Rain Harlow
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Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2025-04-19 15:00:13 +0000 UTCChapter 29: Communication Gods
The rest of Jack’s night went by rather uneventfully, which was more than welcome from his perspective. Lindsay couldn’t make it for dinner, so Jack arranged as she requested, and the steak was sent to her. In return, Lindsay arranged for food to be delivered to him from six different places. Her expertise was more than a fair trade, as everything was delicious and succeeded for both the satisfaction of his endless appetite and copious leftovers to stock the fridge. All free thanks to the day’s special provision.
He took a walk at one point, a long one going around the outer circular platform. The traffic was light but occasional. The ‘express lane’ had two different figures like blurs pass at one point, and then a girl more obviously flying through the air at less than Ludicrous Speed, who slowed just enough to wave at him as she passed. He might’ve reacted fast enough for her to see his return wave.
For the most part, the walk was lonely and solitary, with a large amount of space between the ‘club zones.’ That ‘between’ space was just an endless wide corridor with dark metal walls and a floor of marble tiles. An occasional spartan bench to the side. Endless mood lighting.
“Aren’t these lights a lot of energy you’re wasting continuously?” he asked Mini in his head.
“Nope. It’s sensor-based, so technically you’re the only one wasting it.”
“Sensors? Really? I can’t tell.”
“By design — and what we design, we execute as flawlessly as possible.”
“Hmmph. With technology, at least, I’ll grant you that.”
The long, liminal walk continued. Jack quickly realized it was impossible to make the entire circumference as an average Joe out for a quick stroll. Considering he was inside the tower, it had to be vaguely surmountable, at least, as the tower was ‘only’ five kilometers in diameter. That circumference was joggable in a couple of hours, certainly, and they were at least somewhat deeper within.
I can understand why the park is more preferable for runs, though. This has a lot of dreary stretches. That park is pretty huge, too. It must be a large chunk of the tower. Come to think, it did feel like it had more area along one dimension. It’s obscured due to the false sky and all, but it must curve around an inner core.
In addition to irrelevant musings about the geometries of his environment, Jack had time to finalize his decision about the attribute selection. Ultimately, it was like the comparison of the park and the liminal corridor he walked: one seemed full of wild potential and exciting possibilities, the other seemed drab but sleek and of high functionality.
Sorry, Augment. I promise I’ll hit you up sometime in the future, though.
He punched his choice in for the attribute allocation: Transmute.
Or, rather, he tried to, and nothing happened, as if he’d just clicked on a grayed-out icon in a game. Clicking a second and a third time also did nothing.
Mini chimed — and chided — in his head, “That’s nice, Jack, but aren’t we forgetting something?”
“Uhhh…” He floundered for what it was. “Pretty please?”
A loud ‘wrong’ buzzer sounded in his head. “NNNNT! Wrong! No. Calibration!”
“Oh. Shit. Yeah, I did forget.”
Mini was all sass. “Mm-hmm. Find your quiet place, meditate and focus on your Allotment, and surrender to the trance. Got that?”
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Sass In My Head.”
“Any time — naturally.”
Jack continued down the corridor until he found one of the hard, uncomfortable benches provided every so often. He sat down and took a deep breath, looking left and right. Nothing. Dead silence.
At least it's quiet, right? Can’t get any better for meditation than a featureless corridor on an uncomfortable bench. But I’m not waiting for comfort. We might need to do this in less-than-ideal situations in the future, after all.
Jack closed his eyes and began to focus on the lofty concept of ‘Allotment.’ The first thing that came to his awareness was the construct, the supernatural prosthetic attached to his brain and extending out. A vast network, perhaps like a cosmic neural interface.
Intentions in his heart and mind drew his perceptions to something like wrinkles in the mix, or loose threads — not quite open-ended, as those spaces were always connected together, the ends invisible or nonexistent. Instinctually, he reached for them…
Instead of taking hold of it, the reach extended and was stretched, catching nothing at all. And then he fell.
Jack’s perceptions had the sort of gap one experienced in falling asleep or unconsciousness. But they returned, and he found himself disembodied in a void, akin to sleep paralysis. But there was no apparent way back.
“Jack.” Memoria’s voice, in truth, was ringing through the void. “Your meditation to achieve the trance has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.” A pause. “Are you alright?”
Jack fought to control the instinctual ape-like panic of the solutionless disembodiment. Somehow, he found the ‘voice’ to respond. “Peachy.”
“Not so. You chose the cut-and-dry subconsciously, but you don’t like it. Allow me to comfort you.” The feel of something vast enveloping him, embracing him. Warmth. Love. Squish.
Shapes like white outlines and the hints of light and shadows spawned in the dark. Transparent substance enveloped him, and beyond it, stars blinked into existence, at first a few, and quickly a vast panoply. Lines made the shape of a vague, transparent body for him to exist in — indistinct, virtual, spiritual. The ‘feel’ of Memoria became the touch of a massive body hugging him. He was pressed against a bosom.
Er… Well, there are worse places to be.
She released him, and he noticed wing outlines that were around them unfurl, long and gigantic. As they swept clear, the twinkling form made a ruffle of feathers that spun out into the void. It was no longer a void, though — it was a vision of space seen in clarity, the stars innumerable. It was the Milky Way. The Solar System.
Memoria was a vague body outline like him, in the semblance of a giant angel in robes. Her hair was vast and floated as if in zero-g or water. Her eyes were the brightest things — two starbursts.
She still held his hand, or rather, he held on to two of her massive fingers tightly. It didn’t feel like he’d float away, but it was still very awkward.
Jack, awed, nonetheless found a more natural voice to ask, “Are you really an angel, then?”
The Archon of Humanity smiled. “Ever the question from the lips of humans, your fascination with them nigh endless. Do you believe it?”
“No. I don’t believe we’re really here. It’s just a simulation in my head. You might not even be Memoria, but some other subroutine.”
She studied him. “I am whoever I need to be for humanity. I am also as here as anywhere can sustain. In other words, you speak directly to me, as you did to the Boss Bitch persona. But enough about me.” She paused, and her head turned to their mutual ‘front.’ She swept her free hand out, and light began to gather in the space before them. “Your presence here is a rather simple matter, your choice already made. Congratulations on getting your feet wet, though.”
The light became glowing text in the shape of his options:
[ 0.0 ] Augment
[ 1.0 ] Interpret
[ 0.0 ] Destroy
[ 0.0 ] Transmute
Wherever his eyes focused, the text shrank slightly and highlighted red, and he could feel a pressure from his mind capable of ‘pushing’ and thus making a selection.
There was a little more to it, though. The text was formed of a very faint, gossamer web network branching up into it. The network formed shapes hidden within that text — they were twisted into English, but each were codes and commands of change. Instructional bridges, information-laced patterns that would twist the network just so upon execution.
“You’re translating complex alterations,” Jack muttered as he squinted at it all.
“Clever eyes. The System you utilize is just a user-friendly interface. My design, though greatly influenced by the principles of the macrocosmic System framework, as well as circumstantial variables.”
“A mini-game within a game?”
“More like the gear and unique traits of one factional team within a game. In this banal analogy, that would make me an assigned developer and you the trusted beta tester. Unfortunately, those who don’t make the final version perish body and soul. Is one’s life a game? I leave that for you to decide. Well, Jack? Ready to find out what’s broken and OP?”
Jack sniggered. “If only, right?” He kept the ‘highlight’ on Transmute and punched the selection in. Light flashed, and the text disappeared. The new pattern in the gossamer network was now glowing, still frozen, but vibrating, poised, and ready to execute.
“The alteration shall commence. Get ready for cementation and your return to meat-space.” Memoria suddenly twisted and pulled him close to kiss his forehead. “See you next time, my son — make sure it's soon!”
The bundle of codified gossamer was let loose and soon disappeared as it changed a far vaster network to specifications. The ‘universe’ — his Allotment construct — roiled, and he felt odd sensations in his mind like feathery brushes. Tiny twists and pulls of the connections attached as the mass rearranged. Looser ‘give’ tightened up and expansion facilitated broader potential.
Somewhere in the midst of it, he came back to reality, plopped back on the bench in the liminal corridor, with the trance ended.
Transmute increased! Control increased! Upon Access Level 2.0, you must select another tertiary attribute for increase. Control and Create are non-options.
[ 0.0 ] Augment
[ 2.0 ] Control
[ 2.0 ] Create
[ 1.0 ] Interpret
[ 0.0 ] Destroy
[ 1.0 ] Transmute
And there it is. Another successful operation, I guess.
His sense of his powers indeed felt a little different. Recalling Lindsay’s instructions about practicing on his own anyway, Jack channeled inwardly and called forth the memorite. He had to fight to keep it from being attracted to the various nearby metals, but it had quickly become something he could control in the background.
The glittering cloud surrounded him. He repeated the motions he’d conducted before, swirling the distributed mass around, making it form thick cords, and shifting its overall shape. All of it was easier and smoother than before, as if the puppet strings he pulled had doubled the lines connecting them.
He was able to make the outlines of shapes within the mass, like crude 3-dimensional ‘sketches.’ Compared to before, he could create discernible thread lines and make a fairly organized net. Pulling the mass closer to him, he was able to make it swirl over his body, just before absorption. Something about the attraction created an axis of ‘pull’ that made it naturally collect and spin around him in more concentration than he could do otherwise. It had a nice feel and aesthetic to him.
He grinned as he was finally able to make something of a sphere float over his hand. It was within a greater, faint cloud — he still couldn’t concentrate it all down that far, but it was still exceptionally satisfying.
His efforts rather quickly fatigued him, however, so he let it all go, absorbing the memorite back and opting to rest for a while. As soon as the high of power use died down, exhaustion punched back.
Nothing could motivate me more to get into shape than being able to use superpowers.
Jack sat in silence for a spell. Another Non zoomed by in the express lane of the corridor, likely never seeing him.
Taking out his phone, he sent a conventional text to Lindsay. <Went with Transmute. I bet you’re not surprised. Differences with the upgrade are quite noticeable.>
It wasn’t long before she replied. <Great! You’re practicing on your own, that’s my pupil! <3 Just don’t go overboard. A little here, a little there, champ.>
<I will continue to use powers responsibly and in moderation!>
After a few moments, Lindsay sent a picture with the caption, <As Promised!> It was the huge form of the ever-shiny Chrome Giant, down on one knee and grinning at the camera, while a delighted teenage Lindsay balanced and posed, sitting sassily on his flexed bicep — which was wider than her waist. Her hair was dyed cherry red and had precise bangs right over her eyebrows.
Jack laughed at the image and soon sent back, <Thanks. I see you were still the insufferable Queen of Cute, even then.>
<Of course! I’m afraid it’s simply impossible for me not to be~>
Shaking his head, Jack put away his phone and checked his fatigue levels: Minor. He hopped up and continued his walk at a brisk pace, aiming primarily for one stop he knew was adjacent to Everywhere Hall, in the direction he’d chosen to go. When he was done, he’d probably call it for the night.
The first change in the corridor in a long time was steps leading upward into another museum, the title of the place displayed prominently in bronze with the mouthful, ‘Arcadia Hall: The Court of Differential Synchronicity.’ Inside, the decor was exceptionally fancy and refined, the 19th-century Victorian influences clear, with hints of some steampunk here and there. Paintings of a rather stylish woman were frequent, including a very striking one with her in a colorful purple and white court gown of some kind. It was the biggest splash of color in the place. Another painting showed the lady looking over schematics together with a fellow in an old gentleman’s suit.
The Right Honourable Countess Ada Byron Lovelace. One title above a painting declared her ‘The Enchantress of Number.’ Another said, ‘Metaphysician of Poetical Science.’
I have no idea what that means, but it sure sounds cool.
There were also charts of some kind and books behind glass displays. Schematics. Big, card-stock punch cards with holes in them. A model of the ‘Analytical Engine’ of Charles Babbage, a very ancient contraption Jack supposed was what made the holes in the cards.
Jack didn’t linger overly long in the museum, though he did find it interesting enough to maybe return to one day. Whether he would be an old man before he got to it was greatly in question, however.
Seems like she was quite a charming lady. Just like someone else I know.
Jack exited through the other side of the museum, back into the wide corridor. Just like outside Everywhere Hall, the walls immediately from the exit were heavily decorated with memorials of cadets, starting from the first generations and proceeding down. Despite that he did not recognize them, the dedications were thick and extensive, far more elaborate than most Linewalkers had posted up. He supposed it made sense for a club that had many aspiring networkers and social butterflies. Communication Gods. There were a ton of the indulgences of ‘that friendly, popular girl/guy everyone loved.’
It wasn’t this exclusively, however. Interspersed were things like framed research papers, schematics, charts, and even long lines of mathematical formulas. A book-thick bundle of printed paper titled, ‘Aerial Anomaly 5 Translation Primer Changelog: 4.41.’ A picture of a small group winning an award labeled ‘Alternate Treatment Plan For Wilkes Depressive Disorder.’ A strange opalescent plaque with what appeared to be braille etched in it. Other, even less decipherable oddities, like an unlabeled binary sequence.
Ah, there they are: the nerds keeping the gears well-oiled behind the scenes, hehe. A strange contrast with the networkers, but I guess that’s the point? One way or another, they make everything mesh. Gel.
And then he came to Lindsay’s section. Pictures galore of another youthful, popular girl posing quite photogenically with other photogenic people, mostly other girls. There was one with her in the typical graduation outfit, held sideways in a smug pose with a hand propping her chin, caught in the arms of three strapping lads with big smiles. Their faces held a strong resemblance between them and her.
Brothers! I knew it.
There was also a framed copy of her doctoral certificate. ‘Clinical Psychology.’ That seemed about right.
There was another case with three hanging medals and three matching pictures arrayed around it artfully. ‘Miss Center’ with a picture of a dolled-up her in a fabulous ball gown and wearing some ridiculous crown. Yeesh, they have their own Miss Babylon contest?! Miss Center. Come on! And she won? Well, she’s… she is a bombshell, admittedly. And brilliant. Hmm. Suppose it fits the bill.
The second medal was for ‘Complete Excellence in Discipline,’ apparently linked to a picture of her in white martial arts robes, sitting down cross-legged with an older gent. It was candid because the man was smiling and looking at her, who was laughing like he’d just told a joke, with a hand covering her mouth.
The third medal was the Exemplar High Commendation Medal, a gold mushhushshu inset into a silver hex-shaped diamond. Considering how big a deal it was, there was no chance it was the original, just a display copy. That was protocol. He’d been offered one for his own medal when he’d been awarded it and had declined. Memoria was big on the preservation of originals and ensuing redundancy.
The associated picture was Lindsay in full uniform, shaking the hand of the legendary General Jing with the medal on display, no doubt just after receiving it. Or ‘Former General,’ he supposed. Jack had heard he’d recently retired.
Lindsay is certainly one to whom the torch has been handed off.
Having satisfactorily updated his mental ‘lindsay.txt file,’ Jack turned back around to head for the train. His trip felt a little indulgent, but it was simply a matter of ‘two birds with one stone.’ She asked me to check it out, after all.
Jack took the train back directly to Everywhere Hall and made it to his quarters. Shortly after closing the door behind him, he got a Mem-text request for access from Auger that he quickly approved.
Auger’s message read, <I’ll get into trouble if I show up there, and I didn’t bump into you today. No one I know did. How was your first day?>
Jack poured himself some milk as he sent back, <Great! A lot of progress. A lot of eating.>
<Of course. Good. Will you be waking up late again tomorrow?>
<Nope. Can’t, or Lindsay would chew me out, probably. I’ve got a schedule to get on. Bright and early for me!>
<Good. Would you come to the club cafe for breakfast, then? You could eat with us. It’s at 0700.>
<Sure thing, bud. I’ll see you there.>
<Good. Bye.>
Jack downed his milk and pondered over the youngster. Awkward, yet friendly. I wonder if he has trouble making friends? Anyway, good to have immediate contacts. Less awkward. Definitely getting the school vibes with this new life. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts. I don’t have nor want years of this, and even Momma Mem concurs.
Jack’s stomach growled yet again, so he set about stuffing his face with leftovers and chased the momentary fullness right to bed. That was a funny thing — he used to get indigestion eating too close to bedtime. His new metabolism did not give two shits, though.
It’s good to be a Champion!
He finished up his night with a shower and some mindless TV-watching before hitting the bed. When he thought about it, the day had been one of the best of his life.
Here’s to more like it. At least for a while?
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