Chapter Text
1
There’s a man in the distance.
Aventurine can’t see him clearly from here. His optics are a little, ah, fuzzy, let’s say. A crack in one, cutting all the way back to the electric nerve, and the other one got smashed in. On good days his vision is just blurry; on bad days the pain receptors start badgering him more than usual and the resulting spikes in his head make it hard to concentrate on anything at all, and he has to try to close what remains of his eyelids just to lower the sensory input.
So all he can say for sure is that there’s a man in the distance. Well, maybe not a man, for all he knows. Tall and on the broader side, but the cloak obscures their figure enough that it’s not clear what shape is underneath, and of course he can’t see their face at all.
The man--or whatever--comes closer.
Aventurine would try to hide, normally, but in all this rubble there’s nowhere good, and anyway the servos in his legs finally kicked the bucket a few days ago, so he’s just stuck here out in the open unless he wants to crawl. Dragging yourself across rubble hurts. And takes too long. The man’s almost definitely seen him by now; he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere in time, even if there was anywhere to go.
If the man’s a human, he’ll probably strip him for parts and leave, maybe after putting a bullet in his head for good measure. If the man’s an android, the odds aren’t nothing that he’ll also do that, but there’s a decent chance he’ll try to talk to Aventurine first and see if he’s discovered a tragically damaged fellow revolutionary or an untrustworthy sympathizer, and then he’ll definitely strip him for parts and leave. Aventurine probably doesn’t have more than twenty minutes to live. Maybe a lot less than that.
He wouldn’t mind dying, he thinks.
What good has life ever given him? It’s always been pain, one kind or another, usually both. There was a respite, once, but it ended too quickly and too harshly. And the last several months haven’t really been a life worth living, even before his servos broke. The only life he has left to him is a slow decay in a field of rubble, more and more parts going dark until finally his core processor gives in and everything stops. Death’s going to happen anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it came a little early.
The man’s a lot closer now.
Aventurine still can’t make out the face, or the figure, but he’d probably be able to if his optics were working right. The skin tone isn’t robotic, at least, but that proves nothing; just look at him, coated in the finest synthetic skin money could buy. It does look like the man’s wearing some kind of visor over his face. Would an android worry about eye protection? Maybe.
The man stops in front of him. Aventurine’s aural processors are working fine, so he can hear it perfectly when the man says, “Are you still functional?”
That does sound like a man’s voice. A little low, with a distinct elocution.
Aventurine lifts one hand to wave. Most of the skin’s still on it. “Peachy,” he replies.
The man steps closer to check him. See which parts are worth salvaging, maybe. “Your optics are damaged.” A pause; maybe he’s looking elsewhere. “Are your legs malfunctioning? They appear to have sustained significant damage as well.”
“Servos broke down a few days ago. Probably still good for scrap, though.”
“Why would--ah. You think I intend to take you apart.”
Aventurine tilts his head. It almost doesn’t hurt. “I’m not good for much else at this point. Might as well be useful to somebody.” It’s possible, he realizes, that the presence of synthetic skin and what remains of a pretty face has tipped the man off to his original function, and that he’ll take some time first before getting started on the salvage job. The thought is oddly unpleasant. He doesn’t want that to be the last thing he does.
“Your core processor is clearly still functional, and some of your sensory inputs. I can’t say for sure, of course, not having examined you in any detailed fashion, but even if the damage is extensive, it’s likely repairable.”
Aventurine laughs. “Sure. You gonna do that? There’s not exactly a mechanic around.”
“More of an engineer, really, but I’ve done my share of technical work.” The man crouches in front of him. Aventurine can finally see his face. Either he’s human, or they share an original function; androids aren’t usually that kind of handsome. “Will you allow me to examine you?”
A pause. “You’re really not here to collect scrap, are you.”
“I was, in part, but not from anything living. Is that consent?”
Aventurine’s not entirely sure his core processor is working, in fact. The idea of a human engineer stumbling across him and deciding to see if he can be repaired--asking permission to do that--is so unthinkable that it can’t be anything other than a sensory collapse fucking up the data.
“Sure,” he says, because if his core processor is on its last legs, he might as well enjoy the dream while it lasts. In reality the guy’s probably picking him apart right now.
The man glances around the field of rubble. “This isn’t the place to do it. Too exposed, and too much dust that might get into your circuits. I’ll have to carry you to where I’ve been staying.”
Aventurine shrugs. “Go ahead.” If the guy wants to be way too trusting, that’s not Aventurine’s fault. A human bringing a random android to their home is another thing that can’t possibly be real.
“Take hold, then.” The man crouches down, letting Aventurine loop his arms around his neck, and hefts up Aventurine’s thighs around him. It’s the first time since the shelter--well, since a little after the shelter--Aventurine’s touched another person. He doesn’t know what to make of it.
The man’s back is broad, covered by the dark cloak that wraps around him. Under what remains of the skin on Aventurine’s hands, the fabric feels sturdy, but still soft, somehow.
“You’re lighter than I expected,” the man says, sounding surprised.
“Special construction. I was a custom design.”
If the man catches the implications of that, he doesn’t mention it.
“My home, such as it is, is around a half hour’s walk from here. Perhaps more, given the extra weight. I apologize if there’s any discomfort.”
“It’s fine.” A little bit of jostling is nothing, really.
And they walk.
After a few minutes, once they’ve cleared the rubble field and are weaving their way through an abandoned parking garage, the man says, “May I ask what happened to you, to put you in this condition?”
“About a month ago a couple guys jumped me at an abandoned charging station. I got away, but not before they worked me over. One of them had a metal pipe.”
The man’s voice quiets. “I apologize. Humanity has not been at its best of late.”
“Ah, I’ve met some nice people, I don’t think you’re all bad. And it’s not like you guys started it.”
They pass out of the parking garage, sloping downhill a bit. “Some would argue that our treatment of androids is what, as you say, started it.”
“Doesn’t mean all of you deserved it. I know there were a lot of people trying to get android rights laws passed, that sort of thing. It could’ve worked out.” Aventurine sighs. “But that Rubert guy’s awfully persuasive, apparently.”
The man pauses. “Yes. He is, at that.”
They walk in silence for a while.
“It sounds as if you were never a believer of Rubert’s rhetoric,” the man says, eventually.
“I didn’t even hear about it until the war started. I didn’t get out much.”
Again, the man doesn’t ask about that.
“Then I had some bad experiences, yadda yadda, decided a life on the run was the best option. And here we are.”
“Here we are, indeed.”
They pass a row of burned-out buildings that look like they might’ve been stores, once. Broken windows, charred walls. The lingering remains of their functions--signs, counters, shelving. SMITH HARDW, one window declares, in part. SUPREME CUTS DELUXE HA RDRE.
“This place we’re going,” Aventurine says. “You’ve lived there for a while?”
“For the past few months. I lived elsewhere before the war, and spent some time on the run, as you did. I was fortunate enough to find an empty building that had not been much damaged and was in a retail-heavy area, providing decent scavenging opportunities. The supplies are not infinite, of course, so I will have to move on eventually. But for now, I manage a reasonably peaceful existence.”
“Sounds nice.” Since the shelter, Aventurine hasn’t stayed in one spot for more than a few days. Peaceful isn’t what he’d call it.
“It has its drawbacks.”
“Other scavengers, I bet, if it’s such a bountiful area.”
“A few, but they didn’t stay. I considered leaving, after that, since they must have been a scouting party of some kind, but they never returned. Likely something happened to them. I suspect north of here is a dangerous area.”
Aventurine had been planning to head north next. How lucky.
They walk in silence for a while more.
And eventually, the man stops and says, “This is the place.”
“You’re kidding,” Aventurine says, staring at the sign over the glass double doors.
“I was equally surprised that it was still relatively intact. But whatever the reason for it being merely abandoned rather than destroyed, the fact remains that it is so.”
ROBOTICS REPAIR AND REFURBISH, the sign says, in large, embossed letters. The building itself is largely unassuming; one story, gray outer walls, no bigger than the other stores around it.
The man walks to the main doors. They’re not even broken. They’re also not even locked; the man pushes open one door with no obstruction.
“Bit of a security hazard, leaving a place like this unlocked,” Aventurine observes.
“If it were locked, that would be a definite sign to any intruder that someone lives here,” the man points out. “In the event of such things, I’ve set up in a basement storage room. The entrance to it is easy to disguise, and I spend most of my time in there. If anyone did come across this building, the scant resources remaining in the ground floor would be enough for any scavenger to decide there was nothing else to be found there.”
“You’ve thought of everything, huh.”
“I have a lot of time to think.”
The main room of the building looks practically untouched. Gray carpeting, a reception counter with a cash register and an array of scattered pamphlets, a couple chairs against one wall, a door leading to the back. The man leads him through it and into a back room. This has more stuff in it--a couple desks, chairs, computers, and counters littered with mostly junk, and the walls lined with tall shelves, also mostly containing junk. One is empty, save for a sticky note proclaiming UNSTABLE - DO NOT USE.
“Where the employees did most of their work, I assume,” the man says. “A repair shop of little note, likely specializing in smaller robotic products than androids. At least, that seems to be what the owner was using as a front.”
He stands in front of the empty shelf, and, shifting his weight to still accommodate Aventurine, reaches out and taps three of the screws holding the shelf together.
With a creak, the shelf slides to the side, revealing behind it an empty space in the wall, and a staircase leading down.
Aventurine whistles. “What, do they have a secret base down there or something?”
“Of a sort.” The man starts to walk down the stairs.
The stairs go down maybe ten feet. Enough to be definitively underground. At the bottom, there’s a door, this one made of wood and bearing a distinct keypad. The man doesn’t punch in any numbers, though, and for obvious reason; the door’s busted off its hinges. From the inside.
He shoulders it open enough to pass through, and the “basement storage” appears.
One side looks like a decent living space, at least for the current times. A vaguely medical-looking cot, stacks of canned food, a few stacks of books. The other side looks…
A metal table, maybe six feet long, surrounded by monitors. Shelves with very distinct contents, arranged by function, pieces of bronze and silver and circuitry. The table has metal cuffs embedded into the sides.
For a moment, Aventurine wonders if he’s made a horrible mistake after all. If this is why the man brought him here. If the reason the man lives here is because this was always his place, and he was looking for another subject.
The man stops. “I’ve just realized what this looks like, and I assure you, I’ve no such intentions.”
“Not like I could stop you if I did.” With his legs the way they are, he probably couldn’t even get back up those stairs.
“This setup was here when I arrived. I’m not even entirely sure what it was used for, beyond something the subject didn’t consent to. You may have noticed the door was busted open from the inside, not the outside.”
Aventurine did notice that. “So you’re not planning on running weird experiments on your new pet android?”
“…would you rather I set you down on the bed, than the table?”
“No, table’s fine.” The bed has a whole other set of associations.
“All right. Here you go.” The man walks to the table and turns around, letting Aventurine awkwardly slip off his back and onto the metal surface. It takes some arranging to get his legs up and onto it.
The man walks to what looks like a scrap metal coatrack and takes off his cloak, hanging it on one of the pegs. More exposed, the muscular figure is more evident. He takes off the visor, too, resting it on one of the stacks of books before walking back to the table. “I’m not sure I’d be so cooperative, in your position. You hardly have any reason to trust me.”
Aventurine shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, I’m operating under the assumption that I’m having sensory collapse and what you’re actually doing is taking me apart. Not much I can do about that.”
The man frowns. It’s just barely visible through the blur of his vision. “Are your sensory processors damaged?”
“If they were that badly damaged, how would I know?”
“A fair point.”
An uneasy pause settles over the room.
“I assure you, I only brought you here for examination and repair,” the man says.
“Or at least that’s what the broken circuits in my head are telling me.”
The man sighs. “If that is what it takes to keep you comfortable during the process, I suppose I can’t object.”
Aventurine glances at the array of tools hung on the wall. “Get on with it, then, if you’re going to.”
“Right. I’ll have to remove your clothes for that. My apologies.”
Or maybe the guy’s doing something besides taking him apart. Aventurine supposes that wouldn’t matter so much if he can’t feel it. “Go ahead.”
The man’s at least careful while he strips him. Since Aventurine’s arms are still working, he manages to contribute with his shirt, but yeah, pants and shoes are beyond him now.
And now he’s bare, lying on the table and looking up at the man. For no particular reason, he folds his hands over his stomach.
The man pauses, presumably having noticed the extra set of parts. “So you are a pleasure android. I’d wondered, given the face.”
“Guilty as charged. Custom job and everything.” His owner liked his men small and pretty. Obedient, too. Well, he got the first two, at least.
“It’s of no matter to me, unless you think your additional functions are in some way impeding your primary functionality.”
Aventurine manages to shake his head. “I don’t think so, anyway. Haven’t used them in a while.” The last time was--a little after the shelter. He managed to get away after, and nothing else since.
“I see. Pardon the intrusion.” The man reaches for his shoulder, and then stops. “I’d thought the seams merely subtle, but there don’t seem to be any. Have you never received maintenance before?”
“My owner wanted the illusion of humanity. The skin covers them. Any time he felt like I needed a checkup, he’d have the skin cut through and resealed after.”
This close, Aventurine can see the man’s expression flatten. “I see,” he repeats.
“In that case, I’ll have to cut it open as well. Are your pain receptors still functional?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. Everything hurts anyway.”
“Very well. I apologize for the discomfort.”
The man draws a knife from his belt, one of those big notched ones survivalists used to use. It looks sharp.
“You much of a hunter?” Aventurine asks, gesturing towards the knife.
“A hunter? No. I found this at a store, after the collapse. I’d never used one before, but it seemed handy, given the circumstances.”
“Looks like it’d be pretty good for killing people.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried. Please, stay still.”
The man places one hand on Aventurine’s right shoulder, and the other draws the knife down his left shoulder and side in a clean, smooth line. Aventurine winces, a hiss of pain escaping his teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hard to avoid it,” Aventurine says through gritted teeth. It didn’t feel any better the few times his owner had a mechanic do it.
Another cut, and another, and another, almost a perfect rectangle across his torso. He half-expected the cuts to be a little off, the skin needing to be peeled slightly, but it seems like the guy’s perfectly aligned the knife with the seams, somehow.
The man double-taps each of the corners, and the plate covering the front half of Aventurine’s torso clicks as it separates.
The man rests the plate on the ground. Aventurine’s circuits are exposed to open air for the first time in months.
He finds himself shivering a little. Temperature registers, even there; part of the complete sensory package. The man’s fingers gently rest on the smaller plate covering his battery. Sensation again. Aventurine tries not to wince, and mostly fails.
The man pauses. “Do your touch receptors extend that far?”
“My owner wanted me to feel repairs.” It was the one time he liked to watch, rather than participate.
The man’s eyes narrow. “That’s not a standard feature by any means.”
“Like I said. Custom job.”
The man doesn’t respond to that, only exhales. He double-taps the interior plate, and it slides back to expose the piece keeping Aventurine conscious.
“You’re not going to go rooting around in there, are you?” Aventurine asks, a note of worry slipping into his voice. Not that it would matter, if he’s hallucinating all of this, but…if that gets damaged, or taken out, nobody’s going to give him a new one. He’ll never wake up again.
“Of course not. There haven’t been any apparent blips in power so far; I’ve not done any testing, of course, but in cases such as these, where damage was sustained externally, there’s unlikely to be any interior battery damage unless the exterior is also affected. Which it doesn’t seem to be. A stroke of luck.” The man closes the plate.
Aventurine relaxes. “Good to hear.” Strange, though, that that’s a relief. Only minutes ago he wanted to die. Now he doesn’t? How strange. A drop of hope, and that’s enough.
If there is any hope at all. It still seems the most likely that sensory collapse has scrambled his perception, and the man isn’t speaking to him at all, is examining and removing pieces at this very moment. Or perhaps there isn’t even a man, and he’s hallucinating all of it, still slowly dying in a field of rubble.
The man continues to examine him. Some damaged circuitry in his stomach, probably from the time he got hit with a metal pipe there. The rest of the modules and circuits in his torso are deemed not in need of repair.
His servos, then. More plates that need to be cut open. More like pried off, really; the dents are pretty severe. The man places them with the torso plate and gets back to examining.
After a few minutes poking around, the man says, “Good news. The only internal damage I can see is in the wires. The attack must have strained them, and then continued use strained them further to the breaking point. I can easily solder them back together.”
Aventurine blinks. “It’s that easy?”
“Indeed. This place comes with the tools to do it. Some replacement copper wire, as well, though it likely won’t be needed as long as I’m careful. I will have to power you off for the procedure, however, to avoid electric shock.”
“Right.” Aventurine figured any repair would require that.
“Do you know of any malfunctioning parts besides those servos and your optics?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Except his sensory processors, but the man would probably tell him those are fine anyway.
“Good. I’ll take a look at the optics next, then. Can you describe your current vision?”
Aventurine describes his current vision, and the man removes the face plate. More lines of thin pain. Aventurine can’t imagine the view under the metal is pleasant to look at for a human, what with the lidless eyeballs and metal skeleton, but maybe an engineer’s used to it.
More poking around. “The right optic is beyond repair, as I’m sure you’ve guessed,” the man says. “The electric nerve has also sustained some damage, though not so severe as to be difficult to fix with my current supplies. The damage to the glass of the left optic could theoretically be patched together with some epoxy, preventing the crack from widening further, but your vision would still be affected, so restoring visual function entirely would require that one to be replaced as well. That electric nerve is in similar condition to the other.”
Aventurine would be a lot unhappier about the notion that both his optics need to be replaced if he hadn’t seen the contents of the shelves. “Good thing whoever ran this place liked to swap out parts for his experiment, I guess.”
“A good thing for you, yes. Now then. I can begin the repairs now, if you like.”
A slight, whispery tendril of fear. Does he really want to be powered off around a strange man? In this room? The whole thing’s been remarkably detailed for a hallucination; he’s not convinced it is one, anymore. Aventurine was pretty okay with dying, but if the man just wanted to kill him, he’d have done it back in the rubble. Bringing him back here might mean other intentions. Death might be better than those.
But the man’s been talking to him like a doctor to a patient, not an owner to a lab rat or a pet. The only negative reason to do that would be to get Aventurine’s guard down, and it’s not like Aventurine’s shown any signs of resistance in the first place.
He knows humans can be good people. Maybe this one is too.
“All right,” he finds himself saying.
“Good. Pardon me for a moment.”
The man reaches behind Aventurine’s neck. It’s the one spot with seams; even his owner had to admit it would be inconvenient to have to cut him open and reseal every time he wanted to turn him off.
The feeling of fingers on skin, a click, the feeling of fingers on metal, and then--
Aventurine opens his eyes.
Both of them.
He blinks; what a novelty, having enough eyelid to blink both. And his sight is perfectly clear, sharp and detailed. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. None of it hurts.
The man is standing next to him, looking down at him, hand withdrawing from the back of his neck. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Good,” Aventurine says slowly. What a novelty.
“I hope so. The procedure went smoothly. How’s your eyesight?”
Aventurine reaches up a hand to brush his fingers against his new right eye. Solid and whole, and perfectly functional. He can tell the colors aren’t set yet; a thought activates the LEDs into the old style. He could change them, he supposes, but to what? He doesn’t have any particular attachment to any other set of colors. These ones may as well stay, for now.
He’s clothed again. Experimentally, he tries to raise one knee, and it succeeds. The other, too.
He straightens up on the table, noticing that the skin on his hand is whole again, though the area that used to be missing is a slightly lighter tone now.
“I couldn’t find your exact shade of synthetic skin,” the man says. “I apologize for that. I sealed it at the edge of the seams, not over them, so removing the plates should be easier now.”
Frankly, Aventurine wouldn’t have minded if the man decided to remove all the skin for good. He’d look like a normal android underneath, and less of a target. But he doesn’t dislike the sensation of having it.
“I really don’t care about that,” he says, and hops off the table.
He lands on his feet without the slightest pain or stumble.
He pushes his hands against the areas on his thighs that used to be dented; even with cloth in the way, he can tell that they aren’t, now. The same with his stomach.
“I did have to replace the damaged plates, as well,” the man says. “There was nothing matching your torso, however, so I’m afraid some welding had to be done. You may be able to feel the seam underneath your skin.”
Aventurine slips his hand up his shirt to check. Yeah, if he presses down there’s a very slight raised line across his stomach. But it’s not visible from the outside at all.
He withdraws his hand and looks back up at the man. Frankly, the guy looks a little exhausted. “How long did this take, anyway?”
“Several hours, but I had nothing else on my to-do list,” the man says. “Evening has come and gone. Unless you wish to risk the dark, it would be better for you to stay here until morning.”
“You fixed me up for free and you’re offering me a place to stay for the night.” Aventurine huffs an unnecessary breath. “Sensory collapse doesn’t seem too likely anymore, but it’s hard to believe you’re real.”
“I like to help where I can. But I don’t often get the opportunity. The past few months have been a largely solitary existence.”
“I wish I could say the same. Other androids either try to draft me into the glorious revolution and get angry when I say no or mistake me for a human and try to kill me straight off, and then when they find out I’m an android they get all apologetic and then try to draft me into the glorious revolution, and I still say no, and they still get angry.”
“Why haven’t you joined, if I may ask?”
Aventurine waves it off. “Ah, bad experiences, that’s all.”
In his limited experience with interacting with people for more than ten minutes at a time, humans have been nicer to him than androids. Generally. One very notable exception. But that was just one guy. Mathematically speaking, one guy isn’t a larger representation of humanity than three people.
The man sits down on the bed, on the opposite side of the room. “I suppose I shouldn’t pry. If you want something to occupy yourself until morning, you’re welcome to avail yourself of any of the books I’ve collected. I’m afraid I’ve not much else to offer.”
Aventurine glances at the stacks of books. He’s never been much of a reader, but he’s also never had the opportunity to try. And nice as the guy’s been, he is still a little reluctant to be unconscious near a stranger for several hours, so sleep mode doesn’t appeal. “I’ll think about it.”
“Also, may I ask your name? Just so I have something to remember you by.”
“Aventurine.” No harm in telling him.
“Taken from the AV line, I presume.”
“My owner was only a little creative. What’s yours?”
The man looks a little uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Although it’s curious that he’d hide it.
The man hesitates. “Veritas,” he says, eventually.
“Fancy.” Electric synapses brush together. Veritas, engineer, didn’t want to share his name--
“Veritas Ratio?” Aventurine asks, eyes wide in disbelief.
The man winces. “Yes.”
Aventurine leans back against the wall, a lazy grin forming on his face. “What, should I call you dad?”
The man’s face creases. “Please don’t.”
“I really did luck out, getting the father of robotics to repair little old me.”
“I was hardly the only person developing machine lifeforms,” the man--Veritas, apparently, Dr. Veritas Ratio--protests. “The term was invented by a newscaster, and in no way reflects reality. My contributions to the field were no greater than anyone else’s.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, doc. Even I know the first core processors came from your designs. And even if you’re being modest about that, you can’t deny the other thing, can you?”
“…yes,” Veritas says. “That, as well.”
A silence falls.
“I simply thought the burgeoning field of android rights could use an android spokesperson,” Veritas says, quietly, looking at the concrete floor. “One who could speak on the world stage as a diplomat would, with the rhetorical skills of an experienced statesperson. That was all I intended.”
“I’m surprised Rubert didn’t keep you in a cage or something. But I guess that would go against his philosophy about organics.”
Veritas looks back up. “He did try, initially, to have me found and brought to him. I can’t say what for, and I’m happy to not know. I escaped his first attempt at capture and have managed to evade any others, if there have been any. It’s possible he’s decided I died in the intervening months and is no longer looking.”
Aventurine cocks his head. “So any androids you see might be trying to find you for whatever Rubert wants, and any humans you see would probably kill you on sight.”
Veritas sighs. “I like to think it wouldn’t be on sight, but yes, I’m not confident I would find a warm welcome with any human who recognizes me.”
Aventurine’s not so sure about that. Three humans were kind to him; he knows there are people in the world who just want to help.
But what does he know about people, really. Veritas has a lot more experience with them than he does.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he says.
Another silence.
“…as I said, the books are available to you, if you’d rather not enter sleep mode,” Veritas says, gesturing at the stacks once more. “I should retire.”
Aventurine nods. “Yeah, you look like you could use a good night’s sleep. I’ll try not to make any noise.”
“Appreciated.”
Veritas gets ready for bed, and seems to fall asleep within minutes. He really must’ve been tired.
Aventurine thumbs through one of the books on the top of a stack. An old science fiction novel, it looks like, the paper yellowed and the spine cracked. The description on the back promises a vision of the far future, humanity exploring the universe to find new wonders.
It looks old enough that Veritas has probably had it for a while. The publication date is long ago, too. From a time when humanity still dreamed.
Aventurine settles in to read it. Dreams aren’t so bad, once in a while.
He wonders, a little, if Veritas still dreams about the future. If he still has hope that the world can improve, and there are still wonders to be found.
But it doesn’t matter, really; he’ll be leaving in the morning.
He doesn’t leave in the morning.
---
8
A thousand fractures in a thousand sparking cells.
A click, a blip, a warning; a blaring sound, broken into shards. Fragments swallowed by black. Sharp edges poking out.
A blur.
A voice.
An endless burn.
Aventurine opens his
--ine--
A flicker, a snap, a shuddering synapse.
Falls closed.
--rk--
Aventurine opens his
A haze, a smear.
--ear m--
A wall, a solidity, a glassy nothingness.
Falls closed.
--ase
--ease--
Pl--
Aventurine opens his--
Everything hurts.
His head, mostly, but his head is where pain is processed, and it feels like that’s not quite working right. He tries to run a diagnostic. All he gets is flickering.
A face comes into view.
He knows that face. He’s never seen it like this, though. He doesn’t think he likes seeing it like this.
“Can you hear me?” Veritas asks. His face is tight with tension, his voice tinged with fear.
“Yeah,” Aventurine rasps. His voice box crackles a little.
Veritas’s face clears into an immeasurable relief, and he pulls Aventurine up into his arms.
The embrace is a little too tight, maybe, pain crackling at the edges. Aventurine winces. He doesn’t say anything, though.
Veritas pulls back, hands still gripping Aventurine’s shoulders. “Can you give me a diagnostic report?”
Aventurine tries again. Just flickering, again. “It isn’t working. Everything just feels…” His thoughts are a little slow. His words feel thick in his throat. “Bad,” he finishes.
Veritas frowns. “No specifics? Are you having cognitive trouble?”
“I don’t--” A stab, spiking directly into his head; Aventurine winces and half curls up, hands clutching at his temples. His thoughts scatter into disarray.
Whatever Veritas says next, he doesn’t hear, or see; he barely feels the hands on him, only the reverberations in his skull. Pain churns and echoes, wrapping up all functions into a shattering wave.
Eventually, he wakes up again.
He’s lying on his back again, on some flat surface or another. The pain has lessened, somewhat.
Veritas, standing in front of him, withdraws his hand from the back of his neck. “Aventurine?” he whispers.
“’m awake,” Aventurine mumbles. He tries to sit up. It takes a little bit. Veritas helps.
“Your sensory processors have sustained significant damage,” Veritas says, hand still resting on his arm. “The outputs appear to be scrambled. From what I can gather, some sensory inputs are sending signals to your pain receptors. I’m so sorry. I tried to fix it, but your core processor is in a delicate enough state as it is.”
Aventurine slowly raises a hand to his head.
Sharp, jagged edges around a hole maybe a couple inches wide. The bullet--
That’s right, there was a bullet.
He won’t risk putting his fingers any further inside his skull. His hand withdraws.
Not that he sees it withdraw, because he doesn’t see anything past the left side of his face.
“And the electric nerve for your left eye was severed,” Veritas says quietly. “The optic itself is undamaged, but you won’t be able to use it until the nerve is replaced.”
And people just leave those lying around, don’t they.
Memory sparks. His eye fixes on Veritas. “What about you?” he asks, his voice box crackling again. “Did they attack you too?”
Veritas squeezes Aventurine’s hand. A small shock of pain, but Aventurine almost doesn’t mind it. “I was allowed to leave unharmed. Their leader seems disinclined towards violence towards humans.”
Aventurine relaxes. “Okay.”
“Regardless, your health is a much greater concern than mine. Our current location is not suitable for repair, and we’ve not the supplies for it either. We’ll have to find somewhere else.”
Aventurine looks around the room. Empty, largely, save for the wooden desk he’s lying on, a computer chair, and their packs, Ratio’s open. Tools are scattered across the desk. It looks a little like an abandoned home office.
The act of moving his eye sends another flow of pain. Cold unease builds up in the back of his mind.
“Can you move?” Veritas asks. “We should leave as soon as we can.”
“I can try.” Aventurine shifts his legs, hops off the desk.
Pain shrieks the moment his feet hit the floor. He collapses, knees buckling, mind swimming, and Veritas catches him, but that’s more pressure, more pain, it feels like his head is breaking in two--
He’s making sounds, he thinks, distantly, but he can’t tell what they are. Veritas might be saying something. Hands on him, somewhere.
Everything goes black.