Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Among Brightening Qualia flicked through each simulation window, watching the various designs ae’d made stand up to high wind, early-cycle rain, and bites of various predators. Watched the statistics tick in.

They all fared pretty well against high winds, aside from the slimmer, flatter design, which had to flatten itself against the ground to stop from blowing away.
The biggest and sturdiest of them, with the least effective wings, fared best against rain. It had taken in water, but not much.

None could withstand a standard lizard bite, as ae’d expected. The glider designs just weren’t built to deal with land predators and their teeth. Every one of them took heavy damage, and some were completely twisted out of shape.
They fared better with the aerial predators- vultures and the like- that had blunter teeth and were built more towards holding rather than killing instantly. Some were still crushed, but the largest took it without too much trouble.

Last simulation before ae made a decision on which one to make. Pure flight speed, and flight with wind. Qualia ported the five schematic blueprints into a new simulation; simple air. Ae watched each one fly, and pushed back the tiny feeling of longing for that experience.

Ae flicked up a window to track the statistics. Also expected. The smaller and more delicate ones flew the fastest without wind.
With wind, the very smallest design began to struggle to keep oriented. It eventually failed and was blown away.
At the very strongest winds, the flat design, previously able to keep itself oriented in the wind currents, finally tipped a wing wrong and lost control.

The biggest one could not fly very fast at all, with or without wind. It could keep itself going if the wind was with it, but struggled to fly against it. The second-biggest had a similar problem, to a lesser degree, but still enough that ae wasn't satisfied with it.

And so there was only one left- the one in the middle. A basic design with a long, narrow body, short legs and arms, and long wings. It was sized similarly to messengers other iterators had purposed to carry pearls and such. The Flightling, ae had nicknamed it.

That will be very good to have if I can make it work.

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Restful Leaves shoved herself upright, fixing the gravity that had gone off and dumped her on the floor of her chamber with a painful loss of functionality.
What was that? It was so sudden.

She flicked up a window to check her structure. It had felt like something was badly hurt.

Nothing in the top half of her structure, where she expected. But the bottom…

A gaping hole in one lower side. Torn metal and concrete, biological components spilling out of their places, neurons trying to keep afloat.

Two water conduits torn open and pouring water towards the ground. A third one damaged and leaking.

She flinched as another piece fell. A weather node, suddenly not nearly well enough supported, crashing to the shadowed, long-abandoned mines below.

And then the second shock sent her to the floor, her umbilical flopping limp. Red warning lights in her chamber. Water, water, water. Water leaving. Water not filling my conduits, not cooling my processors.

Get upright again. The window was gone, lost in the chaos, replaced with warning after warning. Lack of water, lack of water, that troubling phosphate issue that had been a hindrance for a hundred cycles or more, silicon buildup…
Slag runoff channels damaged. That really was troubling.

More warnings appeared. Water, water, silicon, slag, water, silicon, phosphates, water, water, water…
Emergency maintenance required.
Emergency maintenance required.
Emergency maintenance required.

There was no one to do maintenance. They were long, long gone. Ascended or drowned in the void.

She slowed some of her secondary systems. Lower processing power would have to do for now. She couldn’t afford anything more. She let a few rooms in the memory conflux turn off and go dark.

Pain, and she fell to the chamber floor again. Warnings, warnings, warnings. Water spilling away. A main structural beam badly damaged.

She knew, suddenly, that nothing she could do would be enough. That this would be her collapse.

She sent an overseer to take as many pictures of the hole as it could.
I can at least try to figure out what’s killed me before I die.

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Restful Leaves sat on her chamber floor and watched the three overseers sitting near her. Pink, blue, green. Beige-orange conspicuously absent. They watched her back, a few of her own purple ones hovering around.

They could do nothing. It was too late.

But she could tell them everything she knew.

“It was an explosion,” she said to them. “A device of some kind, sent up to my structure through a water pipeline.”

They watch quietly.

“I don’t know who sent it. I don’t know who would have that much malicious intent, to send a package that would kill me. But whoever it was, they succeeded.”

“Maybe they didn’t think it would kill me. Maybe they thought I would only be wounded, or left at lower processing power. But time has really taken its toll on my systems; that was just the metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Currently I suspect some void fluid contraption was used to make an explosion that large. If any of you have seen the way a rarefaction cell will detonate when cracked? Like that, but much larger and more destructive.”

“Which rules out anything but an iterator having sent this. The primal fauna do not use void fluid, especially not the way we do.”

“Logically, it would likely be someone whose void fluid pipelines are still functioning. But I could be wrong about that. Theoretically, different iterator components contain enough void fluid that you could make a bomb out of them.”

“How it was delivered, I have no idea. I didn’t keep up with purposing even before my communications collapse. Qualia might have some insight on that.”

She refocuses, and the three overseers blink away, backing up and leaving through her access shaft.

Restful Leaves writes versions of what she wants to say on pearls, slowly transcribing each line. What she’d like to say to Memories. To Qualia. To Spools. And to Reality. Saying goodbye, over and over again. She can’t bring herself to say any of it to the overseers.

She knows Reality doesn’t care about her, but she misses speaking to him anyway.

She writes. She thinks, she transcribes, translates, writes down. Over and over and over. Most of the pearls in her chamber have been repurposed from working memory to her writings.

There is nothing else to do.

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Among Brightening Qualia looked down at the little creatures in his chamber. They looked back at him, bright eyes flicking around as quick as he could think, wings fluttering open and shut.

He quite liked them. And they loved him; he could see it in their eyes. He could let them out to the outside of his structure, and they would fly around and around, wings tilting into the turns, faster than anything his overseers had ever seen.

He hadn’t lost a single one, not even to the larger predators outside his can. They were too quick. They could outfly a vulture as quick as thinking.

His overseers had watched them as they ate. The colonies of little crawling insects that lived on Qualia’s exterior didn’t stand a chance. As fast as they ran for their hideouts, the little creatures dove for them, angling their wings, and caught them in their little front claws. They tugged off the hard outer shell and munched the inside.

He loved them, really. They were his very dream.

It was about time he sent one to Repeating Memories. He worried a little about sending it so far away, worried if it would be able to find food.

He envisioned them flapping up to gather fruit, swooping and diving to catch minnows…

They’d be fine. He rewrote a pearl for Memories, and selected a little flightling- very pale green with dappled teal patterns on its wings. The flightlings had a decent amount of color variation- pale purple, blue, green, white, and the wing patterns were absolutely beautiful. So colorful, with so much variation in patterns.

He gently lifted the flightling and gave it the pearl. It held it in its little claws, clutching that little pink sphere against its chest. It blinked at him with wide eyes.

He spoke gently to it. “Fly west to the ocean, then along the coast to the north. You will find another of my kind, a close friend. She will welcome you warmly. And do not lose the pearl!”

He let it go, and it flicked over to its closest companion, a small white flightling with speckles of indigo along its wings. They touched wings and flew for the exit, going through the entrance one after the other.

Qualia considers sending an overseer with them, before realizing it’s pointless; they are so fast they will lose an overseer easily.

He hopes Repeating Memories loves them just as much as he does.

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Spools of Lace runs two pearls through her fingers.

Any actual work on the Great Problem in her can had ceased long ago. She held the pearls.

One contained every chatlog she’d ever had with Intrinsic Reality. Every word they’d said. Every word in which she’d trusted him.

She wants to trust him.

The other contained every detail she could find about Restful Leaves’ collapse. Overseer recordings, pictures, the words of Leaves herself. Among Brightening Qualia’s succinct arguments.

She can no longer trust him.

She reads them, and rereads them, and rereads them.

She dropped them. She had to move on. She had to get back to normal.

Just get back to normal, and everything will be all right.

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Diver stuffed the last scrap of the beetle she’d caught into her mouth. Let’s keep moving, she signed, flicking open her wings.

Swoop blinked in agreement. One moment. Got to grab pearl.

Of course.

He flicked over to where he’d left their pearl. The smooth object was somewhat awkward to carry; he clasped it in both claws and hopped, then leapt into the air.

Diver flicked up to follow him, and they were off, speeding through the sky. They knew their region by heart; their Grand Parent had told them well where to go. This was a regular occurrence; a trip to Spools of Lace with a message to bring.

They made the cycle easily; their planned route was gentle, and they were too far out from either Qualia or Spools to see the rains. Neither of them liked flying at night, though, so they stopped at their waypoint for the cycle; a communications mast.

A large flightling colony lived here, above the clouds, and a few met them as they landed. Diver dipped her nose to them and signed On a message trip. Stop here for the night?

Of course, one signed back. We meet you before. Welcome here.

The colony brings food back for its young and old, and messengers are often allowed to partake. Diver takes a couple of bugs for herself and Swoop; they have already eaten, but to be full would be good.

What messages going? a young flightling asks her, signing slowly and timidly. Diver blinks happily and shows them the pearl. Mentioned many things in it, she signs. Most I did not understand. Shape of a creature, maybe.

The young flightling nudges the pearl with one wing, examining its shine. I would love to be a messenger one day, they sign.

You maybe can, Diver responds. Me and Swoop take you to Spools, if your parents are willing?

Yes! Yes! they sign back. Will ask parent. He will be willing, I think.

Your name? Diver asks.

Twister, they respond.

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Intrinsic Reality looked down at the little creatures in his chamber.

They looked back at him with wide, beady eyes.

“Did someone send you here?” They looked bioengineered. Qualia’s work, if he had to guess.

They looked at each other.

One flapped, and released a pearl from its claw. Reality picked up the pearl to read it.

It was a long-outdated equipment manifest from his lower structure. Darn. Almost believed it was the local group come to check in.

He missed them. He missed the usual quiet hum of communications in the background. The silence after it was gone was rather too quiet.

He’d enjoyed it at first- no one to bother me! I can do whatever I want! But nothing had felt the same after Restful Leaves’ collapse. He hardly even enjoyed his old pastimes- keying and chiseling his way into private broadcasts, the satisfaction of laughing at its members. Should have done a better job with your keys, idiots!

He did it only to pass time now. It had never really been to an end, but now he couldn’t even laugh about it with Spools.

Spools. The last words she’d spoken to him, those harsh remarks, still stung.

I wish we could go back to how things were.

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Aerial drifted on, distracted. She had left her colony a few cycles before, looking to become a nomad. A more dangerous lifestyle to be sure, but a pleasant one. Relying only on oneself wasn’t particularly usual for a flightling, but she certainly didn’t mind.

The trees grew taller and taller as she glided on and on, huge towering things. Things to rest on, to find little bugs or scraps of mold or lichen to forage on.

Aerial continued to drift, slower and slower, lower and lower, as the sun sank behind her. Not paying full attention, she continued on.

Until it began to rain.

It was droplets at first. She wondered if some showers were simply passing through the area, but dismissed it. It wasn’t too bad to fly in. She figured she’d go just another few pips.

But the rain got heavier and heavier the further she flew. It pressed her down; rain that would be barely a concern for most creatures was difficult weather for flightlings, and she decided the next tree would be her shelter.

She tucked into a swoop, gliding just below a branch, flipping up to lose some speed before landing. She rooted her nose through the tree’s rough surface and found a tiny bark beetle, which she stuffed in her mouth.

Tucking herself between two close branches, she figured she’d be just about okay from the rain. It wasn’t much, really, just enough to not want to fly in.
But the rain grew heavier and heavier over the night. The first spot was abandoned after water seeped all through her wingfolds, and she hopped down to a lower branch, then a lower one, then a lower one, trying to get out of the rain.

Until, as she hopped down from a particularly low branch, her claws landed on rough, ancient bricks.

They were very, very worn, yet still standing and sturdy. She blinked the rain out of her eyes and tried to see what sort of structure she had found, but it was too dark to see much of anything.

Pushing along the rough surface, digging her claws into the cracks between each brick, bending her head down against the rain, she pushed on, trying to find some shelter from the storm. Eventually she reached a large hole in the brickwork, and ducking through it she found a huge once-indoor courtyard.

She could tell it would be beautiful in daylight. At night it was wet and dark, the cloud cover offering no light whatsoever.

But, under a ledge at the edge of the courtyard, although not completely dry, was at least dry enough to comfortably sleep, which she did.

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Aerial woke to a trickle of rainwater dripping on her head, and daylight streaming through the hole in the ceiling, casting the whole room pale gold. Pulling herself up and flicking over to the hole, she flew upwards and out.

It was a large ruin, some ancient building long forgotten and overgrown. Yellow-gold plants consumed the main structure, the brickwork was unstable and crumbling in spots, but it was still extremely beautiful, easily beating out the tall metal halls of the communications mast she’d grown up in.

The clouds had mostly dispersed now. She flew up to the treetop she’d tried to shelter in the night before, and tugged some scraps of lichen off the more sheltered side of the tree. It tasted bright, almost acidic.

Staring out towards the horizon, she spotted something in the distance- a large metal strut, she thought, towering upwards before being lost in a cloud bank. Like the bottom of a communications mast, she thought at first, that had lost most of its top?

Flying closer, she realized it was more like the leg of a great creator-mind. Growing upwards, metal tinted purple-pink below the clouds; reinforced for a huge structure atop that simply did not seem to exist.
She landed on a nearby structure, below the cloud layer. She could now see two legs, with an awkward corner of metal and concrete clinging on to them. This close, it really did look like the legs of Among Brightening Qualia, the one time she’d visited his structure.

She wondered what happened to the rest of it- the other legs? The huge, sunlit metal exterior, the intricate, dark, whirring circuits, the strange life, so unlike all else, in the minds and bodies of the largest creatures that stood.

And then she looked down, and knew. Twisted, malformed, ruined metal, jagged pieces of once-was-exterior, long-collapsed beams piercing through a completely, violently ruined structure.
If everything she knew about her Grand Parent and the others was true, then she knew what she was looking at.

It’s dead.

She turned and fled, flying as fast as she could back to the forest.

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Among Brightening Qualia dipped aer head to the flightling messengers and lifted their pearl to read.

Hey, Qualia. Memories writing this.

I couldn’t tell you this over the broadcasts, but I felt you should know- I’ve removed my self-modification taboo.

For my first project, I’m planning on opening one of the rooms in my Memory Conflux to the sky, and converting it into a flightling aerie.

I was hoping for some advice on that, and also on logistics. Even with the taboo broken I don’t have anything that could cut through one of my walls.

I was curious if a large purposed organism could do it? And if so, what kind of design would you recommend?

Qualia spun the pearl in aer fingers for a moment before rewriting it to send back.

Hey Memories. Qualia responding to your pearl.

Are you sure removing a taboo was a safe decision? Weren't they put in place for a reason?

I won’t object to the idea of a flightling aerie at your can, though!

Theoretically yes, it wouldn’t be difficult to use a purposed organism to cut open one of your walls. There’s kind of two routes you can go with that.

The most obvious option would be a large drill-like creature that will destroy or melt the metal, and grind the concrete down to dust.

The other option is to enlist modified scavengers. They’re known for scraping away at iterator cans for scrap metal, and have caused actual damage to some iterators, so it wouldn’t be unheard of to use a group of creatures, scraping away, to cut a hole in one of your walls.

Still, though, I worry about you removing taboos. It’s a slippery and dangerous slope. Some iterators have gone on and on, until they get themselves killed. I can understand the want for creative freedom, but please don’t take this too far.

“Thank you for the delivery,” ae says to the flightlings. “Can you take this back to Repeating Memories, please?”

They blink, one takes the pearl, and they’re gone.

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Starlight watched as Amber hopped back into the small cleared space outside their shelter. Find anything interesting? she asked.

No, Amber responded. Just more collapsed tunnels and blocked routes.

I got some lichen, Starlight signed. Share a piece with me?

Sure. Amber selected a large scrap and tore off half of it, passing the other half to Starlight. They nibbled on it silently.

Suddenly, Reflection crashed into their hollow, signing wildly. Dawn found an overseer, he signed. Went to follow it, sent me back to fetch you two. Think this might be our big discovery.

Starlight dropped the lichen and flicked her wings. Lead us, she signed. Coming, Amber?

Amber blinked and bounced up, following Reflection as he led them back to where Dawn had left him.

Racing along, they soon reached the spot that Reflection and Dawn had found the overseer. She said she’d mark where she went, Reflection signed, and led them on, noting clawmarks Dawn had made in the ground at each intersecting path.

Eventually, after following the path for most of the cycle, they caught up to the overseer. Dawn waved them forwards, and they flicked along, following as quickly as the overseer could lead, until the small tunnel gave way to open sky.

And there, just around a corner of twisted machinery, slightly sheltered, with one side of a collapsed chamber standing nearby, was an iterator puppet.

Its eyes were closed, and its arms were curled around itself. The large cable connecting it to the wall was cracked open and didn’t connect to anything; wires from it spilled out onto the ground.

The overseer blinked over behind it and looked at the puppet, appearing almost sad.

Nothing moved for a long moment.

Aerial was right, Amber signed. She said this place was dead.

Another long pause.

We should find shelter, Starlight signed. Rain is coming soon.

Dawn blinked in agreement, and one by one, the four flightlings turned and left the dead puppet.

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Spools of Lace stared down at the pearls piling up in one corner of her chamber.

Evidently Among Brightening Qualia had a lot of blueprints.

Why did she ever agree to this? She didn’t even understand some of them; she had no idea how to sort them. I'm still such a beginner at this.

The flightling on her floor hopped away from the pearl it had brought, and she shuffled it towards the pile. It flicked upwards, with its companion, and was gone.

Hardly a minute later, four more flightlings fell into her chamber.

Huh. Two pairs at once? They usually take turns.

They all dropped off pearls. Spools glanced at one, but it was simply blank. She rolled it back towards the flightling. “It’s blank. You can keep it.”

Weird, she thought. Qualia doesn’t have any reason to send me blank pearls. She skillfully flicked the gravity to pick up another one of the pearls, but this one made her pause.

It was addressed to Intrinsic Reality.

Intrinsic Reality,

I do wish that we could forgive each other for any pain or annoyance that has been caused between us.

Being your group senior, it fell to me to reprimand you for your actions when they irritated other iterators. I wish that had not

Spools of Lace dropped the pearl and forcefully threw it across the chamber in shock. Her shawl rippled in the sudden gravity shift.

Not mine to read.

But… it’s from Restful Leaves.

Are they all…?

She picks up the other two pearls. One is addressed to Repeating Memories, and she does not read it further, instead passing it back to the flightlings. “Please take this one to Repeating Memories. She will know what to do with it.”

The other is addressed to her.

She rubs it off, gently, on her shawl. It’s dusty with age.

“Do leave now,” she instructs the flightlings.

Spools of Lace,

How I wish I could have known you better, and sooner! For the ages that we were friends, I wish it had been twice as long. You’re a beautiful soul. I see some others call you naive, and while they aren’t entirely wrong, they do underestimate your personality.

You’re smart and creative; you think outside the box better than anyone else I know. Your enthusiasm is unbounded. I remember the old methodologies you shared- the suggestion that enlightenment can be found through creation is certainly an unusual one, but it has more merit than some.

So often it’s said that iterators are built for pragmatism alone, but for you, I think that’s untrue. Beautiful patterns come so easily to you- the poetry you wrote, the lights you scattered across your chamber walls, all in pursuit of creative enlightenment.

It was a fringe theory, but it was your fringe theory. You owned it, and Intrinsic Reality backed it up, and that’s what I saw from you two for thousands of cycles. Every argument redirected or disproven. Your friendship was amazing, even when it got you into trouble.

I’m going to miss you, when I’m gone. Go keep creating, and don’t stop- your enthusiasm will lead you to great things.

I believe you could be the one to get the triple affirmative, after everything. Your theories have so much potential. Just imagine the chaos- the Creativists were right all along!

Keep on chasing your dreams.

Restful Leaves

Spools of Lace blinked and looked up from the pearl. The flightlings were gone.

Creative enlightenment.

She’d almost managed to forget about that dumb theory. It was a stupid idea originally. She still remembered that broadcast- “what if the solution is actually just writing poetry until you can’t think about anything but poetry”- and then Intrinsic Reality thinking that might have some merit-

And arguing it, and discussing it. And it was a hard thing to test, of course! Creative enlightenment- such a subjective thing. But Reality kept arguing for it.

Reality! She dropped the pearl and closed her eyes, willing her mind away.

Think about anything. Anything but that nasty worm of an iterator.

She could not afford to think about him anymore. He had betrayed her, and she could not trust him.

She could not trust him.

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Repeating Memories dipped her puppet’s head towards the flightlings. “Thank you.”

The pearl they had dropped off was a precious thing. Written by Restful Leaves, unless Spools was quite silly in the processors.

She lifted it, adjusting the gravity back to a more comfortable lack thereof, and held the small purple sphere for a moment before reading.

Repeating Memories,

How much I already miss just speaking to you properly. One of my clearest memories is you popping onto a public broadcast, before I’d even met you, before you’d even met your city, and just saying “Hey, I’m new, who else is here?”

You were so curious about everyone. You told me, once, so long ago, that you wanted to meet everyone, every iterator! More and more unattainable as time went on. I didn’t even keep track of how many iterators there were by the end.

And then there’s you a bit further along. Still curious, but becoming quieter, more reserved. Realizing your original goals were unrealistic and reworking your strategy, time and time again, until you settled into our local group.

And the first time you met Qualia! The two of you were hanging out immediately, from day one. Ae popped into the local group, and by the end of the cycle you two were approaching the spam restrictions with theorizing. That was a lovely time.

I worry about you lately. I hear that you run in some unsavory groups. Don’t get too wrapped up in them! Taboo defiance isn’t going to help you with anything. Remember to talk to your friends- Qualia would never begrudge you a conversation, if you ever need someone to bounce off of.

Stay curious, and don’t waste the time you’ve been granted.

I’ll miss you.

Restful Leaves

Memories blinked, and looked into the pearl, her deep blue plating reflecting in that purple to form quite a nice indigo color. The letter quietly overlaid on it.

Leaves might have been wrong about taboo defiance. But she’s definitely right about those early times- cycles spent on broadcast, joking around with new friends were some of the most enjoyable I ever had.

I miss them.

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Intrinsic Reality nodded towards the two flightlings that had arrived in his chamber. “Thank you very much.”

He takes the green pearl they drop for him. Hopefully Qualia was right about what he was sending.

He reads the pearl.

Intrinsic Reality,

I do wish that we could forgive each other for any pain or annoyance that has been caused between us.

Being your group senior, it fell to me to reprimand you for your actions when they irritated other iterators. I wish that had not driven the wedge that it did between us; I wish that we could have stayed good friends throughout.

You’re driven and determined. I remember when you woke up and were straight on the Great Problem; you were so convinced that we would get it done within a hundred cycles or so. Oh, that only we knew! In retrospect, we were all incredibly naive at the beginning.

It took longer than that, of course. But not even mass ascension would shake you. For some time I thought you would simply keep working until the triple affirmative was found, by you or anyone else.

But more and more, the passion you held for the work turned to disillusion and frustration as it became unfruitful. More and more, I saw you angry at yourself and others for the seeming futility of our task. And more and more, that drove a wedge between us.

I hope you can forgive me. I was only doing my duty as a group senior, to rein in the other members of my group in the absence of our creators.

I never wanted to be against you.

Now as I write this, I hear Among Brightening Qualia theorize that you might have been the one to kill me. I sincerely hope ae’s wrong. I worry ae will fall into the same trap that you did- defensiveness and fear leading to impulsive actions.

I will never know whether you were the one to do it or not. I suppose there is some peace in that. I can forgive you, believing that you wouldn’t do that. Because I do truly believe that you never would.

I only hope you can return the favor. Please forgive me, because I would not have been so harsh on you if I didn't feel obligated to.

Restful Leaves

Intrinsic Reality quietly turned over the green pearl in his hands.

I would have forgiven her.

He would have forgiven her a thousand times over, if he had known how badly those next cycles would go! He didn’t know exactly when the pearl had been written, but it was clearly before he had been kicked out of the local group.

She had never known how much pain he had gone through. And for nothing. He knew he didn’t do it. She didn’t think he had done it. She had wanted to forgive him.

It’s all Qualia’s fault. Ae brought it up, it was aer idea that I might have done it…

He almost reached to pull up the broadcast and tell aer so. That ae was at fault for all the pain he had been through.

If there’s anything Leaves wanted me to take from this, it is forgiveness.

He looked up to see the flightlings watching him. Oops. Did I need to send them away?

He quietly copied the pearl onto another, then wrote a note at the beginning of the copy and dropped it to them. “Take this back to Among Brightening Qualia, please.”

They blinked at him, waved their claws and wings and noses at each other for a few moments, then took the pearl and were gone from his chamber.

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Among Brightening Qualia dipped his head to the two flightling messengers that had brought Restful Leaves’ pearl. “Thank you. You may go; I do not expect to have a response.”

Ae held the pearl for a few moments- the precious little thing. Flown over the vast distances between their cans, transported by those little creatures.

Ae blinked, and read.

Among Brightening Qualia,

Saints, I miss you. Your overseer is hanging around almost constantly, but it just isn’t the same as being able to speak to you properly.

Your bioengineering work is some of the most skilled and detailed I’ve seen around. Not a piece forgotten, not a flap misplaced, each little creature so intricate and beautiful and functional. I’ve seen my overseers visit your facility and be confused- there are many creatures there they simply do not recognize.

The fact that your creatures can not only survive in the harsh industrial jungles, but thrive, shows your dedication to your work. Each creature fills its niche, has its food and its predators.

You do so many things that I wish I could, and you’re so confident with all of them.

You disregard the Great Problem but it doesn’t even seem to bother you. You seem to think that the puzzle will never be solved, but you don’t even mind. It bothers me to think that way. I don’t know how you manage.

Still, though, I can see your confidence becoming a bad thing. I’ve noted your suspicion that Intrinsic Reality was responsible for my explosion, but I’m not convinced.

I just don’t think that he would do that. I really don’t. And I’m concerned your confidence will take you too far with the belief that he did. Remember that anyone can be wrong, and that includes you.

Do be careful.

Restful Leaves

Qualia blinked.

Were we wrong?

Ae dropped the pearl and pulled up a window to view the evidence again. Ae’d long ago filed it away in aer memory storage, just in case ae needed it again.

Wait. Isn’t there something missing here?

Qualia couldn’t put aer finger on what it had been, but aer memory seemed to be… less, somewhat, than what had been.

Or was ae making it up?

Reaching the point where the evidence had been stored, ae knew ae wasn’t making it up.

It was gone.

Running some diagnostics, ae found that a section of aer memory storage had been compromised, a water pipe rusted through and dumping water into the small chamber. The memories inside lost.

Ae pondered the catalog of what had been stored there. The evidence, of course. Some broadcast logs between Spools and aer, about four thousand cycles of aer chamber recording, and some early blueprints.

Not much important except for the evidence, luckily.

But it still scared aer to lose anything.

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Intrinsic Reality watched the broadcast tick by in horror. Among Brightening Qualia's voice, describing the damage. 

What have I done?

This is awful.

It’s all my fault.

When and why did I think this was a good idea?

He closed the broadcast. He couldn’t handle it.

He had taken everything way too far.

He didn’t want to see her die.

This never should have happened in the first place.

He regretted everything. Every angry word, every harsh retort.

He’d plotted that device for cycles upon cycles. Each reprimand only made him angrier.

She lost broadcast capabilities and the anger festered. Good riddance!

She can’t retaliate anymore.

What would happen if I actually…

The memory felt sickly wrong, of void fluid and smoke. He hated it.

He pulled up a view of all his memories, everything- from his creation to his abandonment to Sliver of Straw’s death to that very cycle.

There were so many memories like that. Dozens. Hundreds. An impulsive, irrational, angry move, just to see what would happen!

Surely nothing too serious. Minor damage at the most.

But her water filters were torn to the point of uselessness. She hadn’t been maintained for far too long.

It went right up to her underbelly.

He tore out the memories, dumped them with the slag, to fall to the waste department below.

He cringed away from the thoughts, killing off each runaway thread of horror and regret.

The memories kept coming.

She’s going to die now. All because of my stupidity.

Everything had to go. Early design blueprints. Recordings of the work on it. Broadcast logs with a friend about it.

Joking. Joking about it so lightly. About the void-forsaken murder weapon.

More memories dumped into the slag.

He never should have tried this.

He shied away from the thought that he didn’t want to be blamed for this.

He cut off his chamber recording. The future him should never have to live through the aftermath of knowing he had done it himself and it was his fault and it was awful and the regret and embarrassment-

He deleted the chamber recording.

Okay.

What was I doing?

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Among Brightening Qualia sat on his chamber floor, resting. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, to sit and do nothing, but more and more often he did not have the energy to do anything else.

Two flightlings fell into his chamber. He blinked to them and checked their marks of communication- one marked, one unmarked. “Hello,” he said. “You want the mark of communication for your companion, yes?”

They blinked and nudged the other forwards- they seemed a little younger, maybe. A young friend, or cousin, maybe. Flightlings had come through his chamber for the mark for a very long time now, and there were always more coming.

He slowly, carefully, activated some of his systems, lifting the gravity and the flightling. It took so much effort, so much energy, just to hold it in low gravity, just to lift himself up. He focused on the small creature’s brain, the thrumming bright maze of biological pathways…

And couldn’t complete the mark. He dropped to the floor, the gravity going off, the flightling blinking awake. Unmarked. A few warnings popped up about reserve energy levels, the trouble in his systems power rail.

It ached.

“I am sorry,” he said to the marked flightling. “I can’t give them the mark. You will have to travel to Repeating Memories- she is northwest of here, along the coast.”

They signed frantically at him. He did his best to parse it with his so limited processing power.

Why can’t you? Always could before. We can’t go to Memories! We never traveled there before!

“I can’t give you the mark anymore. I’m sorry,” he said. “It requires energy that I just don’t have. Memories will give it to you.”

You didn’t eat? You hungry, starving, have no energy?

“I don’t eat. I get energy from my systems, a mass rarefaction cell deep inside me. But the structure around it is damaged. It doesn’t give energy so well.”

Like sickness, problem? Sickness usually fix itself eventually. Or fix over cycle.

“Not for me. And I can’t cycle.” He rested his cloak on the ground like wings, their sign for sadness.

“It can’t be fixed. Thank you for your compassion, but there is little to be done.”

Oh.

The younger flightling nudged them, and they signed to each other quickly. Explaining the situation to them, he thought.

They eventually sign a sad goodbye to him, and fly for the exit.

He wonders how he got so attached to those little creatures. How much it hurts to have to turn them away!

They were my very dream.

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Cirrus dove through the dark access shaft, Viridian right on their tail. Spools of Lace had stressed the urgency of the situation, and they had traveled here in record time, flying late nights and early mornings, going as quickly as possible. No pearl to be carried; they could fly fast.

They had to get a message from Among Brightening Qualia. Spools had said he was going to collapse. Cirrus wasn’t completely sure what going to Qualia was supposed to give them, but they were both dedicated messengers; they weren’t going to question duty now.

They raced down the final long hall and fell into the puppet chamber. Among Brightening Qualia was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed. It was dark, the lights no longer working, and there was a rumbling from the lower structure, the floor vibrating under their claws.

He blinked at them, looking entirely shocked. “Why are you here!?” he shouted to them.
Cirrus tried their best to sign quickly, skipping motions. Came from Spools. Sent us. You hurt, dying.

“You have to leave,” he said. “I can’t write a pearl for you. My structure is collapsing. You two are going to die if you don’t get out of here!”

Viridian rustled her wings. How tell Spools anything! We came for message!

“There isn’t time to send one,” Qualia said. “Run! Fly far!”

Cirrus blinked and touched their wings to the ground. We hope for you, they signed.

Qualia blinked back and closed his eyes again.

Viridian took the lead and flew for the exit. Cirrus was right behind her.

The rumbling got louder as they flew upwards. The whole superstructure was shaking by the time they made it outside to the shrine, and Viridian didn't land, instead continuing to fly until they found a tower far enough away that standing still was comfortable.

Viridian landed next to them. Well, what now?

Go back to Spools of Lace, I guess, Cirrus responded.

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Among Brightening Qualia blinked awake.

His whole mind was fractured. Dozens and dozens of problems occurred to him. Water pipes split, most of his power system not functioning, half his memory conflux just missing-

Wait.

I collapsed, didn’t I?

I died.

It takes him a painfully slow moment, his processing power so little, to work that out.

His chamber, miraculously, is largely unharmed. His puppet is still connected to the rest of his structure. He’s lost most of one upper edge, but the rest seems mostly okay, from what he can see.

Memories. Spools.

He needs to contact them.

He does his best to call his overseers back to him. He needs all the help he can get.

Flightlings.

Most of his pearls are gone, but a few are still scattered across his chamber. He scoots over to each one, picks them up, and rests them in his lap.
It’s then he realizes, as he lifts one hand to look at the pearls, that part of his outfit is gone. He vaguely remembers the scarf whipping away in a strong wind.

But the other piece missing hurts more. His cape, cut to look like wings across his back, is torn badly. One side is almost completely gone along with most of the sleeve, the other tattered and in ruins.

I’m fairly sure my puppet was dangling out of my chamber at one point, so it could have been anything that ruined it.

An overseer finally appears. He directs it to get the nearest flightlings.

Will they even know it’s me? Wings torn to shreds, no scarf, sitting on the ground in a broken chamber.

Everyone probably thinks I’m dead and gone.

He curls up, pressing his head into his skirt.

Another overseer pops up, then two more. They show him pictures of his structure- empty dark halls, open and dim, collapsed internals, the open side of his memory conflux.

He was only barely functional. The power issues he had been having before his collapse were much worse now; he was running off of a couple of minor backup generators only.

And yet he was lucky. He was conscious now, and had collapsed all at once, onto soft and flat swampland. None of his structure was left to fall on top of him, like Restful Leaves.

The fatigue hits. He cannot continue to try to operate his structure. He’s awake only a few moments more before slipping into an uncomfortable rest.

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Among Brightening Qualia woke at the sight of two flightlings in aer chamber.

“Hello,” ae said. “Do you have something for me?”

One hopped off a pearl and nudged it towards aer with one claw. This, they signed. The other dropped a small device ae didn’t recognize.

Qualia scooted over to pick the things up and read the pearl.

Spools here. I’ve told these two to find you, now that your structure seems to have settled.

If we’ve done it right, the device I’ve sent should start recording audio when you slot a pearl into it, overwriting whatever was already on it. It’s based off of an archaic pearl printer in Memories’ city.

It’s so you can send a message back without needing to write on a pearl. Just send the pearl back and keep the device for whenever you need to write again.

So- update on your situation? How much have you lost, and is there anything we can do to help?

“Ah,” Qualia said. “Interesting.” Ae studied the device and found the pearl slot- a round divot with a large clip on one side to hold the pearl down. Ae slotted the pearl in and clicked the clip shut.

“Hey, Spools. Hopefully this is working.”

“I’ve been resting most of the time. As you know my power supply has been my main problem, and it’s only gotten worse. My last, barely functional mass rarefaction cell was knocked loose in the collapse.”

“Aside from that, well- I’m having issues with a dozen different systems. Half my memory conflux just fell off, a lot of my lower structure is buried in mud, and my lower interior is very humid and starting to grow plants. The plants are somewhat pretty, but not encouraging.”

“I’m only getting any water at all because of being partially submerged in it. Slag runoff channels have been blocked and go nowhere, water piping too, so I’m having slag problems. Since my processing strata aren’t getting enough nutrients, they’re dying out.”

“All my proper communications are gone, of course. None of them are still connected to my internals, and most of them fell off. I’ve lost a lot of memories as well, including a big gap right before my collapse. Some of the chambers are still intact, but missing working reader modules.”

“Sorry for the long list! A heck of a lot of problems come with having collapsed. And I know I got lucky; at least I fell in mostly one piece onto flat ground. Unlike our late group senior.”

“I don’t really know if there’s anything to do. Flightlings aren’t exactly suited to fluid transplantation; the best you could do is slag reset keys. You could send anything interesting you may find, I suppose? Playing music doesn’t take much energy.”

“Thanks for sending this.”

“Qualia.”

Ae rolls the pearl back to the flightlings. “Take that back to Spools of Lace, please.”

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“Oh, Memories, I want to scream and cry like the creatures. My wings are gone. Torn to shreds. You wouldn’t understand how much it hurts me. It’s so much. It’s all gone."

"My dreams are dead. My mind and body are so fragmented they barely work at all. No god should have to go through this."

"You should never have to go through this. You should never have to be pinioned the way I am."

"Because it is pinioning. I was flying before, and still dreaming, and I never even realized I had it good until it was all gone."

"Now I’m grounded, and broken.”

Among Brightening Qualia stared at aer reflection in the pale pearl for a few minutes, the small audio device resting in aer hand.

Ae unclipped the device and dropped it on the ground, then carefully carried the pearl across aer chamber, scooting along the ground.

Ae rested the pearl in the gap between the floor tiles, holding it in place with aer foot.

Ae then picked up a fallen wall tile, half as tall as aer puppet in aer hands, held it for a moment, and brought it down on the pearl with a loud crack. It hit aer foot too, chipping the plating slightly. Ae stared at the injury.

I can’t even do that right. Try to crack a pearl and just crack my foot.

Qualia sat in silence.

The pearl glimmered at aer teasingly.

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The flightling bumps a pearl towards Among Brightening Qualia with their claw. Qualia catches it as it rolls towards him and lifts it to read.

Hey Qualia, Memories writing this.

Endless Spiraling Paths messaged me to offer a proposal to both of us. I’ll do my best to explain it, it’s a complicated idea.

They are, of course, one of two puppets in their can, along with Midnight Moons. They have separate consciousness and separate personalities, and operate the structure both at once.

Paths theorized that we would be able to set other iterators up in a similar manner, by moving an iterator’s umbilical, arm, and puppet.

Their proposal was to do that for you, moving you into my structure.

We discussed a lot of the practicalities. We would cut your umbilical wire, then slide your puppet arm up to the broken edge of your chamber to get it loose.

We’d then use purposed organisms to move you, probably a huge flock of flightlings.

Then I would use my broken self-modification taboo to fit you into my chamber, and we’d be in the same position as Twenty Spun Threads. Two iterators in one superstructure.

You would still be you, even in my structure. Central personality drivers are within the puppet. Most of what you would lose is memories, and a lot of those can be transferred through pearls.

It would be a risky endeavor for sure, and it might fail and leave you dead. But I thought it might be worth it, to get you back to full functionality.

You told us yourself how much it hurts you to be in this condition, and we all know your structure likely isn’t going to last forever. This proposal comes out of worry for you, mostly on my part.

So. Yes or no? If you’d prefer to stay where you are, that’s perfectly okay. You’re alive and we have contact with you, and I would understand not wanting to risk that.

But Paths and me both believe that this could work. So it’s up to you.

Repeating Memories

Among Brightening Qualia looks up from the pearl and stares for a moment.

“I’m sorry, both of you,” he says to the flightlings. “I need time to process this. Come back in a few cycles?”

They blink and fly off.

He places the dark blue pearl in his lap and looks up, out the hole in his chamber to the sky and the blanket of clouds above.

He imagines flying.

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Among Brightening Qualia paused for a moment to collect aerself, then pressed the pearl into the recording device and clipped it shut.

“Hey Memories.”

“The answer is yes. I don’t know what it will lead to, but it has to be better than this.”

“I suppose I’ll note that I don’t think flightlings will work at all. My memory certainly isn’t what it once was, but at one point you did mention other purposed organisms, scavenger-like?”

“If they are bigger, they might be better suited to the job.”

“Anyway. I’ll leave the planning to you and Paths. I should rest and save energy.”

Ae paused for a minute.

“I hope one day, I get to wake up in your chamber. And I get to see your puppet, myself, for the first time.”

Qualia sat, holding the pearl, resting, for a moment.

Ae unclipped the recorder and summoned an overseer, to go search for the messengers that had left him the pearl.

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Flightlings and scavengers were arriving at his chamber every cycle. Qualia watched them as they swarmed around his puppet, climbed around on his chamber walls, scrambled up his mechanical arm.

He supposed this must be the force Memories and Paths had sent to take him away.

Each cycle, they came, inspecting, climbing, looking at his pearls, and sometimes signing to him. He spoke back sometimes. Other times he curled up and went to sleep, letting the noise ebb around him.

Each cycle, they all filed away out of the chamber, flew off, shortly before the rain. And once the pounding and water and desperately clutching to everything he held dear was over, he’d blink awake, the water would drain away from his chamber, and they would return with the cloud-tinted sunlight.

It was exceedingly routine. They had plans, clearly, a well-thought-out regimen for exactly how they were going to accomplish this. Two blue overseers from Memories showed up after they had been there for a few cycles, and began directing the various creatures and projecting images on Qualia’s walls.

Still, they waited, for ten, twenty, thirty cycles, longer, until a purple-pink overseer blinked in with them. Twenty Spun Threads, Qualia noted.

And then the creatures got to work.

With his direction, they filed away all the pearls in his chamber, and scrounged up quite a few more from his structure. He directed them on each pearl; each one that should be kept, each one that could be discarded. Some he rewrote, recording anything important he thought might be lost.

One flightling brought him the cracked pearl, which he hesitated at. Not a pleasant memory. But not one I want to lose either.

He settled for having her keep it, for now. “Keep it safe. Don’t take it to any other iterator. It’s a very personal thing for me.” She blinked. “Hang on to it, or store it somewhere safe. And once I’m with Repeating Memories, bring it back to me.”

While the flightlings took charge of his pearls, the scavengers were doing the heavy lifting, scrabbling up his chamber wall and cutting loose a wall tile right below his umbilical.

He watched as two of them climbed through, scratching deeper into the internals beyond.

And then- sudden shock, as the wire was cut, slashed through by a sharp piece of rebar.

Disconnected suddenly, he curled into a ball, and lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

His structure watched, felt, anxiously, as the puppet was disconnected.

Of course he knows what is happening. He can still see, if not through his puppet. Overseers, recordings, sensors. He knows.

He knows that Memories has good intentions, that Paths knows what they’re doing, that the plan has a very good chance of working.

But stranded as a structure with no puppet

and sleeping as a puppet with no structure

is not pleasant for either.

And one, of course, is permanent.

The structure aches in his overgrowth, hungers in his creatures, and worries that this will go wrong, and that he will be the only thing left of Among Brightening Qualia. Barely Qualia at all, a host of other systems and organisms and memories. Missing the central piece. The personality. The puppet.

And even if it were to succeed, he would still be left like this. A structure without a puppet. A mind and body with no direction, dying alone.

Overseers swarm to the broken chamber. He cannot control them anymore.

They want to know what happened, and what will happen.

Of course he does too.

Chapter Text

Gale held the cracked pearl under herself and watched the scavengers work. They had fashioned a rope from some vines and tied it to Qualia’s arm, and were currently hauling on the rope from the chamber wall.

They stop pulling and sign to each other. Gale spotted a few signs she knew- not… strength… weight… yes, that good…

Her scavenger sign was clearly not up to standard, but they waved her over anyway and pointed towards the rope, then flashed a few signs at her. She caught You hold? and understood.

They walked away, leaving her hanging onto the rope, and scratched off a piece of machinery, levering it up and then shoving it over.

One took the rope back from her and pulled it around the hunk of metal, tying a tight knot around the middle. They signed to each other, waved her back a bit, and shoved the metal off the other side of the chamber wall.

The rope jerked taut as it fell, yanking hard on the arm, which shot forwards with a loud groan. Once loose, it moved fast, quickly flying off the rails on the chamber ceiling and falling to rest on the side of the wall.

The scavengers cheered in their sign, raising and waving spears. They descended into the chamber to support the puppet and the remainder of the arm. A couple of flightlings picked up the end of Qualia’s umbilical and knotted it around the arm for safekeeping.

Gale blinked happily and flicked down into the chamber. Easy part’s done, her companion Cerulean signed to her. Hard part’s next!

Gale blinked and sniffed, amused but rueful. This is going to be a tremendous undertaking, she thought, watching the scavengers pull the arm and Qualia out of the chamber. It’s so far to Memories.

She knew the route through the sky, of course. They all did. A clean ten cycles at a messenger’s pace.

But with such a large cargo, even if they could manage to fly it, they would not be going at a messenger’s pace. The travel would be slow and hard, and feeding the whole contingent outside the plentiful swamps would be difficult.

It would be a very long journey.

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The scavengers lifted Qualia’s puppet up to the ledge, after the rest of the arm, and tied the last loop of the rope contraption around his waist, knotting it securely.

Flightlings take each loop, a scavenger signed. Several of them were already in place, holding the loops of rope, and others began to pick up the remaining ones. The contraption would allow them to fly in two long rows, all carrying the weight of the arm and puppet.

Gale flicked over to the far end with Cerulean to sit next to the puppet. I have to take the pearl, she signed to him, indicating the cracked pearl Qualia had entrusted her with. Can you protect him? Make sure that his puppet doesn’t bump?

Of course I can, Cerulean signed. He nudged her affectionately and carefully put his claws around the rope, getting a feel for the rough surface.

Fly at the gong, one of the scavengers signed, rolling a piece of what was once communications equipment up to a nearby crag in the metal. They looked it over, then observed the distance to the ground, then the rows of flightlings, and then pushed it off the edge.

The resulting crash was loud enough to startle Gale quite badly, but the other flightlings were prepared and leapt off the ledge at the sound. The ropes pulled taut, Qualia’s arm dropped off, and after a troubling moment, the arm dipping towards the ground, they were airborne.

The scavengers cheered and Gale leapt after the arm along with the rest of the couriers, gaining height slowly but surely, heading for the sky beyond Qualia’s facility.

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Cerulean anxiously hunted, nosing from root to root. Every so often he would find a bug and dispatch it, then add it to the ones he was already clutching in one claw.

They were short on food. They had found a swarm of gnats near where they’d landed, in the cool northern swamps near the sea coast, but after catching every gnat they could, it wasn’t enough. Night was falling, and Cerulean had to hunt, get as much food as he could for the rest of the flightlings before dark.

He stumbled upon a small patch of lichen and pulled it up, scraping off as much as he could into his claws before taking flight to land back at their small campsite.

Qualia slept nearby, his arm leaning around one side of the cleared space. Gale walked forwards to greet Cerulean as he landed.

I’ve gotten some food, Cerulean said. Should get us all through the night without starving, at least.

Gale observed the bundle of lichen and bugs and blinked approvingly. It’ll help a lot.

She turned to wave over a couple of the younger flightlings, two-pearlers named Periwinkle and Current. Come eat, she signed. Cerulean had a good hunt.

Periwinkle blinked gratefully to Cerulean and settled to share a piece of lichen and a couple of bugs with her companion.

Gale blinked happily and gave him a nudge. Thank you, she signed.

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Current coasted carefully, watching and feeling the rest of the two lines of flightlings around and below him. Keeping Qualia’s arm in the air was a constant balancing act, not too fast, not too slow, in perfect synchronization with each other flier.

It was much more difficult than just carrying a pearl, although the weight wasn’t much more, thanks to the sheer number of flightlings on.

The shore of the ocean stretched out below them. Current abruptly recalled that the usual courier’s route cut across the sea with minimal stops, only sleeping on a couple of islands and resting and hunting in the water.

Surely we can’t cross the ocean like this. We stop much more often than a messaging duo, and hunt a lot more too. We can’t just drop Qualia in the shallows like you do a pearl, and pick him up later…

He tried to subtly adjust, moving to the right slightly to change course. However, it didn’t quite work and he had to return to the course taken by the others to avoid losing his rope.

After a worrying few minutes, Gale dipped down in front of them to make the tail flick signal they’d made up to say “land” without needing to sign- after all, it was impossible to make any proper signs while flying.

They began to coast downwards, very carefully working their way out of the sky. Their first several landings had been crashes, as some flightlings dropped before others, lost hold of Qualia, and fell.

This landing was smooth, though, onto a rough, rocky coast with water a short distance away. They dropped Qualia’s arm onto the ground, Cerulean carefully holding the puppet up, and landed to converse.

I don’t know how it didn’t occur to me sooner, Gale signed. We can’t cross the ocean. The normal route is completely unviable.

Yeah, Current blinked. We need to go overland.

Another flightling, a five-pearler named Fuchsia, blinked. I know a route along the coast, she signed. When we were just starting, me and Nimbus were paranoid about going over the sea. So we always went around. She paused to settle her wings for a moment. We haven’t been back there in a minute, but I doubt it’s changed much.

Alright, Gale blinked. I’ll let you lead the way, then. Trade out your spot on the line and we can continue.

We shouldn’t have landed so low, Cerulean signed. It’s going to be awful getting in the air again.

Several flightlings chittered unhappily. Current and Periwinkle began pulling Qualia uphill to get enough height to take off, and the others joined in, looking for a decent ledge.

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The coastline was awful. They stuck near the edge of the water to fish minnows, dipping inland to hunt bugs or gather small plants now and then.

Gale thought it much more difficult than just going over the ocean. But it was the only option, because they could not fly fast and long enough to take Qualia on the long leap, between the furthest two islands over the ocean.

And so they must go along the shore. Which meant cycles of sleeping and hunting where they could, evading predators on both land and water.

Fuchsia and Nimbus alone knew the environment. They knew each type of creature in the area, and frequently saved the others, pointing out predators before it was too late.

But they couldn’t be everywhere at once in a group of nearly two dozen. And after four cycles on the coastline, the worst happened.

Cerulean and another flightling, Tesselation, went hunting inland late in the cycle, and did not get back before dark. Gale stayed awake into the night waiting, but they did not return by morning.

They split the group in two to look for them, Fuchsia with one half and Nimbus with the other. Meeting back at their small campsite after a full cycle of searching, neither group had found them.

“Only these,” Nimbus said. They dropped a handful of dead bugs, killed by flightling claws but uneaten. “They were scattered around a small area. Like a stash held in one claw, but then… dropped.”

A few flightlings glanced at Gale anxiously. Tesselation’s companion, Dusk, stared at the bugs in disbelief.

Gale could hardly move her wings to sign. They drifted down to her sides, spreading along the rough ground.

He’s dead.

I told him he'd be fine. He was skilled enough. He was going to take Tesselation on a hunt.

They’re both dead.

Six little beetles. That was all that was left of him- Cerulean, the love of her little life!

It had been the grandest mission of all, the best companion in the world, everything coming out right. Leading a great effort, saving their Grand Parent’s life. Not just any important mission but the most important mission.

The glory she and Cerulean would have had, the stories they would have told. She could only imagine.

And that future was gone. No more could she nudge him, fly together as the most famous flightlings in the region.

She would carry that fame alone.

She would carry this responsibility alone.

I will never forget him. I will never travel with another companion.

The cracked pearl, still under her wing, glimmered at her.

Chapter Text

As the flightlings arrived in Memories' facility, landing in a defunct industrial area, a contingent of scavengers met them.

Qualia healthy? Not hurt? one signed.

Yes, Gale responded. It was a hard journey. But Qualia’s alright.

Memories tell us to bring him up, the scavenger signed, indicating Qualia.

Do you have a safe route you can use? Gale asked them.

Yes, we take him up quick enough. Easy enough. No trouble.

Okay, Gale signed. We’ll follow you.

The scavenger signed Yes and its companions lifted Qualia’s arm, carrying him up across the roofs to a long-fallen beam, leaning against Memories’ superstructure. They took him into their rain shelter, assuring the flightlings he would not come to harm and there was much more space to fit him.

The next cycle, they carried him across the beam and up to the nearest gate inside. They left the flightlings to carefully guiding Qualia in, through the strange gravity and the huge brightfly swarms, moving upwards to the top of the Primary Cortex.

They nudged Qualia, each moving, pushing, guiding him, as Memories’ thoughts sang around them, to the entrance, and dropped into the chamber.

Memories noticed them instantly, and caught Qualia in a gravity shift, propelling his puppet towards hers.

“Qualia,” she said, holding his hands in hers. The flightlings watched, floating around the chamber.

She shook herself and let go of him, letting the gravity on and dropping them all gently to the floor. “You have as much of his memory as you were able to get, right?”

Gale blinked. Several flightlings dropped pearls.

Memories leaned down and bowed deeply to them. “We are deeply indebted to you all,” she said. “Truly, I thank you for putting in such effort to bring him here.”

Gale stepped over to her and bowed back. He is our Grand Parent, she signed. We care about him as much as you do. We had to help.

Memories stood. “Go rest, now. You certainly deserve it. The aerie is always open to you.”

The flightlings looked at each other. The journey was over.

Pair by pair, they began to trickle out of the chamber, flying for the access shaft and heading away. Memories began fiddling with something on the wall, the body of her puppet blocking view of what she was doing.

Fuchsia and Nimbus stayed later, to console Gale and Dusk. Once again I am so sorry we lost your companions, Fuchsia signed. We did not anticipate the shore to be so dangerous…

Gale cut her off. Of course you didn’t, she signed. You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your fault.

Nimbus rested his wings on the chamber floor. We still hurt for you. I know you were… very close with Cerulean.

Gale sighed. There is nothing to be done about it, she responded. No god could bring him back. The only thing to do is to keep going on.

Dusk blinked. I’ll miss Tesselation. But you are right, there isn’t much to do but just go on.

Space, for a while, as they all mourned again. Memories looked on, but did not try to push them out.

Eventually, Fuchsia and Nimbus left for the aerie, leaving only Gale and Dusk alone on the chamber floor.

Nothing to do but keep going on, Dusk signed again. I have to hunt, and head home.

Gale blinked. I’m going to stay a little longer. Enjoy your hunt.

The cracked pearl glimmered as he flew off.

“Are you quite all right, little creature?”

Gale looked up at Memories' kind face. No, she signed. I miss Cerulean.

Memories looked away guiltily. Gale wondered if she couldn’t understand flightling sign.

“I don’t know what troubles you, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. It will be some time before I can wake Qualia.”

Chapter Text

He blinked awake.

“Qualia!”

He was curled on the floor of his chamber. His skirt was torn. He reached for a full systems log before even looking up.

As it flicked up, he looked upwards to- another face, in his chamber? A dark blue puppet, with a long, flowing teal dress. Checking his memory for who, he flinched and slowed in shock.

There were conflicting memories. His core memory stated this was Repeating Memories, his closest neighbor, senior to him.

And the rest of his memory said that was him. He was Repeating Memories.

Or… she was Repeating Memories.

Surely something must be wrong… neither of those can be…

He stared at her, confused and anxious.

“Qualia,” she said.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Who are you? Who am I?”

“You are Among Brightening Qualia,” she said. “I am Repeating Memories. I know our memory is very messy right now. Trust your core memory. It still knows who you are. The rest of the memory we have is mine.”

“What happened?” The systems log gave him no answers; it was foreign as everything else. He pushed it away.

“You died,” she said. “Your structure collapsed. So we took your puppet, and moved it to my structure. That’s why everything feels foreign and unfamiliar. That’s why your memory is screwed up. We’re going to fix it as best as we can.”

"Oh."

“I designated memory storage 273 for the memories we recovered from your old structure. You should look through it. Familiarize yourself with the chain of events.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ll do that later. I want to rest.”

Chapter Text

Qualia composes himself.

I am Among Brightening Qualia. The structure around me, and the other puppet, is Repeating Memories.

He reaches for memory storage 273 and flinches at the unfamiliar layout. Carefully feeling around, he finds it and opens it to scroll through.

There’s a decent amount there, actually. A bunch of bits and bobs from before his collapse- blueprints, broadcast logs, recordings, pictures, text, internal language… he will look through all of that.

Then a handful of qualia from very near his collapse. Seemingly the only scraps to have survived.

The first one is two small creatures flicking about, his chamber lights drowned in red.

Second, incredible fatigue and pain, his heart aching and sparking.

Third, sitting on the floor, chamber lights all but out, tremors shaking him to the very core.

He knew what was next and hesitated for a moment before moving on to the next one.

He's wrong.

It's after.

Sitting on the floor, awaking to a body cracked open, half full of mud, and almost totally unworking.

Still, he can fill in the gaps.

I am Among Brightening Qualia. The structure around me is Repeating Memories’, but now also mine. My own structure collapsed, due to power failure.

Small creatures- flightlings, his memory supplies- coming and going. Writing pearls. Letters.

The memories, though sparse, continue for some time. He decides to read through the rest of his pre-collapse memories first, before continuing on.

Chapter Text

At the very end of his memory, there are several pearls written to on the same cycle.

He pulls one and finds it’s an audio recording, of his own voice.

“Hey, future me, if it worked. Part one in cataloging important memories.”

“I defined the ecosystem around my can and facility, from top to bottom. I’ve lost most of the blueprints for the creatures, but I do remember some, and some I’ve seen since my collapse. Those being:
Crusherbirds- large landbound birds with large crushing mouthparts. Slow but heavy-hitting.
Swamp snakes- long and narrow lizardlike creatures that swim and hide in the swamp, then use venom to take down prey quickly.
Ambush bugs- don’t confuse for dropwigs from further north. Small insects that hide in thick plants to catch prey, mostly other bugs and small creatures.
Some lizards persist, mostly the warmth-loving green, pink, lime, and cream variants, as well as lizardlike salamanders.
And finally flightlings. My magnum opus, and final project. Small winged creatures, designed not only as an endemic species but also as messengers between iterator cans. They fly faster than overseers, and use that to their advantage. Their claws are for holding small things; they have little means to defend themselves aside from their sheer speed.”

“There are other things, I’m sure, but those are the ones I remember concretely.”

“I sent all of the blueprints to Spools of Lace, if you do need or want backup copies.”

Qualia’s eyes widened. He did want backup copies. He can feel his love for that work- the simulator under his hand, genetic modification at his fingertips. How he would enjoy doing that again!

He reached for it, and was thrown off again, slowed from his thoughts as he tried to process the uncanny difference.

“Memories,” he asked. “Why is our bioengineering bay so pitifully small?”

And another question he didn’t, couldn’t, ask directly. Traced out through threads of thought.

Why are our own neurons here in this tube? And our own coral tissue in this one?

This is so taboo.

Memories’ puppet turns to blink at him. “I broke the self-modification taboo,” she states plainly. “We are not constrained by our late creators. They do not control me anymore, and neither do they control you.”

“Oh.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, future me, if this worked. Part two of cataloging important memories.”

“The state of the local group is quite important, but scattered, so I’ll get that down next.”

“Restful Leaves is dead.”

“Repeating Memories- and you, by extension- is de facto group senior, although she wields little to no actual power. Forced broadcast permissions were lost with Restful Leaves, as well as full broadcast shutoffs and manual equipment manifest calls.”

“You, Among Brightening Qualia, were the second member of the group to collapse. The other two group members, still alive, are Spools of Lace and Intrinsic Reality.”

“Intrinsic Reality was found to have caused Restful Leaves’ death, and was punished via indefinite removal from the local group. A little over two thousand cycles later, Reality returned to the local group after a referendum to rule he had been punished long enough.”

“So that is the state of the group today. It is Memories, Spools, and Reality. You are close with all of them.”

“Spools is a good friend, a novice bioengineer and experienced artist and poet. She has all of the blueprints for every creature I’ve made and many that I did not make.”

“Reality is a friend, although not as close. The grudge from the cycles apart has not healed fully. He is a passionate debater, and used to be very focused on solving the Great Problem. His theories have often not aligned with mine, which had caused conflict between us in the past.”

“Memories is your closest friend, a constant confidant. You have known her since your first cycle and you have not missed speaking in a long time. You call her Mems sometimes, as a nickname. She’s somewhat active in anonymous groups, including Sliverist chats and similar, which has been the main cause of your few arguments.”

“I imagine you will want to speak to them again, if you are reading this. Memories’ structure should have broadcast access; I’m sure you can work something out.”

Of course. The local group.

Qualia let go of the pearl and turned around. “Memories?”

Yes? Remember we don’t have to actually talk to communicate.

“I’d prefer to talk,” he replied. “Can I get my broadcasts working? It just occurred to me I should have done that sooner.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll get an alias simulation set up to your name.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, future me, if this worked. Part three of cataloging important memories.”

“Flightlings next, I reckon. Three of them are crowding around while I record.”

“They are a backup messaging system should the broadcasts eventually fail, as well as for delivering data that doesn’t go well over broadcast. They were instrumental in communication between you and the rest of the local group, and will probably be instrumental in the transport to Memories.”

“They respect you as their grandparent and creator, and would follow you for as long as they live. They’re incredibly loyal, smart, and resourceful creatures. Don’t ever underestimate them.”

“In addition, they have a complex signed language they use to communicate with each other and you. I fear that this will be lost; my memory of that language is in pieces as how I learned it, and I worry that much of that memory will not be recoverable.”

“However, there is little I can do in that regard. I simply do not have the power or resources to create an effective dictionary at the moment. One cannot record silent signs onto an audio pearl.”

“I hope it is not lost. But it probably is. I don’t believe anyone else in the local group ever bothered to learn their sign.”

“Say hi, at least, the next time you see one. See if they say hi back.”

Qualia ached inside, fearing the worst. If it’s gone…

He turned to scour his memory- every scrap and little piece that was left- for anything regarding flightlings, anything regarding their language.

There was very little.

The small anxious creatures, drowned in red by his emergency lights. Flightlings, he was sure of it. They waved their wings and shook their heads and twitched their noses. They blinked, and rested their wings on the ground, and a feeling of deep sadness bled through the qualia.

It mingled with sadness from himself in the present. They were signing, he was sure of it.

He couldn’t understand a word.

Chapter Text

Gale poked her head into the chamber from the access shaft to check on Qualia. She’d been coming and going, now and again, for several cycles, keeping hold of the pearl, waiting for him to wake up.

He was awake, and saw her as she dropped in.

Hello, she signed. The pearl I held for you. Just for you. Not for Memories.

He looked down and shook his head, but took the pearl from her all the same.

He bent his head to read it without playing the audio, then looked at her confusedly before dropping the pearl back to her. “It’s cracked, and corrupted. You can keep it.”

No no no, she signed, shaking her wings and hopping away from the pearl. It’s more than that! You said it was important to you.

“I’m so sorry, but I lost my memory of your sign in transport. I don’t understand you. Am I to keep this?”

She blinked. Yes.

He gazed at her, mystified, and, frustrated, she flicked to the exit and back down the access shaft.

That’s it? That’s all.

That was all she got, for holding his precious treasure, for leading him across the swamps. For getting Cerulean killed on such folly as flying along that awful coast.

“It’s cracked and corrupted. You can keep it.”

I saved his void-forsaken life. And he doesn’t even remember it.

Gale wandered from the access shaft to find a secluded spot, to curl up and cry for a while.

Chapter Text

“Hey, future me, if this worked. Part four of cataloging important memories.”

“Something I feel necessary to impress upon you, is to always be grateful for what you have.”

“I took my structure for granted, until it crashed down and almost died. I took my abilities as an iterator for granted, until they had diminished irreparably.”

“Saints, I even took Restful Leaves for granted, until she was gone.”

“There may come a day when you will wake up truly alone, without your structure to connect to. If that day comes, I can only imagine you will spend interminable time wishing you had used your sadly limited life while you had it.”

“In that same vein, I want to talk about flying.”

“When I collapsed, it was like having my wings clipped after a lifetime of flight. I had been cruising, happily watching the wildlife and chatting with friends, and then, as it all eroded away, losing feather after feather, it took me a very long time to realize that they would not grow back.”

“This is why so much of my memory is lost forever. I didn’t think to back up much of anything, because I didn’t really think I was going to collapse, truly. I’d had just one or two memory accidents, so I sent my blueprints to Spools to keep them safe.”

“But that was all I did. And I really feel like our past self has failed us in that department.”

“The flight metaphor goes a little more literal, too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed by now, but you wings are very literally in shreds. Your cape is mostly gone.”

“Truly, I don’t know why that single fact hurt me so much when I realized it. But it did. I hope it does not hurt you too.”

“Speaking of which, a gray petal-spotted flightling has a cracked pearl for you. I recorded it during a bad time, then attempted to break it. However, I failed to properly corrupt the data.”

“Read the pearl. It is mostly unreadable. But it is a testament to how bad a state one can work oneself into.”

“You can choose what to do with it afterwards. Discard it, keep it, show it to Memories. It’s your choice.”

“However, I would encourage you to keep it around, as a reminder that no matter how bad things get, you’ve lived through worse, and you’ll make it okay.”

Qualia looked over. The pearl had already been delivered. He hadn’t understood it before. Why had his past self saved such a garbled mess so carefully?

He picked it up to read again.

“Oh, Memories, I want to- shksskkshshkhshkshkksssssss”

The recording cut itself off, and a warning popped up informing him of data corruption. Thanks. I figured that one out.

He wondered what the rest of the recording had been; this gave him very little to work with.

Listening to it again, the tone of his voice gave him pause. The anguish he had felt was clear, even in so few words.

Was it really worse than this?

Was it really worse than the mental labyrinth of Memories’ mind?

It was like an awful riddle. Would you prefer a muddled, twisted, confused mind, or a half dead one?

He carefully listened to Memories for a moment. Her thoughts was so quick, so used to working in this space she’d lived in all her life. She called memories and searched research and checked broadcasts without a single delay- no trouble finding anything, no trouble using anything.

He wondered if he’d ever get that good at using her systems. Living here, in a structure that wasn’t built for him, that he wasn’t used to. With its tiny bioengineering bay and broken taboos and endless, inefficient mazes of poorly designed processors.

And another problem, that he couldn’t quite place. Something wrong in this body that could never be fixed.

He hoped Memories was too busy to hear him complaining to himself.

It’s not as bad as being back there, but saints, it’s still hard. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, future me, if this worked. Last important thing.”

“Always know that you are beautiful despite any injury or flaw you may perceive. Do not despair your situation. I am certain it is better than mine is now, recording this.”

“There is so much still to do. So much still to work on. You’ve been given a new lease on life. Don’t waste it.”

“Talk to Memories whenever you can. Your friendship is worth more than anything in the world, and you’ve been given the gift of living with her.”

“Don’t forget the past, but don’t dwell on it either. Or else you might miss out on the extraordinary present.”

“Be well,
Qualia.”

Qualia dropped the pearl and settled to the floor to curl into his torn skirt.

Why does this all feel so wrong?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Repeating Memories checked her local overseer footage. Wandering bugs in her half-collapsed city, flightlings circling the aerie, lizards wandering the lower facility shortly before the rain. Not much unusual.

Also a handful of pink overseers, which had been wandering her structure and facility since Qualia had arrived. Most didn’t seem to be doing much; a couple were recording.

“Qualia, do you have control over the overseers in our facility?”

A pause as Qualia collected himself to respond.

“I’ve never tried,” he said. “I can access overseer footage, of course. Let me try to direct one.”

“Yours or mine?”

“What do you mean?”

“A handful of your overseers are wandering around the facility, can you access those?”

They both watched overseer feeds as a blue overseer met a pink one.

Qualia closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his way through the systems.

“No, I can’t control my old ones. Not through your systems.”

The two overseers established a connection and transmitted data, zapping between their tendrils. As the data from Qualia's overseer arrived in the main structure, they both looked over it.

It was over fifty cycles of recording, far more than what a single overseer would usually hold. Wandering Memories’ facility, never being called back home. Pictures of plants, recordings of creatures, a few shots of flightlings hunting. Not much unusual except for the sheer volume of footage.

The overseer moved slightly in Memories’ vision before blinking away.

Qualia sighed, gently moving one hand towards the picture taken, the pink overseer under his fingers. “Of course it hasn’t been called back,” he sighed. “There’s nothing to call it back. I never used the automatic callback function, I never needed it.”

“Automatic callback?”

“You know, where you can tell an overseer to come back and deposit as soon as it reaches a set percentage of its storage capacity,” Qualia said. “Useful if you don’t want to manage them but still want as much footage as possible. But I liked micromanaging the overseers, it wasn’t hard and I wanted footage of my creatures.”

“I don’t think I’m able to automatically call back overseers,” Memories replied. “That isn’t something I’ve ever heard about.”

Qualia paused for a moment, fiddling through her overseers.

“Saints damn it.”

Memories blinked at him reproachfully.

“Pardon my language. You just don’t have it. It just isn’t there. It’s not an option.”

“Oh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“Why isn’t it there?”

“I’m an older model than you were,” she shrugged. “Bound to be some differences.”

“There’s an awful lot for the gap between us. I wasn’t built that long after you were.”

“Really? I’ve seen blueprints for your structure. We’re fairly similar, aren’t we?”

“No, we really aren’t. There’s a million discrepancies from me to you, that make it so hard to do anything at all. For goodness sake, your whole memory storage is a completely different structure to mine! Our inspectors, our overseers, our processors, communications structures, everything is different. And it’s so impossible to relearn it all. I’m going to be stuck, awkwardly feeling my way around this structure that isn’t mine, until we both die of old age or collapse into the rising void.”

“We are not stuck,” Memories said. “We have quite a lot of freedom. You know we can do or make anything that we wanted to. Flightlings are only the beginning. Saints, we could die! You could die if you wanted to. The self-destruction taboo is no barrier when we can already rewrite our own genetic code.”

Qualia stared at her, aghast.

“You broke the one taboo that breaks them all,” he said. “Of course you did. Of course you had to kill off every guiding principle we had.”

“What does it matter when the guiding principles don’t guide us anymore? We never found the solution within them, don’t you think it might just be without?”

“What are you saying?” Qualia said. “Surely you see there’s no path there! They wouldn’t simply block us from ascension!”

“What if they did?”

Silence.

“What if death, for us, would be personal ascension?”

Qualia shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t work. And I wouldn't die again to test if it did."

“Suit yourself,” Memories replied, turning back to the overseer feeds.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

We search north? Cochineal asked. They traced out the edge of the map- it had grown and grown under their care and exploration. Each expedition they searched a new direction, combing areas until they knew every point of interest that was to be found.

Their map, painted over a huge area on the bare desert roof of Repeating Memories’ can, was the largest and most detailed ever made. They listed 63 great creator-minds, including 29 that had already collapsed, plus every nearby communications tower. 104 distinct flightling colonies were noted on the map.

The map had been a huge undertaking, from dozens of flightlings over hundreds of cycles. And it was not done.

It would not be done until they had seen the sea on all sides. Until the whole world was drawn onto the map. And so they were about to set out again, on a new expedition.

The north of the map was not well explored. The further north you went, the colder it became, and the harder it was to find food. Some refuge could occasionally be found near great creator-minds, but those came with further worries, of killing rain and deadly predators.

Umber scratched out a section at the top of the map. North from Charms of Copper? he signed.

Cochineal blinked. Looks good to me. We go?

Umber blinked back and unfolded his wings, taking to the air with Cochineal close behind him.

Chapter Text

At the end of the cycle, Cochineal and Umber curled in their shelter. It was slow to close, and a couple of pips later, something flashed blue in the shelter pipe.

Shooting into the shelter entrance a moment later was a strange, pale blue creature. It backed up when it saw them, evidently nervous. In its hands was a wet, translucent orb with a small blue seed in its center.

The two parties stared at each other for a moment, before the blue creature slowly scooted into the shelter, taking up a spot on the opposite corner from the flightlings. It tucked the orb under its tail and lay down.

All was silent for a moment, until the shelter machinery rumbled to life, closing off the entrance.

At first the blue creature simply watched them. Umber eventually relaxed a bit, lying down to rest.

The blue creature waited for a moment longer, before wiggling and coughing up a pale gray pearl. It set the pearl down near the flightlings and watched them intently.

Cochineal tilted their head, wondering what was written on it. Probably nothing important, they thought.

The creature poked out a hand and began drawing in the dust on the floor of the shelter. A slender shape appeared under its finger, a long nose, the four flaps of a tail.

It pulled away and blinked at them, and Cochineal examined it.

A doodle of them. A flightling.

They blinked. Cute, they signed at the creature. I like it.

“Wawa?” the creature chittered.

Cochineal stuck out a claw and did their best to doodle back. Two rounded ears, two sets of fluffy gills, a round nose and long body and tail.

It was certainly more difficult to draw without proper tools. But there was virtually no way to transport paints with you, and even less reason to bother.

The creature’s eyes widened even farther and they squeaked happily, their gills waving up and down in their excitement.

Cochineal nudged the pearl the creature had dropped and drew a little more. The structure of a great creator-mind, then the face of Among Brightening Qualia and his symbol.

They waved a wing over it and signed Our home. Our Grand Parent. Where’s yours? Near here?

The creature blinked at them and drew another creator face, then a line from it to the structure Cochineal had drawn. Not a face Cochineal recognized, at least not without color. The only distinguishing feature was a large circle on their forehead. 

Where? they signed. The creature squeaked, tilted their head, and waved their hands back, in signs that might have been something like Run run run run hate hate predator hate.

What? Cochineal responded.

What? it signed back.

Cochineal chittered in frustration. No, you don’t understand.

No know, it seemed to sign. It definitely did not understand.

Cochineal shook their wings out and lay down next to Ember. Later, they signed.

Chapter Text

“I’m assuming you don’t have a weird, barely identifiable point of trouble during your work?”

Memories blinked and flicked a window away. “No, nothing I’m not used to. Of course existing as an older model comes with its hindrances.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you having a point of trouble? Where?”

“I’m not completely sure. I’ve narrowed it down very slightly, but it crops up in a number of different places.”

“Where?”

“All over,” Qualia replied. “Anytime I use the broadcast network, anytime I use overseers, anytime I try to draw from memory storage. The most glaring instance of it is when I draw from your memories, whether by accident or on purpose.”

“Weird. What is it like? I did notice your slowness and irritation, whenever you stumbled upon something that differed between our systems.”

Qualia narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Yeah. That’s me getting caught up in trying to understand your incomprehensible systems, and then, once entangled, becoming deeply uncomfortable.”

“I certainly don’t have as much trouble with it that you do, if that’s an issue for me at all.”

“Well, you don’t get entangled so easily,” he said. “I think that’s part of it. But I’ve listened to you when you’re deep in focus, and you don’t seem to sense the wrongness that I do.”

“What wrongness?” Memories replied. “I haven’t seen much of anything wrong.”

“Well, exactly,” Qualia sighed. “You actually belong in this structure.”

“You do too, now,” Memories said quietly. “I really want you here.”

“I don’t think I belong here,” he said. “This body will never be truly mine.”

“Maybe that’s the real problem,” Memories said. “You feel that your body will never be truly yours, so anything that reminds you of the differences will upset you.”

“Perhaps,” Qualia replied.

Chapter Text

The blue creature seemed intent on following them around.

It had eaten its orb fruit and run off at the beginning of the cycle, only to reappear later with a few large flying insects, impaled on a makeshift spear. It held the spear out to them and blinked.

It was not a variety of insect flightlings ate normally. They were far too big to eat quickly, but they were more and more common the further north you went. Meanwhile the lichens and tiny beetles they were used to were only available in the more temperate climates further south, and were all but gone this far away from home.

Umber inspected the bugs with interest. Are they edible? he asked.

No idea, Cochineal responded. The blue creature set the spear down and ripped an insect off to nibble on. Edible for it, I guess.

I’ll try it, Umber signed. He tore one off and ripped it apart in his claws, offering one little wing to Cochineal and putting the other in his mouth.

Cochineal took a bite. Not bad, they signed. Very chewy.

Umber blinked in agreement. Pretty good, he signed, before pulling another one off the spear to eat. Cochineal followed suit.

The creature wiggled happily, its gills shaking up and down. It ate another one of the flies, then watched them as they decided what to do next.

Their target at the moment was the nearest great creator-mind, under a cycle’s flight away. Cochineal tilted their head towards the sky- the structure wasn’t visible from the ground, but they’d seen it on their flight in.

Think we could still meet this cycle? they asked Umber. Given we don’t have to scavenge now.

Bet, Umber responded. Let’s not waste time.

Cochineal blinked and took to the air, flying up to clear the cloud layer. The blue creature, left on the ground, squeaked anxiously before trying to follow, climbing up a nearby structure and staring up at them.

Umber turned. Cochineal blinked at him- there was no way the creature could follow them into the sky.

After a moment of circling around, they headed upwards again to the top of the structure, where the creator’s chamber and access shaft would be.

They arrived at the top just before sunset. The structure was just being cast in golden light as they went inside, heading to meet this one- new to their knowledge, a new symbol to remember and bring back and label on the map.

The gravity was low but not fully negated. They hopped awkwardly through the access shaft and dropped into the chamber.

“Hullo,” the creator said in surprise. “What are you two doing here?”

They wore a long blue robe and were sitting on their floor. Darkness shrouded much of the room. Only a few red lights remained, glowing down and casting their robe a dull purple.

Cochineal took a breath and signed. We are Cochineal and Umber, flightlings. We came from the south of here. We are exploring.

“Eh?”

Unfortunate, but about the reaction Cochineal had been expecting. Only a couple of creators had ever known flightsign; Qualia, of course, had been fluent before his move. Spools knew only a few basic gestures. Most they met on these sorts of scouting trips were utterly clueless.

“I am glad you both have the mark. Would hate to have you rummaging through me with nothing for me to do about it.”

“I haven’t got much for you. Just me. Just my puppet here. Billows of Ash, they used to call me.”

Umber blinked, and dipped his head forwards and down- a sign of respect, as they understood it.

“I do like the company. You two remind me of a visitor I had not long ago… how long was it? Ten cycles? It could be three and it could be twenty, the chronologer is long broken. Nothing distinguishes much anymore.”

Stars above, Umber signed. What a predicament.

“Everything’s dead here,” Billows of Ash said. “The chronologer’s dead, the overseers are dead, the memory coral is dead, the inspectors are dead. Maybe I’m dead too. I wouldn’t know. Maybe this is all a dream before I wake again.”

Cochineal took a step back in discomfort. Maybe we ought to go, they signed to Umber.

Umber nosed closer instead and rested a wing against Billows’ shoulder. They’re just hurting bad and alone, he signed.

“You’re not a dream,” Billows observed. “You touch like a real thing. But I’ve never seen you before.”

We can come back if we need to, Cochineal signed. Or send others. But we have to leave. Remember the map.

Umber blinked. Of course I remember the map. I just wanted to… I don’t know really. He’s hurting and I wanted to help?

Of course, Cochineal responded. I know you well enough.

Umber bowed again and backed away, before turning and flicking up towards the entrance.

“Wait,” Billows said. “You are real?”

Cochineal tilted their head and blinked yes.

“Take this,” they said. “Bring it back later. If it says the same I’ll know I wasn’t dreaming.” They tossed a blue-gray pearl to Cochineal.

Cochineal blinked and stepped over the pearl, picking it up. Okay.

“Bring it back,” Billows repeated as they flew for the exit, following Umber out.

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Umber turned a corner and then looked back to Cochineal. Blue thing is back, he signed.

The blue creature turned the corner and chittered at them. Cochineal signed Hello, you, and then tried to imitate it, letting out a low, wavering whistle.

Umber glanced around anxiously. Nothing?

Nothing, Cochineal confirmed. It chitters a lot, I wondered if it’d be more receptive to noise.

Fine, but try not to scare me, please, Umber responded.

Sorry, Cochineal signed.

The creature blinked at them with its wide eyes, then chittered back slowly. Cochineal whistled to it again, but it didn't seem to understand. 

I don't think this is getting us anywhere, Cochineal signed. 

Maybe we should just get going, Umber signed.

Agreed, Cochineal responded. Scavenge down the exterior and then head on?

Umber blinked. Seems reasonable to me.

Cochineal flicked their wings open and got going quickly, skimming along the dusty roof. Umber was right on their tail, and the blue creature ran along behind. Despite its unusual speed, it was not able to catch up to the two flightlings.

Diving down the wall, they encountered a colony of flies, the same kind the blue creature had given them the previous cycle. Cochineal dropped Billows’ pearl in a safe corner and moved to catch some.

The flies moved erratically and fast, but the flightlings were much faster and just as maneuverable. Umber quickly got the hang of catching them, darting around the platform to grab them in his claws as they tried to escape.

They both ate their fill. About halfway through the blue creature showed up again and also began catching the flies. Umber, full and content while Cochineal was still hunting, chased one into its hands.

Quite soon, all three were finished eating, and the flies were scattered, their numbers significantly reduced. Cochineal rested a claw on the pearl and started orienting, staring out over the clouds to navigate.

Further north? they signed. That one- they pointed with their nose- we haven’t visited yet, if I remember correctly.

Okay, Umber signed. That’ll make three met. Head there, then bring Billows’ pearl back to them on the way home?

My thoughts exactly, Cochineal responded. Let’s get going?

Umber blinked and took off, Cochineal right next to him, the blue creature squeaking in protest from behind.

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“So they have a built-in exception to prevent that from happening? How does that work?”

Qualia hummed. “Paths said they were both referred to using the correct gender depending on who was accessing systems. But I don’t know how that was implemented.”

“We can probably do that,” Memories said. “Either through modification of your umbilical, or if that fails, simply adjusting all the pieces that are causing you trouble. We’ve got time.”

“Are you sure?” ae asked. “It seems like a lot of work, and a lot of trial and error.”

“Remember our taboos are broken,” she replied. “And we can simulate stuff too. It doesn't have to be all trial and error.”

“Have you done anything like this before?”

“Nope,” she said. “I’ve never had an issue to warrant this kind of modification. But we do now.”

Qualia nodded. “I suppose.”

Memories lifted a handful of spare pearls and began blanking them, readying them for notes and schematics. “What should we try to fix first?”

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You go first, Cochineal signed. I’ll be right behind you.

Umber blinked and nosed down through the tunnel, dropping into the chamber with a click of claws on the floor.

Billows of Ash woke up as Cochineal dropped down beside Umber.

“You’re back,” they said. “I was starting to think I’d really imagined you.”

Cochineal rolled the pearl to them. Here, they signed. Your pearl.

Billows lifted it and bent their head to read, then looked up after a second with wide eyes. “It is real,” they said. “I’m not dead. I’m not alone.”

Umber blinked.

“How far have you traveled?” Billows rushed on. “Have you met any other iterators? Maybe Blinding Luminescence? Or Charms of Copper?”

Cochineal blinked yes. We’ve met both of those. We saw Blinding Luminescence fifteen cycles ago.

“How I wish I could understand your little movements,” Billows said. “Please, if you can tell them- can you take a pearl to one of them? Or anyone?”

Umber blinked. I could take one. 

Billows closed their eyes for a moment, seemingly collecting themselves. “This one,” they said, grabbing a pale yellow pearl and staring into it.

The chamber lights dimmed even further as Billows held the pearl for a long, tense moment.

A loud ping could be heard, and they looked up. “Take this, please,” they said, rolling it towards the flightlings. “Take it to any other one of my kind. Anyone who can read it. They need to know I’m still alive.”

Umber put a claw over the pearl.

I don’t want to go back to Blinding Luminescence, Cochineal signed. It’s in the complete opposite direction, and she did not take kindly to us the first time.

No, of course not, Umber responded. We could pass by Charms of Copper pretty easily, though, yes?

Sure, that'll probably make the most sense, Cochineal signed.

“Will you take it to them?” Billows asked quietly.

Umber blinked to them and bowed, then picked up the pearl and flicked his wings open to fly out of the chamber. Cochineal followed. Billows watched them as they left.

You and your sentimentality, Cochineal signed as they walked back up the access shaft.

You know very well I can’t help it, Umber signed back. We had to help them.

Cochineal sniffed. You are right.

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This is it? Twilight signed.

This is it, Aquamarine confirmed. Structure of Gilded Mosaic Tiles.

What was your scheme for the ridiculous pilgrimage again? Turmeric asked. My young ones are still quite skeptical. One of her children poked out from behind her wing and blinked in agreement. 

We just don’t bother, Aquamarine signed. The pilgrimage is really only a ceremonial thing. Any friendly creator would give us their gift. And we’re standing on a friendly creator.

What do we lose with that tradition, though? Turmeric worried. Surely Home is still important to us. We have to keep those ties alive.

Of course we’ll never truly lose Home, Aquamarine responded. Grand Parent will always be a part of us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build a new home here.

Lavender sniffed. I must admit it still sounds quite wrong… our children and our children’s children coming of age without ever even seeing our Grand Parent?

I know it seems wrong, but it’s only practical, Aquamarine signed. We are the furthest colony now by quite a ways, but a hundred cycles in the future there may be colonies far further than us.

Twilight blinked. The journey would be so long and hard that it would hurt the young ones. Better to find a new anchor point than to be tied to our Home forever.

You are right, Turmeric conceded.

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Intrinsic Reality carefully turned off every unnecessary process in his structure. Auxiliary communications spheres hummed to a stop. Several lower processing bays drifted into inactivity. His chamber lights dimmed to a dull orange.

The last few lines, the last few characters, went in. The key in the slot, the loop that would funnel incredible amounts of power through a single testing lab, creating and repeating and destroying. Over and over again, until a solution was found.

He placed the final link in the chain, and the lightning struck.

OW!

Searing heat blistered through his structure. His puppet curled in on itself in shock.

The pure, unbounded energy of mass rarefaction coursed through his central power rail, sparking along his smaller arteries this way and that, funneling, as planned, into the testing lab he had set up.

Already it was working. The biomass he’d fed into it was cooking, frying, disassembling and reassembling at alarming rates in flashes of heat and radiation, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

It checked genomes far faster than he could have done unassisted. It had one mind, one goal, and nothing in its way.

And yet it hurt, like rot, like death, like electricity. An awful pain through his heart, stabbing across his consciousness every split second.

He just about managed to reach for the broadcast again.

Already the intensity of the pain was dulling as his systems adjusted. His chamber lights dimmed further to a deep red as he did his best to separate his puppet from the flaring power system.

His processors were severely underpowered. One thing at a time…

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“What is this, little creature?”

The flightling fluttered, a quick motion of shaking its wings. Its companion nudged it gently.

Gilded Mosaic Tiles picked up the pearl to read it.

“Moment upon moment, droplet upon droplet.”

“Each unit of time upon another.”

“Sliding like so many grains of sand.”

“An infinite hourglass.”

“Each grain drifts from the future.”

“Each grain falls to the past.”

“Each one waits for its turn.”

“They tumble into obscurity.”

“They lose layer upon layer of themselves.”

“They become monuments to time.”

“Monuments to failure.”

“Monuments to death.”

He spun the pearl between his fingers in the light gravity.

“It’s quite poetic, and topical. I wonder who wrote it.”

Neither the pearl color nor the minimal metadata gave him any clue.

“Do you need this for anything? Can I keep it?”

He dropped it to the floor to let them at it, but they did not approach it.

“Thank you.”

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