The bridge was a streak of red light that disappeared into the wall of white mist. The billowing clouds rolled around the red plasma, hissing and burning as they touched the underside of the bridge.
If he looked down, Poire could see through the transparent plasma. Below, where all the water of this flooded landscape cascaded down into the chasm, and all that steam roared back up.
There were no rails. Nothing to stop him from falling off, should he slip. No human would have made this entrance to the Grid.
Poire turned around, and spoke to the Keeper, the overgrown machine.
“Is there no other way?”
None, came its mental reply.
How much trust should he place in the old machines? How much trust, in the makers of this place?
But Poire could see no other choice. He had come so far. Were he alone, he might have turned away.
Laykis, however, was watching.
“I do not know, Divine One,” she said. “Perhaps we should consider alternatives.”
“No,” Poire said. “This is it.”
If he was going to find the rest of humanity… If he was going to find anyone at all, this had to be the way.
Just one step, Poire told himself. Take only the first step.
Theoretically, the plasma was rigid. Theoretically, even a layer this thin should be solid enough to hold ten times his weight. Theoretically. But that was only if they were using the same tech they used back in his conclave. There, the shields were stable, and the change in temperature was imperceptible.
Here, he could feel the heat from the bridge. Hear the mist sizzling as it collided with the underside of the bridge, and was blasted away. From time to time, the solid-state plasma even rippled with dark red waves of energy sliding out along its length. Out into the mist.
He stared at his feet for far too long. Listening to the water, crashing over the edge of the chasm.
It felt like he’d been here before. The others in his cohort, already running ahead. Laughing in the joy that such things - such simple feats of determination - came so easily to them. And him, always falling behind.
If anyone should be here, it should be the other children from his cohort. Maxia, or Salu, or even Lysha with his long limbs and his laconic grace. Everything came so easily for him.
Well, they’re not here, Poire thought. And you are. And they can’t do it.
“Only you, Poire,” someone whispered, answering his thoughts. He looked up at the sound of his name.
Laykis cocked her head.
“Poire,” he heard his name again. But not from Laykis. Nor from the Keeper, nor any of the machines here. “Come.”
It came from the mists. Of course, he thought, it’s the mists.
He had been in this fog for far too long, and the light was getting to his head. And yet... the voice sounded so real. And painfully familiar.
“Nuwa?” He tried, trying to imagine his old caretaker. Standing just out of sight, veiled in the mist.
“Poire,” She was close now. Standing right behind him, though he couldn’t see her. Whispering into his left ear.
The voice changed, becoming harder. “Go. Go. Take a step.”
Nuwa never spoke with so much urgency, so much need. She was always patient, even when he would sit down and give up and cry.
“Who are you?” Poire breathed out, so quiet he almost didn’t hear himself.
But the voice gave no answer.
“Divine One?” Laykis was watching him, and her hands were clutched to her chest, as if she was anxious to keep him from stepping onto the bridge.
He shook his head.
This had to be done.
And the longer he stayed here, the more he was afraid he would give up. Poire pushed away the thoughts of Nuwa, of his old cohort. Pushed away the thoughts of Laykis, and all the people who were waiting for him to save them.
It was only Poire, and the bridge.
The sole of his foot touched the plasma. The bridge hissed dangerously, as his toe connected with something - not hard - a dense, gel-like substance. For a moment he thought his foot would tear through the plasma, but the more weight he put on his toe, the harder the bridge became.
He put all his weight on that one foot, and the bridge rippled beneath him. It held firm. Both his feet were now suspended over the clouds.
Poire began to walk.
The bridge shaped itself to his footsteps, growing firm under the soles of his boots, under the metal of his armor. A few more steps, and he was standing over the chasmic depths, almost completely wrapped in the clouds. The thin metal skin of armor that covered his body was dripping with the hot, humid condensation of the mist.
“Divine One?” A voice called from behind him. Poire stopped. He had walked further than he thought. He could not see the concrete walkway anymore. Only Laykis’s eyes, floating in the mist, flickering rapidly as she tried to parse his form through the haze. “Is it safe? Shall I follow you?”
“I think so,” he said uncertainly. “Be careful.”
Her first step was heavier than his. The red light under her foot rippled out, and Poire could feel it rolling under his own. But still, it held.
They walked, one in front of the other, the two of them swallowed by the roaring, rising clouds of mist. It was not long before he felt the wind - or rather, until his armor felt the wind for him. A wall of wind shoved back at the wall of mist, so that there was a clear divide where the mist ended. Poire had to brace himself as he walked through the wind until, suddenly, he was standing out in the open.
He could see everything.
In the center of the chasm, there was a shallow bowl, the size of his old city. The chasm wrapped around this bowl, and the wind pushed the mist away, keeping this place empty of mist. Poire could see up, see the clear skies above. And see the four moons there, waiting.
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The plasma bridge ran all the way to the rim of the bowl, and ended there. Inside the rim, Poire could just see the metal. Millions of shining, reflective panels, locked together in an endless, concentric pattern. Spiraling down towards the center of the bowl.
As he approached, he could see that each metal panel was a different size and different shape, though they were generally arrayed in concentric rings. Their surfaces were unstained, and Poire could not find a single blemish in their interlocked pattern. Strangely, though the metal panels were all perfectly polished, they did not reflect the sky above. Instead, they seemed to swallow those colors, and blur them into something else.
But Poire’s eyes were locked on another shape, at the center of the bowl.
A gate. It was old, judging by the dozens of those semicircular arms were stacked like a turning staircase around its perimeter. Most modern gates only needed one, with a second for redundancy.
How long had this place been sitting here, untouched?
Did they know someone would need it again, after all this time?
This place would have his answers. Or, he hoped, would allow him to find someone who did.
High overhead, the moons of Thrass were in their waxing crescents, all four of them lined up in a row. Each one, roughly the same size. Their surfaces a uniform, metallic gray. Their reflections turned into dark blurs on the opposing side of the silver bowl.
Poire did not see a way to the gate, except across the metal panels. He tested his foot lightly on one, only when he stepped forward, the panel lifted to meet his foot. And others in his path shifted slightly, as if they knew what he wanted. They made a gentle, easy set of stairs for him to walk down.
Some panels, however, did not move. Either they had lost that function, or they had gone offline entirely. On the first of these, Poire almost slipped, but the armor sucked at the metal and caught him, holding him in place.
Thank you, Poire impulsed. Not expecting a response. But the armor did respond through a chiming sound in his wrist implant.
Laykis followed slowly after, awkwardly leaning back as she slid down the gentle slope of the bowl. The panels did not shift for her, but they did not throw her off either.
Together, they cut across hundreds and hundreds of those irregular polygonal panels, most of them shifting from their perfectly locked places to make Poire’s path easier. Each step, his heart beat a little faster.
In each breath, he felt both heavier and lighter at the same time.
Halfway across, the gate was still small and in the distance. A smudge against that perfect, chromatic surface. A thought occurred to him.
The bridge. The panels. The machines and the Keepers that waited for me.
“The Emperor is not human,” Poire said to Laykis. “And if he ever was, there is very little left inside him.”
“What makes you say this, Savior Divine?”
“I don’t think the machines of this place, the Keepers, would have let him in. I think they would know him for what he is, and they would have fought him.”
“Because he’s not human.”
“He acted like this place was a gift for me. As if he was giving me something of his. But this place was never his to give.”
“But he knew what you would find here, didn’t he?”
Poire pursed his lips. Thinking about it, for a moment. “Yes, he did. Which means he wants something from this place.”
“Or perhaps...” Laykis eyes dimmed as she clung to the thought.
“Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps it is an exchange. Perhaps he will ask for something later, something much greater than this place.”
The thought made Poire uncomfortable. What could I possibly give, that is greater than the Old Grid?
The metal panels shifted to meet his feet. When he stepped off one, it would move slowly back into its place, so there was a long wake of out-of-place panels trailing behind him. It took them almost half an hour to reach the outer edge of the gate, at the center of the bowl.
Red plasma erupted from the tip of the nearest terminal node, and formed into that same unnaturally smooth face. Little more than a red mask made of light.
Its eyes opened, and looked at Poire.
“Administrator. Long has been the wait.”
Poire did not answer. He turned in a slow circle, soaking in the Heart that rose all around him. Millions of panels, sloping up into the distance. Beyond them, the world was nothing more than white mist. And above, the moons and the suns.
“Is it time to wake?” the face asked.
So many questions flooded through Poire’s mind.
Now, he would have the answers. Poire sent an impulse to his armor, calling it to pull away from his face. If the mist and the light was already seeping through, then what did it matter? He wanted to see this with his own eyes.
“It’s time,” Poire said. “Wake up.”
Movement started at the furthest rim of the bowl. Over there, he could see a ripple in the bowl, as metal panels began to detach from each other, one ring at a time. Hundreds of panels, then thousands. Each one glittering in the sunlight. Then, it was as if the whole world was shifting as all the panels rippled out, blooming like some immense, chromatic flower.
There was a screech and a shattering sound, as dozens of panels slid too roughly into each other, smashing against each other. Destroying the perfect surface of the bloom. Poire felt a tug of fear in his gut, but the process did not stop. Would it still work?
In the distance, something shimmered and crackled in the mist. Multicolored lightning streaked up from the chasmic depths, flashing light across the walls of mist. Brilliant yellows and neon purples. Bright, bloody reds and sapphire and azures. Not just hints of colors, but crashing waves and brilliant streaks that sliced through each other. Was it supposed to do that?
Poire felt a twinge in his chest. His crawled up his neck, and into the back of his throat. A warmth, in his sinuses, began to trickle out. He touched at his nose, and wiped it away.
And he could hear the voices. It was like they were hidden under the clatter of the million, moving panels. Snatches of conversation slipped past him, as though he were standing neck-deep in a stream, watching the leaves rush out of his reach. Conversations and arguments. Cries of laughter? Of fear? He could hear them. Voices, not just far away, but distant in time.
“Too far and too high!” A man shouted, “This is the cost. And now it has come due. And we cannot pay it.”
“Then we will send more, and more, until we find a way. If beyond can come here, then we can go beyond.”
“You lie only to yourself! We have already lost!”
Another voice: “The way is shut. But there must be a different path. We must find a different path, no matter the price.”
And another: “This is no meager debt. There is no currency that will extinguish that thing. It was here long before us. It was everywhere. You cannot stop it. You cannot even see the end of it.”
Each voice, different. They shouted at him from across the void of time. He did not know these voices, and yet he knew - without a shadow of uncertainty - they had all happened. That all these words had been said.
By who?
“So that’s it? You were finished before you even began?”
“Yes!” Came the answer, from a dozen different angles. “Yes, an accident! A seed, taken root in the cracks between the concrete!”
Voices and shouts and sobs and laughter buzzed through Poire’s mind. It rattled his thoughts and made his face burn. He wiped at an itch on his nose, and didn’t notice the blood on the back of his hand.
“We have to try.” This last voice was sharp and feminine and scratchy with age, but still somehow strong and resilient.
“You may think so. But you don’t know that. Nothing is determined. Not even these* visions...*”
The voices were gone, drifting out of his mind. Poire’s mouth tasted metallic. Blood was dripping from both nostrils now. He wiped it again, and his whole hand was streaked with it. His wrist implant was singing a warning at him, and a rapid-fire list of medical advice flickered through the corner of his mind.
One more voice, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. “When he comes, we must be ready now.”
Poire whirled around, and saw no one.
“You mean,” Another voice, even quieter still. “If he comes…”
Who? Poire wanted to ask. Are they talking about me?
Are they waiting for me?
“You’re bleeding!” Laykis’s hands were at his chin, tilting his head back. “I don’t have anything to stop it.”
Poire gently pushed her away, saying, “I’m fine.” But when he opened his mouth, he tasted only blood. And when he looked at the sky it seemed to tilt slightly.
That’s when he saw the flare of light. A bright pinpoint, glowing at the southern tip of one of the moons. Poire swallowed the blood dripping down his sinuses.
The four moons were glowing. Gossamer strands of light spooled out of some depression on each moon. Racing down, towards the planet. Down to the Heart, where the millions of panels were waiting to receive them. The light moved slow, impossibly slow for something so pure and bright. As they came closer, the strands seemed to grow thicker, until the sky was full of their brilliance. Each beam of light touched the bowl in a different place, but at the exact same time. Towers of energy, that connected the moons to the planet.
And where they touched, they bled color over the metal panels, changing that chromatic metal into dark violets, into brilliant reds. All of them brightening into a white so strong, it hurt Poire’s eyes to look at the Heart. It felt like the whole world was melting together. Pulsing with new, endless energy.
“Savior,” Laykis was so close to him, her eyes mimicking a kind of concern. “There’s so much blood.”
“It’s nothing,” Poire said. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. This was nothing compared to the tests that he and the others in his cohort had gone through, so many times before.
“Everything is fine,” Poire said. And it was true. Because, now, after so long, the Heart of the Old Grid was beating once more.
“I want to send a message,” Poire said.
Not to Laykis, nor to the Keepers, but to the Grid itself.
“If you can hear me,” he said. “My name is Poire, and I am here.”