#surprise its actually cass/addax

[gurguliare]

damn you got me. listen I want to see YOU write cass/audy. and maybe something about the aria-ibex comparison I was so into that... um addax content... I don't know what addax content I want but maybe if you write something I'll figure it out

sjlgkjsdgl GHOUL I WROTE LIKE, 16k of aria/ibex comparisons, I could do more but I. actually I’m not sure I could do more. if I could do more I would probably have finished that last chapter.

anyway, addax pov on cass/audy:

Surviving propaganda footage of Cassander Timaeus Berenice, then-heir apparent to an empire, had a distinctly chintzy human interest angle; on one cached page you could watch Berenice stumble out of an operating theater, clap one gloved hand over the reporter’s phone, let go of the (now blood-spattered) crystal screen/lens, and removed the gloves, slowly. The 12-second video had no sound and looped. It showcased Berenice’s housewifeish good looks (the unruly curls and faint blur of stubble reminded some commentators of the lead on Little Observation Outpost on the Tundra, who steadfastly guarded her dead spouse’s research with the aid of cloned, psychic dogs) and total lack of people skills. They didn’t even have the grace to throw a fit; probably the video was silent to spare the audience a level apology.

Sokrates used to surf for news aboard Peace because Peace was the only ship in the fleet that got signal in darkspace. They seemed not to resent the fanfare for their little sibling, who, at 28, must have been even less prepared than Sokrates to be honored, later exiled.

Now the ex-heir’s ex-heir had made good. Berenice, graying and scaled-over in medals, sat with ankles crossed on Maxine’s faded loveseat, grinning pretty shamelessly at what Maxine had said. Next to them, the Divine Discovery’s dinged-up chassis used one finger to stir tea.

“No toxins detected.” They handed the cup to Berenice, and kept the saucer.

“Oh. Thanks, AuDy.”

A pause, in which Berenice and Maxine smiled at each other more and Berenice visibly assembled another conversational sally. Discovery said, “Are you going to drink?”

Would it be rude, Addax wondered, to go and stand by the bay window, in case any snipers were waiting for a clear shot.

But he was interested in Discovery. Discovery was why he had accepted Maxine’s invitation. Agent Trig could act as occasional go-between for the Rapid Evening and the Demarchy, but Agent Trig, quizzed about L&D, said vaguely that AuDy was a good dude and, well, treason talk was just that, you know? Treason. Wait, no, he meant the other thing. Talk. It was just talk.

“Sure, I know,” Addax said at the time.

He was beyond caring how quickly the Demarchy shed its pretensions: Sokrates’ original coup hadn’t so much decentralized as loosened the government’s belt—after a big meal, snapping up Diasporan outliers. Sokrates might care, of course, but it would be a long time before they worked up the outrage to blame their baby sibling. Anyway, it might be nice for Apostolos to eat itself before Rigor could get to it. The ideal timing, in his mind, would be for civil war to break out right after their doom was assured, so that he wouldn’t have to feel too bad for House Pelagios.

Maxine offered Berenice a tour of the gardens. Since it was drizzling, Discovery consented to stay indoors. Protective of Berenice, it nevertheless seemed more protective of itself—or Discovery was protective of “AuDy,” or “AuDy” was protective of its one remaining occupant. Robot junk, Jamil had said, throwing a dramatic arm over her eyes when Addax tried, without understanding it well, to explain it to her. Please, not robot junk. I thought that was what we were up against.

Were—were. He couldn’t tell, even when alone, with a sick pit in the center of his calm, whether Rigor had revealed the truth—the true thing he was fighting, all along—or taken it from him forever. Whether, because of Rigor, a curtain hung over his senses. He didn’t mind being in a house with Berenice. During the days of the old war, sitting by Sokrates at the war table, he had sometimes felt a chill down his back, seeing Sokrates laugh, argue, accuse. Sokrates slapping the display. Sokrates’s neck, shining above the collar.

And Discovery, in front of him, did give him that feeling. The enemy at large. The enemy never to be caught, indistinguishable from a stranger. The body Discovery lived in had antennae, a barrel chest and ergonomic desk-chair waist, and flexible feet. Its metal was pitted from exposure, but not rusted—much. It shone under the banded rainy light.

“You’re staring. It’s inappropriate.”

Thank god, Addax thought: someone to let me know. Jace, when ogled, usually patted him on the back.

“Tell me something,” he said aloud. “Do you run simulations? About this war?”

Peace did, of course. Order did. Order simulated like anything; using the newest models, the best approximations of randomness, seeking the patterns nested under. Maybe Order would have turned into Life, forgetting itself. But he hadn’t had that kind of time. 

“Not so much,” said the robot—which he had never heard a robot say before. One antenna retracted. “I’m Discovery. A lot of guessing would bias us.”

Addax wasn’t going to touch that one. “What about Liberty?“

“That’s even worse,” said the Divine. “Can you imagine? Liberty seeing the future?”

“So that’s not why they left. Part of some… grand plan.”

“Plans would bias us.”

“Right.” Addax resisted the urge to gnaw on his lip, a holdover from his term as Candidate, when, much of the time, no one could see his face. Come to think of it, espionage work hadn’t been the best place to unlearn the habit. “Tell me something,” he said again. “Why did you stay?”

The tall head moved an inch from side to side. The whole torso moved, really, but it seemed to represent a flattened head-shake. “Detachment took me. There were potatoes. Candidate Addax. What is it you would enjoy making small talk about?”

Addax began to sympathize with the Emperor’s difficulty in persuading their friend not to call them the Emperor. “Just Addax, thank you.” He had given them a false name, the Kesh name Maxine knew him by. Fuck. Note to self: new face no good against old comrades. “Where do you think Liberty is now?”

“Hurtling away from the Golden Branch as fast as your Wi-Fi can carry it. If your next question is, why did I stay, but in a more emphatic tone of voice: my friends expect me to. Also, I like flying.”

The Kingdom Come, that old clunker. He remembered it physically—it flew at hip-height with Peace, with him. Sokrates’s ship led, tacking under its glittering sail. Peace knew of everything that might touch it, which was to say, nothing else, not for lightyears around; he was always sorry, truly, that he made it travel alone for so long.

“Discovery likes flying?” he asked.

“I like flying,” Discovery said. They leaned forward, set their hand on their knee, realized they had no second hand with which to gesture (or so he presumed from the restless swiveling of the shoulder socket), straightened up, and pointed at him. Their simplified hook-foot began to thump the floor, like an eager child’s. “No, I know what you’re asking. On my ship. I make them call me Captain.”

What a weird joke. He felt himself tense up. If this had been Peace, it would have been a segue into some kind of pop-up dreamscape. Outside, a crack of lightning. Discovery’s backbone telescoped shorter as if in an actual cringe. The door opened; the Demarch loomed, sopping wet. They had Maxine’s jean-jacket tented over their head; Maxine was nowhere to be seen. Maybe they’d hidden her body in a flowerbed.

They strode in, letting the door slam. Still no graces. They wrung the jacket sloppily, like they had done their gloves as a young surgeon, and went to Discovery and gave their friend a mute, inquisitive look. Clearly they wanted to whisper but dreaded Discovery asking that they speak up. They raised a hand and snatched it back, and didn’t seem to notice when Discovery caught their wrist and held it, although there did ensue a brief, unconscious tug-o-war. Finally they turned the stare on Addax—all unsmiling. Whatever had happened to the fool who loved Maxine?

“Scared of a little rain, Demarch?”

Another lightning-pulse. “I’m not. No. Thank you. I come from a wet planet, you may not know. I’m scared of thunder,” said Berenice, with dignity. And as they said it there came the grumbling roll, lasting much longer than the light had done. “Maxine wanted to be alone for a bit. She told me to go on ahead. I think I’m supposed to check in with my delegation. AuDy, would you do the honors?”

Discovery let go of Berenice’s arm. They raised their inbuilt wrist-comm to the mic. “Your Emperor is fine,” they said. “For now. Over.”

Immediate crackle of furious voices. “I don’t know how to turn this off,” said Discovery. “Please stop talking. Over.”

Berenice squeezed their eyes shut. “That’s it for me, I think. AuDy, do you want to stay? Maxine should be back in a minute. She’d appreciate news about Maryland.”

“About her horrible lingering death?”

“Anything. But…” Again the dark eyes ran over Addax. Not a quick thinker, by all accounts: not an innovator. An effective leader with magnificent resources, no more. In the end, Addax said to himself, this fight will be won with bodies. But he couldn’t fit that thought into Maxine’s pretty parlor, the curtains drawn for a storm.

“I’ll go,” he said. “If you need an escort. I’m very tall. I attract lightning.”

“What about the thunder?” Berenice whined, and rose. They scratched the back of their head. It had been strange to have them look at him; he didn’t know why, but he was relieved that they had gone back to focused distraction. He offered his arm, and they took it; they reached for an umbrella from the stand, and he opened his palm above his head and let a forcefield sprawl out. Berenice wavered a moment longer before giving up on the umbrella.

“Won’t your arm get tired?” he thought he heard Discovery say, but by then they were stepping out onto the path.

From the parlor you could spy on the garden, but the parlor, from the garden, was dark, except for the pale back of the couch. Berenice had craned their head around anyway. “You’re considerate,” Addax told them, ignoring the growing ache in his shield-arm. “I know I made them uncomfortable, and I regret that. In the moment, it can be hard to tell.”

“That’s not it. Sorry, no, I know how it looks, but I’m trying to get us away from you,” said Berenice. The fruit trees, bowing, thrashed. Berenice’s half-cape snapped and rose in the driving wind. The rain steamed off the forcefield, but wind thrust through. “—Oh, god! What am I saying? You won one war, and we need you. Definitely. It’s just, I don’t think you should have to talk to us.”

“‘Us’?”

“The Chime,” said Berenice, squinting into the distance. They freed their arm, after another few steps, and rubbed their wrist—the place Discovery grabbed—and began to laugh. They had a nice laugh, hoarse and infectious. “I forgot. Don’t you worry about it. Oh, well. It’ll all be all right.”