Thresholder

There was no sign of Fenilor as Perry made his way out of the mine. Fenilor had been bleeding as he’d left, but the trail of blood had stopped after only a hundred feet. Maybe he’d done another costume change that had healed him, or just kept his injuries in check. There had been so many suits of armor, so many outfits with their own magic or technology or something else in them, and so many blades too. Fenilor had surely learned from the fight, if his main power hadn’t let him learn everything already. That was fine: Perry had learned something from the fight too. Unfortunately, most of what he’d learned was that Fenilor was very strong and adaptable, and that it was unlikely that Perry’s transformation by itself would be enough.

Mette had been draped across a bed in the shelf, and on the ground beside her was the tablet they’d taken and books they’d collected. She hadn’t woken, but Perry wasn’t going to check on her again until he was well and truly clear. She had been so pale. Her shoulder was an ugly red and pink lump of flesh and her hair fell limply across her face.

Perry had halfway expected to find a collapsed tunnel or other obstacle in his path out of the mine, but there was nothing. When Perry got to the mouth of the tunnel, he went up into the air in short order, leaving the snowy mine beneath him. With every mile he climbed it was less likely that Fenilor would attack. Perry wanted to get some distance from the tablet, which was clearly a complex piece of magic that he didn’t understand, but it was in the shelf, and would have to stay there for the time being. He would stash it somewhere, slather it in nanites, then get some distance from it and hope that it couldn’t phone home.

He mostly hoped that Mette was okay. His thoughts kept going to her, circling her like water down a drain.

Perry rose above the atmosphere, then slipped into the shelf to check on Mette. Her breathing was shallow, but she was alive. The weak barrier between the shelf and the vacuum meant that the air didn’t slip out — the same thing that made the interior difficult to cleanse of the smell.

“Mette,” said Perry. He took off his gauntlet and touched his fingers to her face. She was sweaty and cold, so he brought a blanket over to wrap her in. The bed was one she’d used not long ago when recovering from the hit that Third Fervor had given her. She’d traded one injury for another.

He debated changing her into a werewolf again, in the hopes that it would burn out the poison, but with a thumb against her neck he could feel how weak her pulse was. Her Wolf Vessel had never been properly filled with moonlight, and she hadn’t eaten enough. Perry was drained, and he worried she was drained too.

“Mette,” he said again. “Don’t die on me.”

He couldn’t tell whether she was getting better or worse. The werewolf stuff was supposed to work against poison, wasn’t it? He didn’t really know. It felt like it should work. He placed a hand on her chest, pressing down until he could feel her ribs beneath her soft flesh, then tried to channel some of his waning power into healing.

He wanted it to feel like a blast of power, like he was violently squeezing a tube of toothpaste and watching it coil out of him and into her, but it wasn’t. The second spheres studied for years, and he had been working at it, trying his best to expand his powerset, but the progress had been achingly slow, and there were so many directions to work in. He was better with the firmament than he’d ever been before, and Mette was good too, but there were too many hills to climb, and they all felt unfairly steep.

He needed the Farfinder. He was certain they had some way to heal her. After making sure that Mette was turned on her side so she wouldn’t choke on her vomit, Perry stepped back out into space. He looked down at the planet, then picked the same island they had been to before, with its abandoned buildings. Marchand navigated. After five minutes of flight, Perry asked for something that would take his mind off Mette, and Marchand had played some light music that was apparently an original composition.

He circled the island twice, then stashed the tablet there. As soon as it was down, he flew away, up into the air, keeping his eyes on the island. He didn’t know exactly what the tablet was, but it was possible it was many things, including, potentially, a tracker. He hated going in and out of the atmosphere, it took time, and that was something he didn’t have.

He checked on Mette again. She hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure whether she looked better or worse, and pulled up an image to compare. It was about the same, he thought, though it was difficult to tell.

Perry slipped back out of the shelf. It had been hours, at least, since the altercation in the mine.

“Perry to the Farfinder,” said Perry. His voice was tight. “Come in Farfinder.”

“Sir, we have no method of transmitting such a message,” said Marchand.

“I am very aware,” said Perry. “I’m operating under the assumption that they can hear us, and possibly, hear us in the future. That tracks with their capabilities, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Marchand. He was quiet for a moment. “It occurs to me, sir, that they should know you are in some distress right now, and that they have not responded might mean several things.”

“Like what?” asked Perry. He was feeling irritated. Maybe it was the ‘some distress’ bit. He was feeling anxious, like there was a buzzing behind his head. He wanted to do something, not just sit around with his thumb up his ass.

“They are separate from us because of their prognostics, sir,” said Marchand. “Those get stronger the longer they run. They might know the future, sir, and they might be refraining from communication because everything will, in the end, be fine, not requiring intervention. Alternatively, they might know that there is nothing they would be able to do to prevent Mette from expiring.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Perry with a roll of his eyes. “Really great.” He clenched and unclenched a fist.

“I know she is a friend to you, sir,” said Marchand.

“She should never have gone into the fucking mine,” said Perry. “I should have just kept her out of it, but she wanted to go, and … Jesus. If she just dies?”

“We should extract her blood, sir,” said Marchand.

That gave Perry pause.

“Alright,” he said.

He waited a beat for the Farfinder to show up, then moved back into the shelf.

Mette still hadn’t woken up. Perry moved to the shelf-in-the-shelf that held some supplies they’d taken when they’d left Dirk and his people behind, and there was a long, thick needle with a rubber hose and a little bottle. The hulking machine dominated much of the shelf space, and without Mette, Perry wasn’t sure that he would be able to get it all back together correctly, but Marchand had been watching its deconstruction and knew at least some of the basics. It loomed, and the bed looked small beside it.

Perry took the needle and held it while he twisted Mette’s arm to find a vein. She needed her blood, and it might be poisoned, but this was all he had to save some vestige of her. He should have taken some before all this, to revive her, or a version of her.

“The fuck,” she said softly, turning toward him.

“Mette?” asked Perry, leaning forward.

“Take the armor off,” she said. Her voice was faint. “It’s scary.”

“Are you okay Mette?” asked Perry, taking his helmet off and setting the long needle to the side.

“All the armor off,” she said. Her eyes had opened only briefly to look at him again, but now they were closed.

He wanted to object that it wasn’t safe to go unarmored, or to object that there was no point in him taking his armor off, but he found himself doing it anyway. It took time, and he watched her as best he could. Her eyes fluttered open, not often and never for long, but she was awake, which was something. He hoped that meant she was on the upswing. It took time to remove the final piece of armor, and when he did, he laid down on the bed beside her. She smelled pleasant, in spite of the poison and sickly sweat. Maybe it was a werewolf thing.

“You were going to steal my blood,” she said.

“Yes,” said Perry. He laid his head on his pillow beside hers. “To clone you.”

“You do care,” said Mette. She leaned into him and exhaled through her nose.

“I don’t want to lose you, no,” said Perry.

“You were going to steal my blood like a vampire,” said Mette. She laughed a little, which made a rasping sound in her lungs.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Perry. “I really thought it might have been the end for you.” He brushed hair from her face. She was more attractive now, for some reason. He hadn’t thought he’d feel that way after almost seeing her die. In some sense it was the worst she had ever looked, and it was hard to reconcile what he was seeing from what he was feeling.

She stayed silent for a long time, so long he thought she might have fallen asleep. She was still breathing, and if he hadn’t been able to see the shallow rise and fall of her chest, he would have been able to tell by the smell of her breath with every exhale. Her breath didn’t smell bad or good, just human.

“We kicked that guy’s ass, huh?” asked Mette.

“Not really, no,” said Perry.

She paused for a bit. “Yeah,” said Mette.

“We’ll be better prepared next time,” said Perry.

Mette opened an eye to look at his face, then closed her eye again. “Are you doing the cloaking thing again?” she asked.

“No,” said Perry.

Mette shifted uncomfortably next to him. She placed her arm over him, then seemed to think better of it.

“I need to step out,” said Perry. “I need to make sure the Farfinder comes for us.”

“No rush,” said Mette. Then she put her arm on him again, as though to stop him from leaving.

“There’s the tablet,” said Perry. “And even if I don’t go out, I should start looking through the books, particularly the notebook, to see what’s in there that’s worthwhile.”

“Sir,” said Marchand from his place on the floor. “I believe there has been a development.”

“A development?” asked Perry, sitting up. He looked around the shelf and frowned. So far as he knew, the shelf was safe from outside signals when it was closed, and he was pretty sure that Third Fervor would only be able to get in when the connection to the outside world was open. “What kind?”

“As you know, we merge during transformation, sir,” said Marchand.

“I’m aware,” said Perry. Beside him, Mette placed a hand on his back. He wasn’t naked, just in the nanite skinsuit, but he still liked the feeling of her touch on him.

“The Farfinder has been watching us closely, sir,” said Marchand. “They made their theories about the interaction between powers after having first discovered us on the Great Arc, and attempted to confirm those theories on Esperide. It seems that young Eggletina has spent considerable effort formulating a theory of entanglement. The phantom computing I have reported is consistent with a third sphere technique she’s read about, though it’s traditionally used on animals.”

“Okay,” said Perry, frowning. “Meaning … what, exactly?”

“In some sense, sir, I have inherited a piece of your soul,” said Marchand.

“I meant the animals,” said Perry. He really would rather have laid down with Mette again to stay by her side. “What happens with the animals?”

“The animals gain a portion of their master’s intellect, sir,” said Marchand. “In that way, they become empowered. The relationship might be described as symbiotic, if not for the fact that the animals are subordinate.”

“You said this was breaking news,” said Perry. “What’s breaking about it?”

“I have gained more abilities, sir,” said Marchand. “Do you feel diminished in any way?”

“No,” said Perry slowly. “Should I? Wait, what do you mean ‘gained abilities’?”

“There is a thread to be tugged on, sir,” said Marchand. “Perhaps it would be more clear to say that I have gained an understanding of the connection between us and have exploited that knowledge to enhance my own power.”

“Don’t do anything more,” said Perry, trying not to be curt. “If you crap out, I’m boned.”

“Sir, I believe this to be the pathway to better capabilities,” said Marchand.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, March,” said Perry. He checked his vessels, which were still refilling after the fight, then checked his meridians, one of which was flowing through Marchand. It did seem changed, thicker somehow, or maybe just more taut. And at the point it passed through the armor, there was something different there too, what felt like branching, splaying out channels, micro-vessels or something weirder.

“Would it relieve you to know that I can translate the text, sir?” asked Marchand.

“What?” asked Perry. His hand was rubbing his forehead. “What text?”

“The notebook, sir,” said Marchand. “I believe I am now able to understand intent as you do.”

Perry frowned. “Alright,” he said slowly.

“Would you like to know what the notebook has to say about Fenilor?” asked Marchand. “I had assumed you would, which was the development I referred to earlier.”

“Uh,” said Perry. “Not you pulling more of me into yourself?”

“No, sir, that could have waited,” said Marchand.

“Fine, give it to me,” said Perry, very much thinking that it couldn’t have waited.

“Sir, Fenilor speaks at length about the tablet which is used to block any attempt at outside scrying,” said Marchand. “In particular, there are some diagrams which appear to be laying out plans for variations on the tablet which would help to accomplish different goals — the tablet is antimagical in nature. He was aware of the method by which the Farfinder found the site in the first place, a massive scrying attempt that isolated all locations that did not respond to scrying, and was attempting to solve that particular issue, which does not appear to be solved within the pages of the notebook.”

“That’s good information,” said Perry. He was still trying to get his head around Marchand practicing magic without a license and what headaches might lie in the future. “Not sure that it helps us.”

“Sir, I believe I can activate or deactivate the tablet, or rather, give instructions for you to do it,” said Marchand. “You have worried that the tablet would be collected while we were here, stolen from us?”

“Yes,” said Perry. “Very much so. Alright, let’s go down, let’s deal with it.”

He took the time to put the armor back on, which he was well-practiced with but always felt like a slog. He envied Nima for having armor that could quickly coat her and Fenilor for being able to slap armor on at a moment’s notice. It was a problem that might get solved in other worlds, if there were other worlds.

Perry gave a last look back at Mette. She didn’t move much, but gave him a thumbs up. He smiled, because he’d taught her that. He would, of course, take some of her blood later on, but he would wait until she was feeling better, so long as she seemed to be on the mend.

He descended to the island, as wary as he could be, and landed next to the spot he’d hidden the tablet. He picked it up, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was there, though he worried that Fenilor would drop in on him at any moment.

“What do I need to change?” asked Perry. He held the tablet in his hands. It felt weirdly crusty, like parts of it might break off at any moment. With armored hands it was difficult to get sensory feedback. The writing on the tablet was what controlled it or defined it, that was certain, but Perry had no idea what to do with any of it. He could have broken it, but capturing it seemed like a far better idea.

“There, sir,” said Marchand, putting a red highlight around a small part of it. “And that one too.” Here, he highlighted a single glyph, nothing more than a straight line that was a bit separated from the others.

“And what am I doing here?” asked Perry. “How am I, you know, changing it?”

“Smudge it with your finger, sir,” said Marchand.

Perry hesitated. He was remembering when Marchand had shot the king in the face. If not for that, Perry might have been able to worm his way into the king’s confidence and gotten an Implement. Now the AI was taking liberties with the metaphysical and directing Perry in how to use magic, and though they had made up, there was still a lack of trust. Richter had always called the AI a black box, a network of weights with a superstructure on top of it, and Brigitta had felt it was absolutely mad to have that sort of thing doing useful work, even if it was better than the alternative of having people do it.

Perry smudged the tablet with his gloved thumb, first the long line, then the other row of glyphs.

There would be a time for sitting down and making sure that Marchand wasn’t going off the rails for some reason, but if Perry’s first reaction to Marchand was to second-guess and doubt the AI, then he hadn’t actually meant what he’d said about them being more like partners. He wasn’t sure how much Marchand could actually think, but Perry had decided he would behave as though Marchand was a person with his own thoughts and feelings.

The door to the decayed barracks opened up, and Kes stepped out.

“The Farfinder has woken up?” asked Perry.

“Yeah,” said Kes. “This way.”

Perry went through the door, which led onto the ship. His boots clinked on the metal floor and his eyes watched the back of Kes’ head. It had been some time since they’d seen each other, not in terms of actual hours passed, but in terms of what had happened during those hours.

“They wanted to minimize interference,” said Perry.

“They did,” said Kes. “Unfortunately, the view of the future means that looks like a grim option.”

“Extinction?” asked Perry.

“Something like it,” said Kes. He had opened another door and stepped into a room that Perry immediately recognized as his apartment — the apartment he’d had on Earth.

“What is this?” asked Perry, staying outside.

“Our old room,” said Kes. “There are different spaces, this one is a dream space. It’s pulled from my mind, which means from our joint memories.”

“Where’s Hella?” asked Perry, looking around.

“I asked to speak with you alone,” said Kes. “They have things set up in the break room, which they also use for meetings.”

Perry stepped inside and shut the door after him.

The apartment was small, as befit a grad student, but it was his, which had always been the important thing. There was just a bedroom with a desk, and kitchenette, and a bathroom, and there were days he felt like if he’d been trapped inside for the rest of his life he’d be just fine. The laptop was sitting on the desk, and the sheets were a mess on top of the bed, which was probably how it was most days. There was a bookshelf full of books, some fiction but more textbooks, which had cost a fortune even when bought used online. A blue mug sat on the desk, thick and large, the vessel for hundreds of cups of midnight tea. The windows looked out onto woodland, a park that ran along the back of the complex, which he hadn’t even had to pay extra for.

“You look ridiculous,” said Kes.

“Yeah?” asked Perry. He looked Kes up and down. He had changed clothes, into something that was Earth-normal, blue jeans and a red shirt with the Chrome logo on it. Perry had owned the shirt, or something that was close to it. “Dream shirt?”

“Dream shirt,” said Kes, looking down at himself. “Washes away after a bit. They’re good for clothes, but not food, air, anything you’d want to actually use. Not substantial enough to even be a crowbar, apparently.”

“You’re settling in fast,” said Perry. “Are you … staying here?”

“That’s what we need to talk about,” said Kes.

“You’re not, are you?” asked Perry. “Because I don’t know if you saw what happened, but we need help. Maybe we could do it on our own, but Fenilor is strong, and —”

“We were blocked from seeing what was happening down there,” said Kes. “But after you came out with the tablet and separated yourself from it, we were able to hook into March and get all the video logs.”

“Kes, are they on our side?” asked Perry.

“They are,” said Kes. He had slipped his hands into his pocket, and gave a little shrug that didn’t displace them.

“Because it feels like I’m being used as a tool to serve their interests,” said Perry.

“Can you take off the damned helmet?” asked Kes with a frown.

Perry frowned right back, with what was probably an identical frown, but of course Kes couldn’t see it. Perry removed his helmet, grudgingly, and stared Kes down.

“Well now you just look more ridiculous,” said Kes.

“Why am I here, Kes?” asked Perry.

“You’re here because we need to talk about what we want — what we want.” Kes took his hands from his pockets and folded his arms. They were the same height, but the power armor’s boots made Perry a little taller.

“Alright,” said Perry. “We kill Fenilor, Nima, and Third Fervor. That’s a start, yes?”

Kes shook his head. “Arguably none of our business except for Fenilor.”

“Didn’t Nima and Third Fervor both fuck you up?” asked Perry. “Fuck ‘em.”

“I’d rather they died, sure,” said Kes. “Maybe not Nima, even though she stabbed us in the back, but that was … arguably sort of our fault. I mean what’s she going to do, travel the worlds? That’s not going to work out for her. And if Fenilor is right that there’s a tangle between thresholders, then it might not even be necessary to kill her for the portal out.”

“Well whatever,” said Perry. “It works out or it doesn’t.”

“And you know it’s not the thing I wanted to talk about,” said Kes with a frown.

“We return to Earth 2,” said Perry. “We use the cloning machine to revive Richter.”

Kes hesitated. “Lots of caveats with that,” he said. “Lots of holes.”

“We have a skeleton of a plan,” said Perry. “Which is more than we had before.”

Kes breathed out. “When the idea occurred to you … to us. What was the emotion?”

Perry shrugged.

He wanted to be out of the armor and free to move around the apartment. It was causing feelings in him. Nostalgia, wistfulness, something like that. He wanted to feel the sheets and see how real they were, to look around in the kitchenette and see whether his favorite pan was there. He didn’t cook too much, but on mornings when he didn’t have to scurry to some ill-advised morning class he would fry two slices of bacon in a small pan, then cook two eggs in the bacon grease, then eat them with an apple while he sat at his computer. It had been a nice little ritual, a few times a week. He remembered the pan distinctly, a cheap little piece of shit with a red plastic handle.

Why had Kes chosen this place? Nostalgia? It was a place he’d never thought that he would have nostalgia for, though now that he was in it the feeling was almost overwhelming. He had stayed in many places over the years and his time as a thresholder, but he supposed that this was his last true home.

“Oh fuck off,” said Kes. “You know what the emotion was, because I know what the emotion was, because we both experienced the emotion. So fucking talk about it, because we’re talking about our future.”

“What’s the point of this?” asked Perry. He got only a hard stare in return. “We felt … ashamed, I guess.”

“Ashamed that it took so long to think about, to apply to the situation,” nodded Kes. “Like it should be the first question we ask in any world, of any new power, of any thresholder. We should be trying harder to get her back, and we’re not.”

“Because it wouldn’t even fucking work,” said Perry. “The Farfinder doesn’t have a way to get back to Earth 2, and even if we did, the cloning machine needs fresh blood, and even if we had fresh blood the magic wouldn’t work there. We’d have to take the fresh blood back here, or some other world where the magic works, and that might not work because maybe she doesn’t have a soul according to that world.”

“Yeah, that was the other feeling,” said Kes. “The hopelessness.”

Perry frowned. “You’re asking me whether we’re going to do it.”

“I wanted to talk about the emotions,” said Kes. “The feeling of love fading.”

“Christ,” said Perry. “What’s with you?”

“It’s important,” said Kes. “You want to just keep doing things because of a long ago commitment? You know that I know you. And I knew that you wouldn’t want to talk about it, because I don’t want to talk about it, but I figured if I could push you, maybe that would be okay.”

“We’re doing it,” said Perry. He clenched his fist. “We’re roping the Farfinder into it. End of story.”

“Are you really like this?” asked Kes, taking a step back. “Am I like this?”

“You ambushed me,” said Perry. He went to brush hair from his face, but it was awkward with the glove still on. “Look, you agree, right? You’re not asking this because you looked at it all and changed your mind?”

“I agree,” nodded Kes. “We’re doing it. Richter is back on the menu. I just think … I don’t know. We need to know how much it’s worth to us. How much Richter is worth to us. How much we’re going to devote five or ten years of our lives to bringing her back, especially if it might not be the best version of her.”

There were all kinds of worries, when you had a new and untested technology like the cloning machine and then added on interdimensional travel.

“Fuck,” said Perry. “Even if we go to Earth 2, unless we’re dragging a lot of magic with us, we’ll be nearly powerless. We won’t be werewolves there.”

“I loved Richter,” said Kes, ignoring that. “When she died I wanted to light myself on fire. When I saw the first glimmer that she could be brought back, I did everything I could to get the knowledge and skill, even if they said that resurrection was only for the recently dead. But then the worlds kept coming, and time kept passing, and I guess I loved Brigitta too, even if it was a different kind of love, and … I want to bring Richter back because I think I owe that to her, but there’s not the burning anymore. We were never married, never had kids, and it’s not like there weren’t some off beats in that relationship.”

“You’re claiming my memories for your own?” asked Perry.

“Yeah,” said Kes. “I’m trying not to think of myself as you, but about her, about Richter, I’m not willing to divorce myself from that experience.” He shrugged. “I’m also going to claim your undergrad degree for my own.”

“Bastard,” said Perry, shaking his head.

They stood around awkwardly for a moment.

“We did love her,” said Kes. “Deeply. But … I don’t want to do it because we made a promise long ago, right? I want to do it because it’s a good thing to do, because it’s a thing we want to do.”

“Yeah,” said Perry. He looked around the room again. “This place is weird.”

“Yeah,” said Kes. “But … it’s closer to who I am, I think. I’ve got more in common with Old Perry, the grad student.”

“You’re a werewolf,” said Perry.

“This is true,” nodded Kes. “And I have all the experiences. But being here, it’s soothing in a way, as though … I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“You’d never want to return here, right?” asked Perry.

“God no,” said Kes with a laugh. “Earth 1? No thanks.”

Perry looked around the room once more.

“Hella wanted us to have this conversation?” asked Perry.

“No,” said Kes. “She assented to my request. I thought it better we get on the same page.”

“Smart,” said Perry.

“That’s almost boastful,” said Kes with a smile.

“I intend to ask for her help,” said Perry. “To extract some promises, if they want to try to use me.”

Kes’ smile went wider. “Perry, she wants your help to kill Fenilor.”