Aur Child

Digambar Dharmavaram, the sole remaining member of the crew aboard the Odyssey, threw herself into her bunk in a panic. She was distraught about the loss of her fellow crewmembers, but she was even more fearful of the quaking pain that had once again begun to churn up inside her once again. Her arms were numb. Her legs tingled. It would have been impossible to do anything Calliope had asked her, but she feared revealing this. Somehow, she wanted to hold on to what little control she had left. But with no one else aboard the ship, Digambar suddenly felt vulnerable.

Vulnerable and powerless. Two emotions she had refused to accept for so long. She had been endoported three centuries earlier from a sleek, agile body as trim as a jungle panther, sharing the same secret worries that to hide at Yellow Reserve would be to capitulate her freedom. In her mind, she had refused to accept that choice; every action she took in those early decades had been to counteract the risk of losing control and becoming vulnerable. She had learned to adjust to the odd functional characteristics of countless avatars over the centuries. She even mastered the bodies of other humans on the few missions in which she previously participated. But now, despite her will, her experience, she had yet to find comfort after being pumped into the body of a sturdy-framed, northlands forest maiden. The bones, it seemed, were just too large for her internal sense of balance. Her head reverberated with every angle of light emanating from the ceiling and each sway of the ship. The cabin had been her sanctuary from the beginning of the journey and now, as she felt herself sliding into a relapse of the tremors that had grounded her earlier on, she retreated there once more.

Digambar tossed and turned in her bunk throughout the night. She could feel the soggy sheets against her skin through bouts of hot and cold; she tossed legs out to cool down and pulled the sweat-dampened blanket over her to ward off the next wave of shivers. When she slept, it was a restless mania. She spoke in grunts and dreamed of swimming to shore in search of Orpheus. When she was awake, it was feverish. She counted piles of mesh shrouds to confusion and considered safer routes for the crew to trek out from the forest. She shook her head to empty the convoluted discussions she imagined. She woke several times with the intention of retrieving Orpheus because, in her dreams, she promised to do so, but then she realized her legs would not respond. If she called out to Calliope, she might lose control of the ship and be sent out on Linus to her death. The only safe choice, she reasoned more times than she could count, was to return to – to hide in – sleep.

It was dark when she woke, but it didn’t matter because for the first time since she had shut the door to her cabin, she could wiggle her toes. She lay in the bed and tested that function the way Arman had taught her to do weeks ago, paying attention to each toe as she tried to control it independently. After some time at this activity, she rotated herself and attempted to stand up. Also possible, if a little uncomfortable. She reached over and switched on the communications channel.

“Calliope,” she croaked. Not hearing a reply, she bent forward again and reset the communications switch.

“Calliope. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Calliope answered in a dull tone.

“Calliope. I think I’m feeling better now. I should try some tea.”

“Tea is available in the galley.”

Of course, there was no one to bring it to her. She would have to walk.

Foot in front of foot, hands sliding along the wall, Digambar navigated out of the cabin, along the walkway through both bulkheads, up the steps, and into the silent saloon and the adjacent galley. She expected some complementary note from Calliope, yet there was none. Instead, she found a solitary mug of hot tea. Out of the windows, a black expanse rose up to meet a starlit sky.

“Calliope.”

“Yes.”

It was odd, she thought, how Calliope was responding to her. She took a sip of the tea. The heat seeped through the mug into her hands. She tried to enjoy that sensation.

“Where are we?”

“You ordered me to hold our position.”

“Oh.”

Digambar looked again out the window, but the view hadn’t change. The mission displays that had been arranged at the saloon table were no longer visible. Calliope seemed to have abandoned them at some point.

Diga asked with a quiver of her lip, “Anything from the others?”

“No.”

It must be Orpheus, Digambar reasoned. Calliope would be frustrated that Digambar hadn’t jumped immediately to get the boat off the beach. But it would have been impossible. Even if Digambar had been physically ready to do so, she couldn’t have drummed up the courage to head out into that storm after the loss of her crewmates. Last night – or was it already nearly an entire day earlier, Digambar didn’t know – she had been too afraid to go. Of course, she couldn’t tell Calliope. That hunch that came to her at first now revived itself in her mind; to keep control, she would not tell Calliope about her relapse. Why should she? She was over it. And now that she had recovered from it, from the shock of it all, perhaps they could agree on a plan that made it possible to retrieve the tender without too much risk and then return home. She shuffled over to the sofa and sat down with the mug outstretched before her.

“Okay, Calliope. Let’s make a plan to retrieve Orpheus.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Calliope replied. “Never mind that.”

“Never mind it?” Digambar gasped. How dare she? Half of her suffering had been the result of the sudden pressure Calliope had placed on her by insisting Digambar go out to get Orpheus amid all that chaos. It had been so urgent then, and now Calliope was acting like it didn’t even matter.

Digambar sipped from the tea, feeling somewhat ambivalent about the situation, half expecting Calliope to follow up her reply with something more, but the room remained silent.

Finally, Digambar slapped a hand down on the sofa. “Oh, come on, Calliope. Don’t be stubborn. I was exhausted after everything that happened last night –”

“Twenty hours ago,” Calliope corrected her.

“— Okay, fine, twenty hours ago. I just needed some rest. No harm done. Now we can make a plan to get him.”

“It’s too late, Captain.” Calliope’s voice was typically emotionless, yet Digambar felt a coldness in those words, nonetheless.

She inhaled quickly. “Too late?” She could feel a piercing pain shoot through her body. It was like the jolt that comes when waking up in the middle of the night with the realization that some very important task had been forgotten. It was so similar to the way she was struck down the night before that it felt like déjà vu. She reached forward to set the mug down on the table, but her hand was so jittery that she spilled it across the surface instead with a loud ringing.

Digambar scowled at the table. “Don’t be difficult.” She grabbed at her ears. “Just tell me where he is.”

Calliope did not attempt to soften the words. “He is gone,” she said.

Digambar shook her head. How could this happen? She hadn’t asked for much, just a little time to recover. How could Orpheus already be gone?

“Gone where?”

“Destroyed in those cliffs. By Tellurians,” Calliope replied. In the silence that pervaded the room after those words, she added, “Just as I warned you.”

“No!” Digambar cried. “No, you didn’t. You only said he might be seen.”

“He was seen and dragged over to the cliffs.”

“To the cliffs? Oh Calliope.” Digambar was again shaking now almost uncontrollably. Her head pounded so that she had trouble hearing. “I’m so sorry. But why didn’t you stop them?”

“You appear unwell, Captain.”

“Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Digambar repeated.

“I couldn’t ignore your orders. But it wouldn’t have mattered. What could I have done to stop a boat full of Tellur …Digambar, something is terribly wrong with you.”

Digambar shook her head violently. “Ram them? Crush them? You’d have had my permission to crush their boat. But,” she stopped speaking and quickly moved her hand to her stomach as the pain stabbed at her. After a moment, she caught her breath and continued, “…oh, but you really mustn’t hurt them.”

“That’s enough, Digambar. Tell me what is wrong with you. Your heartrate has increased very quickly. Your eyes are dilating, and your skin has turned pale. You seem to be on the verge of a seizure.”

That was it. Calliope had called her bluff. If she was about to enter another episode as the night before, she could no longer hide her condition from Calliope.

“I am unwell, Calliope. I …” but before she could explain, the tremors took hold of her, and she felt her mouth lock closed. The world turned white. She felt herself instantly sweating. She felt her nails cut into her palms. She heard Calliope call to her, but naturally, there was nothing more she could do. When she recovered from the seizures, Calliope spoke softly to her.

“Digambar,” Calliope said. You are very ill. You must have hidden the severity of your condition from me and now, I fear, it has progressed too far.”

With a parched mouth, Digambar scratched up her words. “Too far for what?”

“There is little I can do here, but I have enough data to suggest that your body is likely in advanced stages of rejecting your soul.”

“But Arman said it was normal.” Digambar blinked weakly a few times. “You were right all along.”

“Right or wrong, it’s my protocol to leave the final decision up to the Guests. But, regardless, we must act fast now.”

Digambar lolled her head to the left. The saloon was dark, and the lights were dim. Dim and blurry.

“Act, how?”

“Digambar. Listen to me carefully. If you refuse to take action, if you refuse to decide now, the body will shut down and you will lose your soul. I can’t get you to the medical bay like this, and even if I could, we would only prolong the inevitable.”

Digambar grimaced. She couldn’t imagine anything more that could possibly go wrong on this mission. She had been the last hope to salvage something from all the effort made, and now she too would be a failure. The image of Sand Flea came to her, but even that possibility was no longer within reach.

“Just, …tell me what I should do,” she mumbled.

A slot opened in the table and a metallic wafer slid halfway out.

“Take the datacard, Digambar. Remove the corner tab and arm the barb. Place it behind your ear. I will attempt to port your soul to the card before that body expires.”

“Without a stasis pod? Is it safe?”

“If you want to try to preserve your soul, we have no choice. It will not be comfortable, and I cannot guarantee, under these conditions, that I will succeed. But remote porting has been done before, and if this doesn’t work, well …”

Digambar was on her back on the sofa. She looked down the length of her body towards the spilled tea mug on the table and the little card in the slot beneath it.

“And what will happen to me then, if you succeed?”

“Once in the card, you will remain in a static state. I will attempt to return to Cave Quay where your soul can then be returned to your boule at Yellow Reserve.”

“What about Sand Flea?”

“The girl in Gjoa? Digambar, there’s nothing I can do for her.”

“Can’t I leave her a message?”

“How would I deliver it?”

Digambar grunted as she curled up and hunched over. With one weak hand, she reached up and grabbed the wafer. She snapped off the transponder as Calliope had told her and grimaced as she pushed the barb into the flesh behind her ear.”

“Take the message,” she gasped. “And bring it to Sand Flea.”

“Very well, Digambar. I will try my best.”