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)
“Doubtful,” Finn says. “How would he get here?”
“Maybe the Looking Glasses are connected somehow? Maybe we could send a message back home and tell them what we’ve found?”
Finn hovers a finger over one of the switches on the long black thing.
I lean in to read what’s written on the switch. “Enter,” I say. “What do you think that means?”
“Fuck it,” he says. And then he presses it.
Nothing happens.
It’s all very anticlimactic. “Oh, well,” I say, sighing and turning back towards the door. “It was worth—” But I stop midsentence because all the plates are now showing something different. It’s no longer Matrons wearing pants and doing… whatever it is they’re doing. Instead, all the plates show different views of a massive room filled with—
Finn leans in. “What the hell are those things?”
My brain is practically on fire trying to think of a word to describe what we’re seeing. Because the room is filled with…
“Cocoons?” Finn asks. “They look like cocoons.”
“They’re… raising… butterflies?” I ask. “Monster butterflies?” Because the cocoons are massive. There’s a worker messing with one, and the cocoons are bigger than it. I’d guess at least six feet long and three feet wide.
Finn looks at me, his eyes filled with confusion. “Thousands of monster butterflies?”
“Oh, my God. What if it’s not butterflies. What if it’s giant silkworms?”
Finn laughs. “Why would they need a million miles of silk, Jasina?”
“Duh. Gala dresses. Maybe they’re big partiers here? Maybe that’s why the city is such a mess?”
He just shakes his head at me. “I don’t think—”
Now it’s Finn’s turn to stop mid-sentence. Because one of the plates is now showing a view of the worker opening one up.
I squint my eyes, holding my breath as the worker pries off the top of the cocoon, setting it aside.
Finn and I gasp in unison.
Because what’s inside the cocoon isn’t a butterfly or a silk worm.
It’s a woman.
A grown woman who looks suspiciously like…
Finn leans in, desperate to make sense of what we’re seeing.
Because it’s… Clara.
PART II
“It is difficult to overstate how vital the augments were to the stabilization of post-collapse society. Though the exact date of their emergence remains disputed, most historians agree their rise was not born from ambition, but necessity. They did not seek to rule; they were made to survive. To endure where others failed. To execute what others refused. For a time, they succeeded. And in that success, the world was quiet.”
—Dr. Elena Nareen, Desert Interface Research Group, annotation recovered from The Line So Bright Complex, Sector 3 Vault
13 - TYSE
The train left the Delta Factory at a pretty good speed, but only minutes in the journey it slows down to navigate a series of many windin’, serpentine curves and stays that way for hours. Right now, we’re goin’ so slow I almost wanna get out and walk.
But there’s no point in doin’ that. Eventually, these twists and turns will end and we’ll arrive at Epsilon Station. Then, it should pick up speed.
So I force myself to relax and be patient. Besides, it’s better for Clara if the rest of the day goes slow. She fell asleep almost immediately, the back-and-forth rockin’ motion becoming somethin’ of a lull.
I feel like she was looking better back there in Delta city. Refreshed after I stole all that spark from her, then filled her back up.
But she doesn’t look refreshed now. She looks exhausted.
We’re not even at the end of day one.
How’s it gonna go from here?
It occurs to me that Delta City was givin’ her spark. Maybe that’s why the air was so thick with it? Maybe it was feedin’ those baby gods? Maybe it was feedin’ Clara too?
Even if she wasn’t actively pullin’ it in or whatever, just being inside Delta City was enough to kinda keep her goin’.
But being on the train is a drain.
It’s likely that anywhere without Spark is gonna have the same effect. Without thinkin’, I focus my vision display and start lookin’ for a world. And it’s surprisin’ how instinctual it feels, this searchin’. Because I only seriously started doin’ it today.
I need to give her some more. I need to feed her.
But like I figured, this train line—bein’ underground and all—isn’t exactly crowded in any of the nearby worlds in my frequency stack. I have to look for a very long time before I find people. And then, longer still, before I find someone I won’t mind killing.
It’s an old man. He looks like a miner. Got a crude basket or somethin’ on his back and it’s filled with rocks of some kind. Maybe worth somethin’, maybe not. His face is pale and wrinkled, like he doesn’t see much sun. And he’s feeble, despite the pack on his back. His steps are slow and deliberate. Careful. Like a single misstep means death.
It’s not like I wanna kill him. I don’t. I’ve done plenty of killin’ in my time, but it’s not my first choice."