Chapter 42: The Weights Within
Beep. He paced back and forth inside the small space, glancing over his shoulder every few strides. The cot hadn't gotten smaller since he last entered. Her legs hadn't returned from wherever they went for a break; the thought of his legs becoming tired enough to detach was humorous, albeit morbid. He practiced with a smile, switching it on and off with poise.
Beep. Stretching his facial muscles that way felt impractical. Not unnatural, as it was what they grew to do. Plastering his lips wide, he stared at a shined reflection from one of the walls. Eighth Headman told him she could see when someone was faking their smile from the form of their eyes. The eyes were a window into how a person felt within, or something like that. His own lacked any particular distinction from Pa-5's, Ni-6's, or In-3's. They were eyes, all individual in minuscule, unnoticeable ways: a crooked cornea, an extra millimeter of space between the nose bridge, eyelids that didn't travel up as much. He adopted the smile, and let it fall. His eyes were like glass, showing nothing except what the world had already reflected upon them.
Or seeing this "window to within" was a skill he lacked. Did Ch-4 own such a weapon? Executing a sigh before it vocalized, he turned toward the cot. Pa-5 hadn't moved positions, hadn't woken, and hadn't changed in her circumstances. Still comatose, half the woman she once was, and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. One of the staff was thoughtful enough to arrange a few chairs--not stools--by the exterior. He lifted one over to her side and sunk back into it. It was bare metal, cold enough to feel through a skinsuit. Hard enough, too.
He crossed his legs parallel with the cot, and settled into a contemplative stare. Pa-5 was always a keen person, discerning when pairs of eyes were on her even as a child. A few seconds, and he snorted and broke off. No, it wouldn't be that easy. Outside of the children's tales the Ninth kept in their archives, life held far more complexity than that. Rules, rules that governed how something happened and how something couldn't.
"You weren't supposed to scare me like that." His lips began moving, and it was as if he found a disconnect of the muscles of his tongue and mouth. "Ni-6 is too good to admit it, but he panicked; more than me, if I'm not mistaken. We aren't supposed to lose ourselves over something so simple. One life. A single digit, one among hundreds of thousands. According to statistics, that's all you are."
He let a hand brush over her head. Was it a conjuration of his mind, or did her face tense around the nose? "And yet, I find I can't remove you from my thoughts. I had a meeting with the Sixth Headman before this; I don't know if you ever met the man in person, but you should have seen him sometime in the Light Institute. Once in a while, a course in exotic sciences is lucky enough to have him as a guest speaker, or even teacher for an entire trimester. He might have picked up the habit of droning like an endless electric from there. After, I couldn't remember for the life of me what we discussed, not even the pleasantries exchanged at the start."
"Goes to show humanity is still far from reaching an optimized, rational status. Or are Ni-6 and I the outliers? In-3 didn't seem torn up over things. Now that I'm thinking about it, he had eyes only for the Titan in his care. I hope the man never has children, though that's unlikely; I know that they would suffer growing up under someone like him."
He paused, waiting for the other end of the conversation to add in. He recognized the situation after a time and bit back a laugh. "Here I am. Here you are."
Three knocks on the doorframe. "Here I am, too. Can I come in?"
"I would prefer you chose not to." His tone was once cordial and open; with Ch-4's arrival, he forced himself to regress into the mind of a negotiator, of a serviceman. Of a cutthroat.
"Would you bar me entry?"
"No."
Footsteps in an arc behind him. Something scraped, lifted, and the footsteps resumed, heavier than before. He didn't wait long until Ch-4 entered his sight, carrying a second chair. She placed it on the other side of the cot and sat, reaching for Pa-5's closest hand.
"What are you doing?"
She paused. "Humanity comforts those of its injured with handholding and embraces. I'm hesitant to do the latter with her state."
"Why? You didn't know she existed until you met me."
"She is still a human and deserving of my sympathy." Her head lifted until they met eyes. Her hand traveled the rest of the way and intertwined with a larger, paler, limp second. "No matter who her affiliations lie with."
Challenged, he forced himself to grasp the other one. Their gazes remained locked, and Ch-4 seemed content to let things remain that way. "Coming to my office was already testing limits that have a precedent in place. Why are you here now?"
"I'm the headman of the Second. Do I need a reason for most of my activities?"
At her shrug, he bit back a scoff loud enough to act as a beacon to any Aud within the Gaiss Hollow at that moment. "When those activities involve the First, it does."
"In what way does this involve the First?"
"She is a conscript of the First. I am her guardian, and you know my position."
"This is no clandestine meet, and we are discussing no business of the Directory. Was our conversation in your office involving the First?"
"It was until you joined with us. Why did you come into my office, anyhow?"
"I was tired."
"I could see that. I found your signs of it. When was the last time your head touched a pillow?" Before her lips could open wide and full, his finger erected. "For a minimum of eight hours."
She thought deep, to the point her brow displayed a throbbing vein. "Two years ago?"
For once, she had the sensibility to look bashful. Her face was hard to mold into anything expressive of nature's intent, though this time the corners of her mouth tilted up, and the darkness clouding the space beneath her eyes receded enough for him to see a genuine smile.
It was full of tenderness for herself. He looked away. "Though your business is your own, I would recommend getting more on a regular schedule. It works wonders for me at my age."
She nodded in thanks at his avoidance of prying into her "business." Like a flock of crows, silence returned to the room after a brief session of bright…balanced…meager conversing, and smothered everything in black feathers of stillness. After three minutes, she began humming a tune he didn't recollect ever hearing. It pitched high and low, with thrumming breaks and valleys between its continuity, breaching together into something unique.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes." He didn't ask, knowing the "her" Ch-4 referred to. "More than myself, too."
"That isn't a hard height to overstep. You don't love yourself."
"I do. I only find no sense in wasting time on my health." He rubbed his knee.
"Do you fight for humanity? Or her?"
"Both. But if I needed to choose, I think I could sacrifice her for humanity."
"Could you?"
"I said I think. I can provide nothing more concrete than that." He snapped into the air, a sharp retort of his fingers bouncing around the room. "What about you?"
"I know no one in an intimate way to wish--want to protect, so I suppose I'm defaulted to fighting for humanity." Ch-4 was an only child, and an orphan at that. Her parents were both employees of the First following the end of their compulsory service; they had died in one of the worst Aud skirmishes at Fort Io before its fall.
"I'm hurt."
"You shouldn't find personal offense in it." She wagged a finger back and forth.
"By that, no. By you fishing for personal information with these questions? Yes."
"What is fishing?"
"Digging, then."
"And how am I digging for information?"
He sighed. Few people read the older entries of the data archives, to the point that when he attempted to use a statement or phrase he'd read, the best reaction was a frank stare. At least he had roused Pa-5's interest in those older entries, so when she woke, she should be a person he could converse with barring nothing. "Searching for it."
"I want to understand you. Don't take offense from that either."
"Not understand. Analyze."
She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "I never understood the way some people use that word. An analysis is for programs and autonomous intelligence. We're not composed of lines of programming."
He would have continued this line of dialogue, uninteresting as it was, because he needed to understand Ch-4's sudden and inexplicable change of personal modus operandi. It didn't bode well no matter what angle he approached the topic from. And she seemed willing to humor him, so he had no qualms of pursuing it. But he felt a squeeze in his hand, and the words died in his throat.
Across the cot, Ch-4 froze as a vise clamped around her hand. Together, they turned to check right when Pa-5's eyes opened, she tried to sit up, and screamed.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
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