[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1112185613685358642/1161704940301979708/image.png?ex=65394509&is=6526d009&hm=e3214fc6212080cd999e22c9412050ad09ff90711f5f4079c907e50265a07d13&]

Ch. 5 pt. 1

As Rantira languishes in bright exquisite pain under the crumbled titerarium, elsewhere a stage lowers. And it lowers and lowers and lowers. The stage follows a preprogrammed path, one that passes the corpses of pauper and elder alike. This platform was meant to only transport Soya, yet Uh’ goes too. Or who knows what the intention was when playing around inside the math of chaos. It wasn’t the additional weight that weighed on Uh’ but that his math was potentially wrong. They were supposed to crown her empress. The small portion of the population that hated Soya were meant to just disappear and die into history, not try and take over everything themselves. A tumult from above and he thinks he can smell smoke and death wafting through the ceiling.

He and the corpse of his love and owner descend to a level deep inside the titerarium. He doesn’t remember the journey. He is rethinking about his equation. Being wrong is unacceptable. Soya will be very disappointed. The crowd, that has sat so docile and patient, writhes in chaos. Screams of agony can be heard, diminishing to nothing as he sinks down, but they exist, likely forever, in his mind. A woman begs. More explosions and then suddenly the sound of what might have been the whole structure collapsing. The dust and vibration seem to be on a mission of revenge then settle as the lift stops after several more fractions of downward motion and the twenty-meter portion of stage spins around and he finds himself in a red-chrome room with a floor-to-ceiling transparisteel wall.

The wall allows him an unobstructed view of the whole of the Majt bubble. He wonders how he is here seemingly outside and on top of the whole thing. He should be subterranean. But then realizes it’s a screen with a high-quality video playing. He stares at it wondering what the people of the city were actually doing now.

Soya was dead and most were either at war or getting ready for it because an actual coup was taking place.

Or sheltering in place waiting to be asked which party they supported. The winners, or Soya.

That’s when Uh’ decides what he is going to do, stay here until things work themselves out. His math is done but it doesn’t matter with Soya gone. Just trying to think through that fact and he crumbles with despair. He reaches out to Soya and uncrumples her body. She looks so tiny and old now. Almost a wonder something so insignificant could make such a ruckus happen. Yet more lives ended because of her then were possibly saved by the very invention that catapulted her to stardom, and now this.

He wonders why fifty-percent of being a hero is also being a monster, Can one can’t exist without the other?

Liquid bone is a distant cousin to his work on Spatial-folding. The later, changing chemistry in an instant, but not forever, because the state of an object exists in permanent infinity, but it always reverts back, eventually. Spatial folding allowed an equation to pick and choose, with Soya that could mean she is both alive and dead. Something with an anchor. “It would have been yours too, my dear. You fought me on it. Said it didn’t matter to our survival. That we’d turn it into a weapon and you alone would be forced to decide. But now look at you.” He moans into her perfume-scented fur, silks crisp and scratching under his academic hands.

After several moments he finds himself listening to a softly wafting mosswind melody and realizes maybe this was Soya’s plan all along. To die and leave the rest to him.

Spatial-folding won’t work without something more substantial at its core. You need a consciousness to operate its complexities.

Maybe she never wanted to be an empress, maybe she was always aiming for that more she preached was her ultimate goal.

More what?

My legacy as law.

The air smells alive with blooming flowers, but none are present. He thinks he recognizes the scent as Mossweed, one of Soya’s favorites.

The room is cold steel lines and beyond the recorded images of Majt is the turbulent red swirling clouds of the Grotto atmosphere. The tranquillity of seeing the city from up high almost washes away the violence of what must be occurring somewhere above.

Uh’ takes Soya’s black-clawed hand and pets her white coat, a coat that once blazed red. He remembers that. Her fur, like her fire and the intensity of doing the work they did. He regrets nothing. Giving her his life was worth far more than freedom. He looks away from her still face, stifling tears, but his bulbous black nose leaks freely showing his grief. The sky in the video on the wall is mauveine. A storm brews. Shuhp expects it was a bad one, he finds himself curious when this was recorded and where he was when it happened. The Elders most likely raised the city to get above it. Sometimes Uh’ wishes they would leave it be. Can’t raise the city above the storm raging now, can they? Amazing that in the end they might also be removed, the Elders. Soya was among their number. A Great-Elder in fact, but the people were not content with them anymore. They took too long to make decisions. And according to Uh’s calculations, in terms of Upu survival, time was of the essence. Now or never.

The ominous waves of clouds, that fit the moment and provided proof, beat at the city below. The acid rain eating at the metal in an audible hiss and steam. Every storm is like this. Like the planet wanted to eat the Upu infestation from its core.

He stares at the video and holds his owner's hand peaceful in his sorrow. How long did he sit there? Since the event and enough cycles of the video for him to memorize its chaos. His mind also works on the problem of Soya being gone from the world but here still also.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Spatial Folding.

Many moments, or glimpses or passes occur as he sits with the rotting physical reminder of his lost love. His mind crunching the work done already. The algorithm he set to work chomping on Soya’s life. The life’s work with which he had so much left to do. His life work also. And at the end of his life, this thing he set into motion deserved to be birthed into some kind of functionality and soul like it were his child. Maybe it was because he lost Soya and becomes minutely aware, moment by moment, the corpse does not need him to care for it. Nor does Soya need a body to survive.

As the storm subsides again he knows what he needs to do. But doubts he can really make spatial-folding work. Was the answer really as simple as plugging Soya Yee into the equation and using himself as the constant? That was the surprise, he built an artificial intelligence to handle the burden of the maths. It needed real-time adjustments, like a human mind- so planned to use hers and now may never know if it would have worked. Using himself, the first experiments yielded success. And now the real Soya is dead, like Grotto no longer needed that version, because she now, thanks to him, can live forever.

“She is gone,” a med-tech appears. Uh’ must have missed the door sliding open, what’s left of his fur stands on end as he makes eye-contact with the newly arrived Upu. A freed Upu. One unburdened by an affirmitizer.

“To make things easy, just call me Techy. Everyone does. Everyone that matters.”

He smokes. Uh’ is certain of that. He stinks like reburnt redmoss. A ball of fur in a white jumpsuit stained with various fluids. Sloppy and ugly. If he is surprised to find Uh’ he doesn’t show it and walks in pulling a trolley filled with tools for embalming.

Uh’ flinches. He can’t witness this and tries to leave, but the pull of the afirmitizer still on Soya’s person reminds him he is here until freed from its grip. And then a wave of regret that he hadn’t moved to take it from her corpse.

“And you probably should have just died above. Might have been the best route for you. Lucky you, the boss and I spotted your little daring escape, though, And I made it down here. Guess what?

“What?”

“Everyone up there is dead. If you’re curious. You are 100 lengths below Majt. And in a second you are going to be dead also.

From inside the cart he pulls a corpse.

Uh’ wonders how much shock his heart can take. The dead Upu looks abused.

“Prisoner, we had to think fast. Can get bodies diverted from the crematory, takes some effort, but you gotta be dead. Then on top of the corpse he places a black device.

“Bomb,” the tech points, “let’s go.”

Uh’ follows because it’s a better idea than getting blown up.

“Call me Techy, if you want. Not that it matters much what you call me, being you’ll likely catch up with your ghost before too long. The boss has plans for you. Your lucky too. He saw your potential immediately.”

Techy finishes to place the butt of a red-moss rollie in his mouth.

“Probably should have just stayed up there and made it easy on yourself. I told the boss though they are not going to like that you are down here. So he said come get you. Alive.” He hisses with a puff of smoke, offering Uh’ the spliff.

Uh’ shakes the joint away and is unhappy to have started the interaction. A disquieting sense of dread bubbles at the idea of they thinking of the terrorist group doing work in Soya’s name.

I lust to live forever through my words. Through me you will gain eternal life also Shuhp Yee.

Because it only seemed to be getting worse, only now does he wonder f she ever had control at the end. That maybe her good intentions finally cursed her ending. Uh’ gazes upward where through many layers above he easily pictures a massacre occurring. “All dead?”

“By design. Don’t take it personally, but like I said, you were supposed to be up there not riding with Soya to her burial chamber. We used to survive in caves and looks like if you want to live still, you’ll probably have to get used to the idea of spending what time you have left stuck in one of your own,” Techy says matter of factly as if Uh’ were trying to make his reality otherwise. “Like I already said you shouldn’t be here. So come with me and we will get you on your right path again.”

Uh’ ignores him. He is old and his owner is dead. What more can be done? His two remaining objectives are to finish spatial-folding and meet death when it arrives. But one over the other is fine at this point. Soya’s disappointed face filters up from his mind and he knows he can’t quit yet. He bows his head deciding compilation was his best option, “I am done serving.”

It’s la sudden decision one that hurts. “All I ever wanted was to do my job. But now that job is done.”

“Well, that’s great,” Techy says and pats the body of Soya before dragging it off the lift to make a dead body puddle on the crypt floor, his lifemate like he were dumping trash. Uh’ wants to tell him to stop his rude hands and smooth the silks of her gown again, but when he looks up a chill races down his spine.

“My job is to take Soya Yee’s slave to his next owner, but first I have to get both these corpses ready for eternity here,” and in his hand is Soya’s afirmatizer the one linked to the obedience-band looped through his forearm. Immediately the long-dormant thing begins to crackle and cause misery.

He hates Techy for this insult, knowing immediately there is nothing he can do at the moment about it but obey his every command. Instead, he challenges his opinion, “Dead bodies aren’t trash. Waste. Soya is to be treasured. It’s obvious you do not value anything, please let me compose her as she deserves.” He knows the voice is his own and then is doubly shocked that he doesn't regret uttering the words. He would never have while Soya was alive. Simply waited for orders. So, the longtime slave and expert in Chaos Computation finishes, “This is Soya Yee, my owner, for seventy-five cycles she was the greatest mind the Upu ever knew, please let me arrange her.”

“She’s dead. And you have no more rights than a Naht slave,” he says, reaching behind him and depressing a button on the wall. The door shoots open. He uses the word for the defeated race like a curse and is the single worst insult that can be levied on an Upu. Uh’ turns his head slightly, the unease settling as fact. With Soya, he never would have had to worry about being insulted, especially like that. He was cloaked in the veil of her status, and this moment reveals that cloak is gone.

The tech has soft, round features covered in pebbly infection scars and coarse black hair shorn short to avoid picking up any more disease and infection from his patients. His uniform is blindingly white. His piercing eyes reflect red and bore holes through Shuhp. Despite the insult, he really can’t deny the truth of the statement. Soya is dead, but the memories of her being very much alive and 60 moments ago when they were discussing that this very outcome was impossible, hits him hard. His body fights against the natural reaction to the sadness. Despair threatens to hold him hostage, but he can’t have that. Once when he was with her, one whisper in her long pink ear got things done. He basked in serving as her number one and would happily be her slave for eternity. It worked because both knew his importance. He turns bodily to take issue with the disrespect and finds the med-tech pointing the affirmatizer at him.