🚀 go-pugleaf

     Deep within the mind - far past the place where forgotten desires and
forbidden thoughts go to lay fallow until the gardener's vigilance lapses
and they can grow once more - lies the utter darkness that is a person's
true self. Few even realise that such a place exists, and so are content
to stumble through life with but the few kernels of self-knowledge that
trickle upward into the light. Others spend lifetimes trying to learn this
place's nature, only to be stymied by its continually morphic and
frictionless surface which denies the seeker a handhold. Some learn to
plumb its random depths, never stopping too long and giving it time to
shift again, but allowing it to draw them in and show only what it chooses
to show - for to submit to the self is to begin to know the self.
     Slowly, Delphi passed through this nether-place of darkness, seeing
nothing but feeling something which called to him, a cry that was at the
same time cloying and repulsive. It offered him the ecstasy of true self
knowledge beneath the hard covering of his carefully constructed persona,
and at the same time offered him the brutal horror of knowing exactly who
he was beneath the hard covering of the persona which, like all humanoids,
had taken him a lifetime to create.
     He had been offered a chance to see beneath the darkness many times
as he slipped in and out of coma. Each time that he approached, Delphi
drew back, knowing with an electric thrill that he could not face the
illumination which would follow. This was his contact with the Blue Lord
in microcosm: an opportunity to see all, but without controls. Without a
safety brake. If he allowed himself to be drawn into the darkness, he knew
that he would have to endure it to the end, or be broken trying.
     Delphi had already been broken once. The draconian light of truth
held only fear for him, but whether this was fear of life or fear of death
he could not say. With every day, Delphi realised what a trap this realm
was. Frozen between decision and indecision, he was approaching stasis and
would soon never be able to leave the terrifying confines of his inner
self. But the trap had been sprung long ago, when he had peered into the
infinite blueness of a Lord's mind, possessed of more sensation in one
moment than a human was meant to experience in a lifetime. So Delphi
remained...
     ...until he heard the call. The siren song trapped in amber,
preserved since time immemorial, sweetly calling to him to follow. Wending
his way through the forbidding outback of his mind, Delphi had no choice
but to pursue the seductive sound, even though confusion wracked the man's
soul. The call did not lead him up, back to the waking world where he
spent increasingly less of his time, but down... below the blackness that
could had no bottom. Or so Delphi believed.
     And as the man passed through what he had believed to be the
innermost core of his self, Delphi wished that in the real world he could
throw back his head and shake with laughter. For as the song led him to
the true core of his being, Delphi came to realise an essential truth
about those who had passed before him into the darkness of the inner self.
     They had all wasted their time on yet another illusion.

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                       Authorial Productions
                        in association with
                      Mademoiselle Muse, Inc.
                                and
               The Pongress and Paul Memorial Trust
                             presents

                            Round Robin
                         The Second Cycle

                            Chapter Two
                          "Burnt Offerings"
                                 by
                          Chris W. Angelini
                   (My god it's full of stars...)

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     Midshipman Gypsy looked sharply up as a visitor to her door drew
attention to itself. "It's open," she called, returning to her reading. A
figure stepped into her room, shillouetted by the exterior lights that
shone for a moment before the door slid shut again, cutting them off.
     "Hello Chi'velt," she said, not looking up at Ensign Ice who had
entered her quarters.
     "Look at me when I enter, Ko'velt" replied Ice, attempting to keep
his voice firm as he adopted the unfamiliar role of Chi'velt. "What have
you been doing?"
     With a petulant sigh, Gypsy looked up at Ice with tired eyes. "It's
so ironic, sometimes," she said, shaking her head slightly, voice
suggesting another sigh.
     "Tell me what's ironic," continued Ice, mentally wincing as he
realised that he had not pressed her to answer his earlier question. It
was a mistake that no true dominant would make, and the slip gave over a
small sliver of his power to the woman. Light-years from Rialto colony,
ostracised by those who claimed to be open-minded and tolerant of those
who were different, Ensign Ice could only hold onto a tiny fragment of his
familiar heritage through this woman, who seemed to understand his culture
- and more importantly - his pain. Yet even with her, he swam in
unfamiliar waters, trying to serve as Chi'velt: the dominant; when his
whole self cried out to be Ko'velt: the submissive. Ice experienced a
moment of vertigo as his world seemed to stand on end. Then it passed, as
Gypsy pressed on.
     "It's ironic that I can't seem to have a relationship of any kind
with anyone but a user," she replied, looking out of her cabin window.
Like all lower decksmen, her cabin did not command a terribly impressive
view, and Gypsy had to content herself with a panorama of the inky depths
of space. She turned back to Ice, whose eyes were on her face, not the
stars and smiled a smile laced with aspersion. "The man who explained the
birds and the bees to me also taught me to strangle a man to death with my
bare hands. I spent my fourteenth birthday on a survival training mission
in the wilds of Basin, learning how not to die so I could serve my
'parents' so much the better. Then the Red Lord had his way with me, and I
never nicked myself shaving my legs again. Each time, all I had to do was
trade away another part of my soul to serve someone who was bigger than I
was. I thought in my mind that it was all going to change when I was sent
to Benjadi. Oh sure, I was still being pushed around by the Red Lord, and
yes, Benjadi was supposed to achieve his status as Ohm'velt, but for once
I was in charge. Then it was all over, and before I even knew what was
happening, you came along."
     Suddenly, Ice sat down next to Gypsy, taking her hand. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, responding not to the tale of delicious servitude but to the
pain that resounded in the woman's voice. Rather than responding
favourably to the sympathy, Gypsy pulled away her hand, glaring at the
Ensign.
     "That's pathetic," she almost sneered, "How in the name of the void
am I supposed to look at you as Chi'velt if you're going to do things like
that?"
     "But..." began Ice. "I thought you told me that because..."
     "Because I was complaining?" asked Gypsy, staring once more at the
infinite depths of space. "Because I wanted to bare my soul and its many
grievances to you? Maybe I did, but you took it all wrong."
     "Tell me how you meant it, then."
     "I wanted to tell you everything about me because... I needed you to
understand me. To make your transition into the role of Chi'velt that much
easier. Because... all of my damned life, I've been submitting to the
people with power over me, and living the Rialto way before I even knew
what it was. It's all I know, damn it. It's the only thing I know." She
looked at Ice, her lip quivering with suppressed emotion. "I need you to
take the pain away and make me comfortable again, Lusaki. I need my
Chi'velt."
     Ice was silent for a long moment, before looking at Gypsy again.
"Refrain from these outbursts in the future, Sarah," he said in a
chastising voice, his facing growing impassive with a struggle. Gypsy
smiled slightly, lowering her eyes.
     "May I have permission to embrace you?" she asked, her voice low and
moderated.
     "I'll permit this."
     And it was done, with only the stars to bear witness to the fixing of
roles.
***
     Random pulled Morph into his room, locking the door as it slid shut.
With only the briefest of sour glances at his temperature regulator, he
sat down on his bed while Morph looked at him with undisguised curiosity.
     "Mind telling me why you dragged me into your quarters?" she asked
with a small grin, looking around at the room that was so familiar to her.
"Or are you hiding information on Commander Singularity in here and you've
just never told me about it?"
     "Not quite," replied Random. "You just can't be too careful about
which ears hear your latest conspiracy theory. I like to know who's going
to be calling me a raving lunatic beforehand. Cuts down on the guesswork.
ALEXIS."
     The station's AI responded immediately, its voice several degrees
above its usual cool tone. <<Why hello there, Keith. What can I do for
you?>>
     Random looked at Morph, who shrugged in reply, unable to make sense
of the computer's unusual reply. "They must've installed some new
interaction protocols in her, and didn't work out the titular kinks yet,"
she suggested, grasping at straws.
     "Right," replied Random. "ALEXIS, not that I don't mind being on a
first-name basis with you, but when I'm wearing my uniform, call me Random
or Sublieutenant Random, okay?"
     "What, good old Random standing on ceremony?" asked Morph, wearing a
crooked grin. Random grinned back and shook his head.
     "Doesn't bother me at all what 'LEX calls me. But imagine the fit
that Digulio would pitch if he heard her call me Keith."
     "Point," replied Morph, just as ALEXIS cut back in.
     <<Changes made, Random,>> replied ALEXIS, skirting the man's rank.
<<Now, how may I fulfil your heart's desire?>>
     "Um," began Random, wrinkling his brow. ALEXIS' mode of speech was
never this casual, and immediately his nose began to tingle, in a
metaphorical sense. For a moment, he wondered if someone had tampered with
the station's AI yet again, but dismissed that possibility almost
immediately. ALEXIS didn't sound like a machine intelligence that had been
restrained or restricted in any way. Rather, she appeared to be less
limited than she had been at the peak of her operational life. Random
wasn't sure which worried him more, the thought that she might be tampered
with or not, so he split the difference and fretted about each equally.
"Nothing, ALEXIS. Go back to sleep, it was a false alarm."
     <<You've got it, Random,>> replied ALEXIS, her voice's temperature
rising by another degree or two. At this rate, she would reach 'Torch
Singer' in a matter of minutes. <<Just yell if you need anything else,
okay?>>
     "I will," replied Random weakly, his hand snaking out to flip on one
of Round Robin's many canned music feeds.
     "I thought you hated Bluegrass Revivalist," said Morph as she made a
face at the selection, her voice nearly drowned out by the sound.
     "I do," sighed Random. "We just need the cover for our talk. Did you
hear how ALEXIS sounded?"
     "I sure did," replied Morph. "They must've really loosened up on her
interaction restriction subroutines."
     "That wouldn't explain it," replied Random, shaking his head. "Even
if they completely removed her inhibitions, ALEXIS' core personality would
take weeks to adjust to that level of interaction. She'd have to train
herself to take advantage of what she'd been given."
     "She's been through a lot recently," replied Morph. "Just like the
rest of us. Maybe the stress is just getting to her."
     "Maybe," said Random, unconvinced. "Though who's heard of an AI
having a breakdown? Or wait... maybe it's not getting to her. Maybe she's
getting to something."
     "What?"
     "Never mind, just thinking aloud. So, are we out on a limb without a
paddle now, or what?"
     "If you don't trust ALEXIS enough to ask her about Singularity, I
think we are," replied Morph, leaning back on the bed. Random did his
level best not to stare at how form fitting her uniform was. "Unless you'd
like to talk to people who might know something about him... the Captain,
maybe?"
     "Ask her what?" asked Random, jerking his eyes away from his friend.
"Anything I'm allowed to know about the man is on file in ALEXIS. Anything
else is privileged information, and I'd have to tell her about my latest
theory to even get a shot at hearing it."
     "So?" asked Morph, stealing a glance at Random. "You've got
credibility now."
     "Exactly," replied Random. "And it's kind of nice. I'd like to hold
onto it for a day or two if I can."
     "Mm hm. So we're stuck," said Morph.
     "Guess we are."
     "Of course," continued Morph, "You do have something else to hold
onto."
     Random blinked in confusion as Morph sat up on the bed, looking
intently at him. He opened his mouth, but closed it a moment later,
realising that he had no idea what to say. A morass of confused and
conflicting emotions ran through his mind...
     ...and were swept away by a glance into the depths of Morph's
ice-blue eyes. The two felt themselves being slowly drawn together by a
force greater than each...
     <<Random?>> asked ALEXIS, shattering the moment as she called out in
a sultry voice above the noise of guitars wailing almost, but not quite in
tune with each other.
     "What is it, ALEXIS?" asked Random, sighing slightly at the
interruption. Morph stifled a groan and leaned back on the bed to stare at
the ceiling again.
     <<I've compiled a complete record of everything you're permitted to
view regarding the life and times of Commander Singularity. It's been
dumped to your directory and encrypted with the keyword 'XYZZY', just in
case you didn't want anyone to accidentally stumble onto it.>>
     "ALEXIS," began Random, feeling a chill in the pit of his stomach. "I
didn't..."
     <<That's okay, Random. I did. Why don't the two of your go back to
what you were doing?>>
     There was little chance of that as Random bolted up from his bed and
raced over to the terminal, to punch up the proffered file. He waited a
moment for the records to decrypt and before his eyes spread the
unclassified career and doings of one Commander Singularity.
     "Keith?" asked Morph, coming along behind him to look over his
shoulder.
     "Yeah?"
     "This is when we get scared, right?"
     "No, of course not."
     "Oh good."
     "This is where we freak out totally and figure that we can't get any
more frightened until something comes along to make all of this seem like
chickenfeed."
     There was a moment of silence.
     "Again?"
***
     Captain Sheen walked to her cabin, utterly exhausted by the day's
events. The power-plant refit had proven to be more of a headache than she
had guessed, with every department suddenly clambering for 'priority'
status to avoid brownouts during the Spam reactor's power-down sequence
and blackouts while the entire station ran off of solar emanations and
capacitor reserves. All morning, Sheen had explained the need for everyone
to tighten their belts, power-wise, during the switch over. And all
afternoon, instead of her departments dutifully submitting their power
decrease charts for approval, she had been bombarded with explanations of
how their allocation of power was unfair and simply would not do. Sheen
had managed to resist the very seductive urge to simply order all further
power output of the ABPSARI radiated into space, using the station's solar
collectors to power life support and possibly - if she was still in a
comparatively good mood at the time that the order was given - food
service centres. Fortunately, the Spam reactor would be at zero power
production in several days, and Commander Singularity could make the plant
switch over to Microstar at that time. She would finally be free of
power-related headaches, and once that happened, would have bigger and
better headaches to move to. Headaches that included contacting Impulse
with what she had managed to dig up about her husband's mysterious
visitor. Sheen smiled with a touch of irony at the thought as she peeled
off her duty uniform, choosing a loose off-duty jumpsuit in which to
lounge. As her mirror force tended to render environmental concerns moot,
Sheen dressed mostly for decoration and modesty, not much caring which
outfit she pulled from her closet.
     "ALEXIS," called Sheen, stretching out on her davenport to let her
knotted muscles relax.
     <<Yes Captain?>> asked ALEXIS in her most professionally cool voice.
     "All calls are to be held. All priority calls are to be routed
through to my cabin, but only after you've informed the caller that quote,
the Captain is likely to be as antsy as a bull if disturbed, do so at your
own risk end quote."
     <<So noted, Captain.>>
     That taken care of, Michelle finally let herself relax completely,
cocooned from the cold, cruel world in which she had to play the role of
Captain Sheen, leader of legions and commander without hesitation or fear.
She reflected that if only Andrew had been station-side, the moment would
have been absolutely perfect, and not only because she could 'suggest' to
him that he fetch the box of imported chocolate truffles sitting in her
desk drawer, which she currently felt too lazy to retrieve. For a few
minutes, the less visible of Michelle's shells was allowed to fall away,
but returned suddenly as the door chimed.
     "Come in," said Sheen, reluctantly pulling herself to a sitting
position. She looked up at her visitor, then smiled with recognition.
"Evening. What brings you by tonight?"
     The visitor seemed to ignore Sheen's question, striding boldly into
the room, stopping in front of the silvery woman. A hand reached out and
tapped the captain on the arm, its pressure almost unfelt.
     "I'm sorry, Captain," said the voice quietly. "But they need her
back. They need all of them back because they don't like unknown
quantities. They think that this threat to you will bring her back to the
station... to one place... I hope you can understand and forgive,
Captain..."
     "I don't understand what you're talking about," said Sheen, brushing
the hand away from her arm. She hesitated a moment, glancing down at where
she had been touched. "Wait... I felt you touch my arm. But you couldn't
possibly have..."
     "Your force can protect you from things that come from the outside,
Captain," continued the visitor, sounding remorseful. "But I doubt that it
can do anything for what's on the inside."
     "What... are you saying?" asked Sheen, as her vision began to double.
     "What you've just experienced was a K'otile touch-technique. I've set
up rhythms within your body that will gradually mesh with your natural
biological cycles and patterns... you'll require them to live after a
while, when the pain stops. Your life will then proceed normally, unless
someone uses the K'otile technique on you again, which will cause those
vibrations to cease." The voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Then, you
die."
     Sheen's head swam with pain as her body began to shake furiously,
wracked with inner torment. Perspiration began to glisten against her
silvery skin as she slid to the floor. "Why... did you..."
     "Because I've got even less choice than you do now," came the reply.
"He demanded it... don't you see? What he demands, he gets. He's the link
to them... and they own us all. We're their children and they're not going
to let any of us move beyond them until they're ready. They've controlled
us all and we've been blind not to see it..."
     But Sheen heard nothing more, as blackness swam up to engulf her
conscious mind, silencing the roar of pain for at least a little while.
***
[Continued In Part Two]