The Restaurant
Septimus promise of brighter future was the reassuring comfort that Neste most needed. She couldn't help but smile as a fond memory surfaced, however.
"Date a reptile...Imagine the good Counsel's surprise when I rotate home with a reptilian wife."
"Our future is looking good, but some beautiful memories are worth holding on to," she lifted her glass to Septimus. She doubted he thought of her as spouse material, but she allowed herself a brief daydream in which they returned to their home dimension. She would report to the Academy of Science, point to her registry papers, and demand they change her surname designation to Itum. I belong with someone now; you have to free me from circulation and allow me to choose my role in society - that is the law.
Neste glanced at the cyborg. She thought him handsome. She had previously as well, despite his scars. Now? He had his youth back, and a chance to fulfill dreams without the oppressive Ophelia deriding him, or the ruling body sending him where he didn't want to go. As for her? Neste contentedly sighed. I am already free to choose my role. I have left my home dimension. I have my dearest friend as my companion. This new life is good.
She gave his question thought as she ate. "I suppose our first challenge will be to convince some abhumans that Thirteen isn't the answer. More than a few honestly see this as a positive solution. It removes the threat of attacks by mundanes, and it promises jobs. I'm sure perspectives will change once the eclipse is upon us, but even then we might see those clinging to false hopes and dreams. It's a good idea to push for the small things, but I'd also put your public works projects to good use. If we fade from public view, we'll be forgotten in no time. Out of sight, out of mind. We need to keep our presence, and we need to remind people that we're valuable to the community."
They lapsed into silence for a short time as Neste tucked in to her meal. Her brow furrowed as one thought followed another, and she eventually set her fork aside to gently voice her concerns. "Septimus, what are you going to do about the mundane sisters than insist on serving as abhuman mouthpieces? I sensed at the meeting that one of them intensely dislikes you."
Coffee in the Trap
John nodded sympathetically. "Well, don't let it eat you. You can't control the world around you. You can only control how you react to it. If you choose to believe it dislikes you or doesn't want you around, that's how you'll start to think. You'll run away and hide, and then feel even worse because you're alone. It's a vicious cycle."
He crossed his legs and licked his thumb to wipe a scuff from his jackboots. Times were tough, and everything was chaotic - no pun intended - and even the daily inspections were dropped in favor of other plans, but that didn't mean John would allow his attention to detail to lapse. "The people you work for have been keeping a very low profile," he shrugged, "Same as my faction. Most of them have bugged out. Those with families remain, but they've hidden their uniforms. This is personal, and they're not representing Chaos."
Chaos was nearly gone, he reminded himself. Hidden, locked away, gone to ground, bugged out, lurking deep within the shadows. It wasn't stupid. It could smell the fire and brimstone stench rolling their way.
"Yuna, why don't you pack up some things and come stay with us at the Ruins, ja? Let your friends know hell is coming. Tell them to prepare to evacuate. Let them know to go peaceful. Then pack and follow me."
The Lunch
Marcus closed his eyes to block out some of the memories threatening to bring screams to his throat. Sandy's curiosity was well and good, but he was asking a kid to recall living nightmares. The boy gave up his meatball pushing and set the utensil aside. It seemed to him that Sandy's apartment had become too dark for this early in the day, and the walls and ceiling loomed behind the grey mists clouding his vision.
"Hans' traitors weren't in charge of the insane ones, to my knowledge," he said. "Hans is Klaus' cultist leader here in Bielefeld, so he's the only one other than Klaus that can control Klaus' Men here. Flights... as in military flights, a unit of men organized under a flight sergeant or whatever the term for him is. When I say 'swarm', it's because that's what it looks like. A black shadow pouring over the land, and they're like silent, violent fish skimming the surface until they reach their target. Angels of death. And..."
He suppressed a shudder and decided enough was enough. If Sandy wanted to see them so badly, he could just ask Klaus or Hans. Doing his best to conceal both his PTSD and his frustration, Marcus was about to answer Amanda when he felt his hand enfolded in Giovenith's warm grasp. The mist seemed to clear at her touch, and he blinked to find dust particles dancing in the warm summer sunshine smiling at them through the apartment's windows. She was speaking, but his mind was elsewhere. At that moment, he loved her more than he'd ever loved her before. Not caring what the Belas thought, the boy leaned over and his lips brushed a soft kiss on the godling's temple.
Marcus drew a cleansing breath. "Ogoti and Klaus didn't heal Hans. He wasn't as far gone to begin with, from what I understand. But you and I, and Giovenith, and Minerva's Lads, and Ogoti himself can't stop emotion. The swarm is pure emotion. It is a god's wrath. But they aren't behind this. We should stop talking about them. It draws them."
Another breath. The young cyborg ran his thumb along Giovenith's soft skin and focused on her pantheon a moment. Pearlelei, a beautiful creation goddess. She brought good into the world. He thought of the vision from the tent, and of the dragons gathering on the rocky ledges outside the window, and the weight in his chest lifted.
"Pantheons are curious things. My pantheon isn't Chaos. It has nothing to do with it, if it can help it. We follow Deus Mechanicus, the Omnissiah. Knowledge is the manifestation of destiny, you see, and Deus Mechanicus not only embodies knowledge and technology, but it bestows those priceless gifts upon its followers. I'm a priest, a Rassaphore. My role is to repair machinery. Brothers of higher rank - the Stavrophore and above - soothe the machine spirits that inhabit that machinery, and together we work to make certain the machine functions properly. The Adeptus Mechanicus is slightly different depending on the dimension you walk in. There are dimensions that do not bother to give any designation between degrees of priesthood. There are others that overly complicate things by giving names to every last role. And there are dimensions where the priesthood has died completely because Mars was destroyed centuries prior."
The thought of his god further calmed him. He closed his eye to relish the memory of familiar hymns, and his mind savoring the sounds of Latin prayers chanted while working. This was the blissful state that swept away the nightmares. Marcus turned his gaze back to Sandy, and he smiled. "The Adeptus Mechanicus of my home dimension embraces Nine Mysteries. Two of them would pertain well to this situation. Understanding is the True Path to Comprehension, Sandy. Comprehension is the key to all things. Trust in the Omnissiah to provide the answers when you are most ready to process them. You will comprehend when your ready to comprehend, but first you must gain understanding of things outside your own scope of experience."
He laughed and then drew Giovenith's hand up to kiss her knuckles. "And then there's red tape between pantheons. They sort themselves way above, and sometimes the mortals, and immortals, and even the godlings are left out of the loop. Sandy, don't involve your pantheon in matters outside of it. For all we know, your pantheon has decided to sit this one out. From what I understand, Elohim and the Omnissiah are not involving themselves, nor is Chaos or Ra and his kind. These are matters that mankind must sort for himself. He's the child learning to ride the bicycle, and the gods are the parents that have taken off the training wheels and released released the handlebars. Mankind must learn how to balance himself and ride forward. It's scary to go it alone, but he must. His gods will be there to comfort him if he falls and skins his knee. That's what scriptures, hymns, and prayer do. But if gods did everything for us, we'd never mature. We'd never grow. We'd never learn to be strong. This is the knowledge the Omnissiah whispered to me while I was working on the truck the other day."
