21. Vesper
VESPER
I don’t know why I took the feathers. I certainly don’t want to remember the horrible death of the poor thing.
The only reason I can come up with for my compulsive need to pick them up is because they could be useful for something later.
My inventory stays relatively full. Despite Locke bitching about my constant looting where I pick up items, drop others, and repeat the process over and over again, Cipher has not once chastised me for hoarding.
Which means it can’t be a bad thing to do.
So, what if I have to constantly figure out what’s more important between my items?
So, what if I had to drop one of my stacks of rocks to fit the feathers in my inventory.
I don’t need seven stacks of rocks. Six is probably plenty enough.
When the sun descends in the sky and the stars pepper the night again, we decide to find a spot to settle down for the night.
So far, the Leaf Cutter Empire hasn’t been dangerous.
We’ve come across normal creatures, including more of the macaws, and a variety of generally non-terrifying things like colorful frogs and reptiles that move quickly away from us when we appear.
It doesn’t put me at ease that we haven’t encountered anything of note in these first few hours within the Leaf Cutter Empire.
If anything, I’m more nervous, like this zone is lulling us into a false sense of complacency.
I remain alert at every sound, and despite the strain on my eyes, I keep my hyena mask firmly in place.
I take the first watch so Locke can get the first night of sleep.
I don’t bother asking him if he’s okay anymore.
He just lies despite the bright purple bruising beneath his black ink tattoos on his throat.
He thinks I can’t see it, though I suppose he can’t see it either without a mirror.
I’m worried about the heavy way he walks, as if his ankle might have been twisted, but any time I try to fuss over him or force him to take a break, he waves away my concern.
I would have done the same.
In Dross, weakness is a death sentence. Have a limp in Dross and, at the very least, a bunch of kids will start following you around in case you croak.
Worst case, someone speeds up the process.
It’s an ingrained trait of all those who grew up fighting for survival, and it means that he won’t ever stop here unless he physically can’t go on.
And even then, he’d have to be bleeding out for that to be possible.
Within minutes, Locke is snoring peacefully beside the small fire we’d built.
His arms are wrapped around himself protectively, his legs pulled up in the fetal position.
Like this, he looks scared. It makes me want to protect him from whatever monsters haunt his dreams. I imagine it’s one particular monster, but there could always be more.
He’d be offended if I ever told him that though, that I could protect him.
He’d probably say something silly like, “I don’t need protection.
” He and Dox are a lot alike in that aspect.
She fights my care, too, but we’ve come to a mutual understanding that we’ll have each other’s backs no matter what.
That means we can’t bitch about it when one of us is vulnerable.
The only food we have is the meat chunk from the Arapaima.
We hadn’t been able to eat in the Greenhouse Tavern thanks to Stryker, so this all we have.
Locke isn’t a fan, but I don’t mind the taste of the fish.
It’s good, better than a fucking Harrow Bar, so I can’t complain.
I pull the meat from my inventory, surprised that it hasn’t gone bad.
“Food within your inventory will decay at a slower rate than it would if outside of the inventory, but it is not infinite. Your food with go bad, and the fish you currently cook will only remain edible for another day or so within your inventory.”
Sighing, I start slicing the meat into thin strips with the tiny pocketknife I carry.
The meat is tough and hard to cut, but eventually, I get lots of thin strips prepared.
Then I carefully lay them out on a piece of wood that I set on the fire.
Locke doesn’t stir as I cook it, so I reason I’ll give it to him once he wakes up for his shift to watch.
I hum in pleasure as I take the first bite, enjoying having something to eat at all.
My stomach gives a rumble of happiness as I fill it with as much fish as possible.
My stomach starts to cramp by the time I’m done.
Only then do I lean back and look up, peering at the stars I can see through the tree canopies.
My mind wanders back to Stryker as I stare at the sky.
He’s going to be a big problem. I’d felt it while we were in the Greenhouse Tavern.
While there’s something about the player that intrigues me, I know it’s best to let that intrigue die.
Whatever Stryker’s Glitch is, he’s clearly a master of it.
Maybe he’s a Tier Three, or a Tier Four.
Either way, that makes him a threat to our Tier One status.
Tangling with Stryker would be a death sentence, and I’m smart enough to know that, even if I’m not smart enough to not be attracted to the asshole in the first place.
Dox did always say I was shit at picking men.
After my run-in with Orion and that unbelievably bad decision to sleep with him, I have to agree with her.
Despite my acknowledgement, I can’t help but be attracted to dangerous men.
A girl likes to have her enemies killed and her back blown out every now and then. Even Dox can admit that.
My eyes trace the few stars I can see through the foliage above me.
The night is so beautiful here. The stars are bright and twinkling.
The sounds of the forest are far more relaxing than the pained mechanical whir of Dross.
Dox is going to like it here. She’s going to point to the sky and say, “See! It was worth it!”
“You think of her often,” Cipher comments as my thoughts latch onto my best friend again.
“I miss her,” I say truthfully. “I shouldn’t even be here without her.”
He hums and the sound washes over me. “If she is as strong as you think she is, I have no doubt she will find her way to you.”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t doubt it either. I just wish it wouldn’t take as long.” I tilt my head back and look up at the stars. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to make the Harrow Gates open faster, would you?”
He chuckles. “There are a lot of things I am capable of, Vespera, but speeding up the Cradle rings is not one of them.”
I frown. “That’s what it takes to open the gates?”
He hesitates. “Harrow Gates open when two planetary rings intersect in their rotation. As long as the rings are aligned, the Harrow Gates will remain open.”
“Ah,” I muse. “Which is why the thrusters on Dross effect it.”
“Precisely,” he says proudly. “I am pleased to find your reasoning skills higher than average.”
I snort. “That’s not saying much. The average person in Dross is barely capable of anything besides brutality and survival.”
“Yes,” he comments. “If it would reassure you, I cannot make the Cradle rings spin faster, but I can tell you how long until it will open.”
My eyes widen. “You know? You don’t rely on Astronomers?”
Cipher laughs. “I am the ultimate power here, Vespera. Of course, I know when the Harrow Gates will open. It is not a secret held tightly here.” He pauses. “Would you like to know?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “Tell me.”
“Very well.” He pauses again. “The next Harrow Gates will open in two weeks, six days, twelve hours, and fifty-one seconds. There could be a few discrepancies due to the thrusters, as you stated. I cannot see into Dross, so I will adjust my scale, should it change.”
“Almost three weeks,” I say, sighing. “That’s a long time to survive until she can show up.”
“Yes, but at least you will be stronger when she arrives,” Cipher points out. “Perhaps, you will be able to protect your friend.”
“That . . . is a very good point,” I muse. “Look at you, Cipher. Being all reassuring and stuff.”
“I am simply stating facts that matter to you,” he responds.
“Well, I appreciate it regardless,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
The stars twinkle above me, making the sky a beautiful carpet of sparks.
I could look at this all night, would almost consider it if I didn’t need to sleep.
I feed the fire some more in the hopes it keeps whatever creatures in the dark from venturing closer.
Nothing appears in the shadows, but I don’t trust that nothing is there.
The feeling of eyes on me is everywhere, and when I pull my hyena mask on, I can sense life forms all around us, but they keep their distance. For now.
“What exactly is the Harrow?” I ask Cipher a few minutes later when I realize I don’t actually know. “Is it a different ring?”
“No,” Cipher says. “It is not a ring within the Cradle.”
“Then what is it?”
“Think of it like a parallel world, an in between that can only be reached and exited under specific requirements.”
“A different world,” I muse. “Like Earth?”
He hesitates. “Earth was a different world. It does not exist any longer, but even if it did, The Harrow would not be like Earth.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him.
“I cannot explain further in a way that would make sense with your limited knowledge.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re calling me stupid.”
“On the contrary, I do not think you are unintelligent. You are simply uneducated on this particular topic in a fashion that does not allow a deep analysis.” He hesitates.
“I could teach you, and I have no doubt you would pick up the language quickly, but physics, science, and engineering are not simple topics. It would take me years of teaching to reach a level adequate enough for you to understand every nuanced detail of this world.”
“Oh,” I say, the furrow between my brows relaxing. “Well, in that case . . .”
We fall into silence for a while, me enjoying the feeling of his consciousness with mine.
It’s almost like he’s sitting beside me if I close my eyes, the way I’m attuned to him making it tempting to reach out and find flesh where I know there will be none.
I hadn’t planned to feel as connected to Cipher as I do, but it’s difficult when he’s literally in my head, speaking to me like this.
It would be impossible not to form some sort of relationship.
I’m not even sure if I can call it friendship.
“How old are you, Cipher?” I ask, curious. The Harrow, as far as I know, is old enough to have legends and religions formed around it. How long has Cipher been a part of it?
“Old,” he admits.
“Older than The Harrow?”
His answer is slow, a whisper, “Yes.”
“Older than The Cradle?” I ask. The Cradle is what the rings are called together, Dross and Luxe.
There are plenty of theories on why it’s called that, but the general consensus is that The Cradle was meant to be the Cradle of mankind.
Others think they were created by some all-powerful God.
I’ve even heard that the Cradle is just a temporary resting spot before extinction.
Now that I’ve been inside The Harrow, and spoken to Cipher, I’m starting to lean toward the first option.
Cipher hesitates longer, as if weighing whether he should speak out loud or not. Finally, he answers, and they are words that I’m not prepared for.
“I built the Cradle,” he finally admits.
I sit up abruptly. “What? How long ago was it built? Did you built it yourself or did you have help? Was someone controlling you?” My mouth falls open. “Are you a god?”
“I am advanced intelligence, Vespera,” he interrupts. “I am no god.”
“And yet you built The Cradle and control The Harrow,” I point out. “That seems like the very actions of a god.”
“That is only because your feeble human mind cannot fathom what you do not understand. I am no god. I am a machine, but I am, perhaps, as close to a god as you will ever meet, by definition.”
“A machine with empathy,” I point out. “And feelings. And thoughts. And opinions. Where is the line between machine and man? How does any of that not make you a god?”
“I . . . do not know,” he admits. “But I do know that all things can be programmed if done so correctly. Whether it be man, machine, or God.”
“And despite that power, you don’t have a body?” I ask again.
“I do not,” he murmurs.
“But you can?”
A long pause. “Perhaps.”
I hum at his admission, that this system could have a body in the right conditions.
It wouldn’t be wise to think of him as human, or to think of him as if we truly are friends.
Cipher has his own motives, and I don’t know if he’s really here to help me or not.
He can hear all my thoughts. It would be so easy for him to betray me if he wanted.
And yet I find myself settling in to the admission of attachment as Locke sits up later to take his shift and the fish I’d cooked. I find myself thinking of the machine that speaks to me with sensuality, tension, and pride. Even if he’s an asshole sometimes. I’m glad he’s with me.
“Good rest, Cipher,” I whisper where Locke can’t hear.
“Good night, Vespera,” he replies, and it’s like a warm blanket is draped over me.
Which is silly. Because it’s not possible for that to be happening.
But I settle into the warmth anyway.