Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I plucked a loose thread from each of those monks and I just… unraveled them. Like an old-timey spinnin’ wheel. Wool into yarn. Spark into thread.
What’s it mean though?
There’s no time to figure this out, because the next wall I walk through places me right in front of Clara. I stop, my insides sinking with dread. Fear. Panic. Rage. All of it hits at once as my eyes scan down her body. She’s captured inside a cage. It looks like an augmentation threader, similar to the one I was in earlier, but not exactly like it.
That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is her coloring. She’s… gray. Dull blue. Sun-bleached blue.
And then, I hear her voice. A voice from the past. Another time, another dimension, another life, it seems.
“Our towers were tall too,” Clara is saying. “But not this tall.”
We’re back in Tau City, on our way to the health center to get her checked out. I still think she might be lying, she still thinks I’m a dick.
“And they were just made of plaster and stones, I think.” Clara looks up at me. “I don’t know how to make buildings. They just didn’t look like that.” She points to the skyscrapers. “They looked… natural. Like the canal. Like they fit in with it. All of my city was covered in muted shades of beige and blue. And most of the towers had domes. Sun-bleached blue domes. Almost gray, some of them, because they were so old.”
Sun-bleached blue domes.
All right. Calm down, Tyse. Be rational. Think. You were made to think. You’re one of the smartest fuckers on this whole world. Do not overreact.
Sun-bleached blue…
I snap out of it and suddenly I’m me again. Not in my body, just in my mind. And that mind is workin’ now. Figurin’ shit out.
Tubes. Needle-thin tubes. A cage full of them. And this cage is over top of Clara’s body. Inside the tubes there is spark. But it’s not glowin’.
Sun-bleached blue…
It’s used up. Dead.
I look back, over my shoulder. See nothin’ but a concrete wall. But in my mind’s eye, I see me in the arena. Fightin’. Using up spark like it’s limitless.
I look back at Clara. Trace the tubing filled with dead spark to the wall. Walk over to it, step through the wall, and on the other side, I see another room. This one with a table.
An augmentation table.
That motherfucker.
He used her to thread me.
Do not overreact.
Just… react.
So that’s what I do. I go back through the wall, over to Clara, and place my hand on her cold, damp forehead.
Then I lean down, kissing her. And when my lips touch hers, I unspool myself. Everything I just stole from the monks, I give to her. Threads come off me. Tiny, wiggling threads of spark. I give her all of it. Every drop.
I fill her back up as I empty myself.
And then I just… disappear.
29 - CLARA
My eyes snap open.
Tyse!
I try and look around, but I can’t move.
“Don’t try and get up,” the snarky god says. Then he’s hovering over me. “It won’t work. You’re still in the harvester.”
Harvester.
“Give me a moment here…”
There’s a clicking, then a short hum, and then—“Ouch! Ow!” Slicing pain all over my body as the needles withdraw. It’s a sick feeling. Like worms sliding under my skin.
But it’s quick, and moments later, it’s over and the cage of needle-thin wires, all dripping with dull-gray fluid, pull back across the room, retracting to the opposite wall.
I feel sick. He harvested me. He took my spark.
“Oh, come on now. It wasn’t me who took your spark.” He points to himself. “Am I glowing? No. I didn’t take your spark.”
“You captured it.” My words are low and husky. “In some kind of vat. Like Delta does.”
“Don’t be silly. My process is nothing at all like Delta’s.”
“It does the same thing, though. It steals… life. It steals!”
“It does,” he says, letting out a breath. Almost as if I’m boring him. “But I need it. It’s science, you see. And the end always justifies the means.”
“That’s sick.”
He waves a hand in the air, backing off a little, but remains in front of me. “Yes, yes, yes I’m sick. I’m mad. Insane. Deranged and demented!” His voice rises as he turns and starts to pace in front of me. “Psycho, unhinged… a nutter.” His smile is big. “But you…” These words come out as a cackle that is not quite as creepy as Luther’s, but it’s close. “Look at you.” He pans a hand down my body, which I can’t actually see because I’m strapped to a wall. Completely immobilized. “A little battery, is what you are. Rechargeable, even. How clever. I have to be honest here, Clara, I wasn’t expecting it.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. And frankly, I don’t care. “Where am I? Where is Tyse?” He’s the only thing I care about.