefully felt all over Col, starting at his be-socked feet as if Col had been lying about having been hurt there.
“Fine,” Col said again.
“I can tell you’re not. I just don’t know what to do to make it better. I don’t fucking know how to do anything. This is my fault. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry.”
“Keep saying that.”
Hyran locked eyes with Col. “I mean it.” He once more took Col’s hand, the one that had the needle in it. “I’m going to do what’s right for you, Coldis. I swear that I will.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Should I fetch Guardian Mirol for you?”
Col was confused enough by the offer that the heaving sobs eased for a moment.
“What would I want with Karmine? You said it was the middle of the night. He should be sleeping. He’s still in recovery.”
“You said his name. When you woke. If you want him here—fuck. If you want him here, you can have him here. I’ll just—you can have him.”
Col couldn’t parse the words, didn’t understand. His mind was too slow, too caught on everything that had happened, and on top of all that, too concussed.
Hyran’s eyes narrowed. Then, he sighed, dropping his head as if Col had slapped him. “I see. I will go and find him for you.”
He stood, letting go of Col’s hand, which jolted loose the realization that Hyran had freshly imprinted and was about to get another Guardian into a room in which his Conduit sat crying.
“Wait.” Hyran stopped. “It’s just that Karmine was hurt, and I didn’t know where I was. I thought we were back in that house. You know, where we spent that first night outside the walls after Alesa attacked us.”
“House?”
Col bit his tongue. “It was a dream. Of the time I spent outside the walls. I apologize, Guardian.”
The tight-lipped frown was back on Hyran’s face. This time, it made Col angry. What do you have to frown about? Did you get burned?
“Do you love him? Were you scared of losing him?” Hyran asked, his tone about as far away from compassion as Col was from the comfort of his own home back in Argentea.
The anger bloomed easily on the rawness left behind by his crying fit, and Col struggled to his feet, not that he could ever hope to tower over Hyran without a small ladder.
“Do I love him? Of course I love him. He’s my brother, you insensitive Hound-fucker, and he very nearly died out there.” Col’s throat stung, a corrosion that let the anger go like overload through a Conduit’s touch. “He very nearly died out there, and I watched over him, not knowing what or who he’d be even if he healed.”
The tears bent Col almost double. Hyran’s arms came around him, pressing Col to the Guardian’s chest.
“He didn’t die. He’s fine.”
“He’s not fucking fine. He’ll be scarred forever, and his right eye is at only about eighty percent of the left!”
“He survived.” Hyran paused. “What would he think if he saw you right now?”
Col craned his head to look up at the Guardian. “Did you seriously just recite one of the recommended questions from the protectors’ Victim Interaction Manual to me?”
“I—you know that? I…just wasn’t sure what else to say. This is new to me, Coldis. All I know is that I don’t want you hurting, and if having him here can make you stop hurting, then—”
“Oh, don’t be such a Hound-fucking idiot. I just wanted to shower and couldn’t get the damn shirt off.” He lifted his arm to demonstrate.
“You need to finish the medication, Coldis. That’s urgent care. The needle has to stay in, but we can peel the shirt back. I can hold it up for you. You just have to be careful.”
He sounds like Vin, Col thought, then, I want Vin for this. He knew he couldn’t have Vin, of course. Newly imprinted Guardians wouldn’t tolerate another Guardian helping their Conduit shower. Col knew that rationally, knew that it was a streak of luck Hyran hadn’t yet gotten into a physical altercation with his team in the first place. Even more curious then that he should offer to get Karmine for me.
“Fine. You can help.”
“Just stand up by yourself,” Hyran said.
Col was about to complain that he had been doing that and needed no help with it when Hyran released him and moved, his body blurring where his kinetomancer speed worked.
He unbuttoned Col’s shirt, then slowed to ease it off him. Col let him, mostly because he was quick, because he didn’t try to draw it out.
“Do you need channeling?”
Col glanced at Hyran, whose hands had stopped moving now that Col’s shirt was out of the way, held above the IV holder by Hyran, the line going through the sleeve. The Guardian was staring at Col’s abdomen, at the waistband of the clinic pants.
“What?”
“Channeling. That thing Conduits are good for.”
Col sat back down on the stool and peeled the ugly socks off before doing the same with the pants. They were the same unflattering yellow they’d been given when they’d arrived here in Ferrea. I’ll have to avoid that shade for a while after all this is over.
“You are not just good for that, Coldis.”
“I assure you, Guardian, I am excellent at what I do. My teachers were always very impressed, and my team never had any complaints, except the usual.”
Why am I riling him by talking about my team? Has to be the medication. I know it’s not, but that’s what I’ll blame.
“Fuck them if they think you’re only for that. You’re not, you’re…”
Hyran swallowed thickly as Col set the shower to just above body temp and turned it on. He wanted to stick his head under it so bad, but getting the rest of himself clean would have to suffice for now.
“I am what?”
“You graduated with the highest cumulative score of your cohort and went into extra schooling where you completed a course load fit for two people. You’re interested in data and coding. You’re not just for channeling.”
Col turned and let the water run over his side and back, let it soak into his skin.
“How do you know…ah. The Argentean Op-AI sent you everything about me. Of course.”
Hyran stood just outside the reach of the water, holding up Col’s shirt and looking everywhere, just not at Col. Col felt very nearly offended. He was sure he wouldn’t have taken offense normally, could tell his reactions weren’t measured and his emotions a mess, all over the place. That didn’t help, and it didn’t change the small frustration Hyran’s ignorance caused.
“No.” Hyran said. “I mean, maybe it did. I haven’t checked. I thought you and your team were working with Alesa. I thought Alesa was working with someone from the outside, and so I put that together when I saw you with that Hound and the outsider, that day we first met. I didn’t know about Pinota at the time.”
Col snorted. “We’re not with Alesa. Alesa wanted to kill my team.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
Col reached for the shower gel, sugar cream scented, and squeezed some in his hand. The sweet smell immediately filled the room. He began the process of getting clean, mechanical, eager to get done rather than enjoying it. He stopped when his mind had caught up with Hyran’s words, his body half soaped up.
“Wait. Hold on. You were suspecting us? You were suspecting Alesa of working with outsiders?”
“I have my reasons.”
“The fuck you do. Tell me them.”
Hyran stared at Col. “Can you please finish with your shower first?”
Col wanted to torture Hyran much like he would have tortured Taros. The difference was, he knew how much he could torture any of his brothers—any but Orrey perhaps—but with Hyran, he had no idea. The Guardian might be good, or he might be good within certain limits.
I’ll learn that about him when I’m not hurting all over and when I’m back to thinking straight again.
Resigned, Col finished the shower fast as he could and took the towel Hyran offered him. Hyran watched as Col put his clothes back on, though he tried not to stare. That cost him, Col could tell that much, although with his drug-addled brain, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.