THIRTY THREE

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Paige materialised at my side. "Don't think this means she forgives you, Deeby. You're still a massive asshole fuckwit bastard."

I took another sip of coffee as Zoe howled with laughter and Rao silently slid a few millimetres further along the table. Sometimes, I feel like Paige is my antagonistic alter ego. There are moments when her various attacks reflect my emotional state perfectly.

Jake scowled and the coffee machine made an angry whistling sound as he heated more milk. Maybe the coffee machine is his antagonistic alter ego. But then again, it's Jake. He's his own antagonistic alter ego.

I walked over to the counter, found some bread, and put it in the toaster. I looked at the packet. Coles? Capitalist conglomerates had spread to the unworld now?

Zoe saw me looking. "It's hard to get supplies without going to the city – which is infested with robot overlords," she said. "So Jake does the shopping in virtual." She grinned at him. "He's our little grumpy househusband."

Jake scowled at her and switched off the coffee machine. "Wait, no!" said Zoe. "I still want coffee. Long and black. Like my legs."

I drank more coffee. This was too much, far too early in the morning. Rao seemed to agree. His forehead hit the table with an audible thump. Jake switched the machine back on and the toast popped as Paige came over to my side. "I want to try," she said, pointing at my cup. Reluctantly, I offered it to her.

She took a sip whilst I watched – hoping she didn't take too much. I saw her face twist and – familiar with children's various gross reactions to new tastes – snatched it off her. "No backwash!" I yelped.

Instead of dribbling it back into my cup, Paige let the mouthful of coffee she'd taken spill down her chin.

"Blergh," she said. The coffee machine made a sad, wailing noise.

"Well, that's your opinion," I told her.

"Child, I am not cleaning that shit up," said Zoe, looking at the small puddle of coffee on the floor.

"You don't clean anything up." Jake handed her a cup.

"That's true," said Zoe reflectively. "These delicate hands are not made for brute labour. Have I told you the story – "

"Yes," said Mila shortly. "Paige, I want to examine your eye modification."

Slowly, I put my coffee cup down and studied her. Paige took a tiny step back from Mila. I took a step forward and crossed my arms. "What, exactly, does that entail?"

Mila glared at me. I stared right back. Tension thickened the air.

"It's not invasive," she snapped. 

"That's good," I said insincerely. "What, exactly, does it entail?" I didn't look away from Mila's face. It seemed to make her uncomfortable.

"Anna, it's fine," said Paige. "I've had my mod checked before."

"Not by Mila," I said. I smiled, my lips moving – but my eyes not at all sincere. Mila clenched her fist. Everyone else in the kitchen had gone very still.

"Ooookay..." began Zoe. I didn't even look at her. I could see Mila giving way.

"Scans," said Mila reluctantly. "Scans. That's all."

"It's fine," said Paige, touching my arm. "Just boring."

I kept my eyes on Mila till she looked away, then I shrugged. The dense tension that had built up in the kitchen dissolved.

"Ok," I said, taking my toast out of the toaster and helping myself to some butter and vegemite that had been left out on the bench. "If you're fine with it, Paige." I offered her a slice. "Toast?"

Mila, Jake and Zoe were all staring at me. I ignored them. Paige sauntered closer and peered at the spread.

"What the fuck is that black shit?"

"Language. It's Vegemite: both nutritious and rich in Vitamin B..."

Slowly, the clatter and movement of breakfast resumed. Mila left – probably to sacrifice something to her master, the devil – but I decided to cross that bridge when I came to it.

As soon as Jake started cleaning up the dishes, Zoe decided to take Paige to Mila's lair. I'm not sure whether it was to be helpful, or to avoid the washing up. As they disappeared down the corridor I looked after them anxiously.

"Anna?" Jake's voice was strangely hesitant. "She'll be fine."

I met his eyes, then looked away from him, and to Rao, who was still collapsed over the table.

"Rao?" I asked. "Are you ok?"

One of his long fingers twitched in what I interpreted as a sign of assent.

"He just really hates mornings," said Jake. "This is normal."

Having observed Jake for some time on my various coffee visits (thank goodness I'm over my crush now), I can say with relative certainty that Jake is a morning person. At least, he's equally scowl-y with morning customers as afternoon customers. As a consequence he has no empathy for normal people who like sleeping.

"Rao," he said. "Wake up." He grabbed the back of Rao's sweater and pulled him to his feet. I watched, my arms crossed, feeling vaguely relieved that I wasn't the only person that Jake hauled around. Rao twisted out of Jake's grip in a rapid movement, then staggered backwards to lean against the wall. After a moment, he turned around to face it and leant his forehead against the concrete.

I covered a smile with my hand.

"You need to wake up," said Jake implacably. "Because you're showing Anna the library."

A wave of excitement broke my resolve to maintain the silent treatment. "Library?" I asked. "You have a library? Where?" I bounced on the balls of my feet until I realised what I was doing and stopped myself. I like libraries. They're quiet and smell nice.

Rao looked like he was slowly collapsing down the wall.

As Jake crossed his arms, I noticed his tattoos were in a different pattern from usual. I made myself look away. "That's fine, mate," Jake said. "You can go back to sleep. I'll just show Anna around the library myself."

Rao straightened up and spun around. He glared at Jake and then stalked past us like an offended cat.

As we followed him down the hall, Jake gave me an almost-smile. "Rao's a little protective of the library."

Rao snorted.
"The stuff in there is fragile," Jake continued. "I broke something last week."

I looked at Jake, considering, and wondered if it was only fragile if you were the size of a rhinoceros. From the look Rao was giving Jake, I imagine he was thinking the same thing.

We climbed the narrow metal staircase that Rao had gone up last night. It opened onto a loft room. Well, it would have been a loft room if we'd actually been above ground. It gave an impression of spacious height because there was a skylight set so deep into the ceiling that it looked like it was at the end of a tunnel. A pane of stained, cloudy glass blocked out a clear view of what was above us, but I could see a bit of blue.

"Isn't that dangerous?" I asked, pointing up. "Won't people outside be able to see if the lights are on in here?"

Rao glanced up.

"One way glass," said Jake briefly. "It's reinforced. Bulletproof."

"I like sunlight," said Rao. "And I hate living underground."

Jake stared at him, seeming surprised that he'd spoken at all.

I blushed when I saw a mattress on the ground directly beneath the skylight. Somehow, I'd missed it. Somehow, standing right next to where Rao slept when I barely knew him seemed invasive. I looked away and around the room, "So... where's the library?" I asked. I know libraries. This wasn't a library. There were no books.

Rao walked over to a large wooden panel and pushed it. It slid along the wall on tiny wheels, but I was distracted at the first glimpse of what been hidden behind it. My breath caught in my throat. It looked like an enormous metallic mosaic in a thousand gradations of grey, blue, and silver. As I watched, pieces shifted around each other, rearranging themselves into new correlations. Dark pieces aligned with dark pieces, light with light – the subtle variations of colour dazzling me. It was as if the wall was alive, a shifting, breathing, beautiful tapestry. It was like looking at clouds: images started to form as my eyes made sense of the shapes and shadows in the metal.

Smoothly, all the dark pieces in the mosaic moved towards the middle, forming graceful circles. I took a step back when I realised what it was: a dark, enormous outline of an eye. Jake crossed his arms. "It sees you."

"It's... alive?" I asked.

"Yes," said Rao, even as Jake said "No," at the same time.

Rao glared at Jake, then walked towards the wall. I watched, uneasy, as the hundreds of metal pieces seemed to ripple and bulge towards him slightly – as if the metal was a curtain, and something was reaching for him from the other side. The pieces of the pattern started to shift, as though a new image was preparing to form.

"Come," said Rao.

I realised he meant me, and walked closer. As I neared the wall, the pieces of metal smoothly shifted in the opposite direction – the patterns slowly shaping themselves into a crushing wave with jagged tips.

I looked at it, unnerved. It was beautiful, but also awful to look at. The wall pulsed and wavered slightly. The edges of the wave seemed to shift to point towards me.

Jake came up to my side and the pattern began to disintegrate.

"This is our heritage," said Rao. "Our history."

Jake stared at the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What is it?" I asked.

Rao smiled at me, shocking me with such an uncharacteristic show of emotion. He gestured at the wall as though it was a delightful present he couldn't wait to share. "Memory," he said. "Our memories."

Jake shifted, "He means the memories of the first Wakers. Dead for centuries."

"Not when we have these," said Rao. "With these we can see what they saw, touch what they touched. Reach back to before the Fall of the Primacy."

Jake rolled his eyes, "And they'll still be dead."

"History's important," I said, forgetting, once again, that I was ignoring Jake. "It's who we are."

Jake shook his head again, and Rao glanced at him, then at me. The corner of his mouth twisted upwards. "That's exactly what Jake's afraid of."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"See for yourself," said Jake.

Rao held up his hand before the mosaic. "Wakers can't touch another Waker's shard. They repel us." I saw Rao's arm muscles tense as he pushed his palm forward, or attempted to. It moved forward less than an inch, then stopped. I saw his arm shaking with the effort. "Nothing," he said.

Experimentally, I held my hand up, too. I could feel a faint force against my hand – emanating from the wall – as though my palm was a magnet, and the metal was repelling it.

I pushed forward harder, and my palm moved forward, level with Rao's. It felt as though I was pushing against an elastic barrier. It felt like there was still a little more give. I pushed my arm forward, my fingers moving past his – and the pieces of metal on the wall shivered and pulsed towards me. I dropped my hand quickly, unnerved.

I felt Jake's eyes on my face and didn't look at him.

"The wall is made out of shards?" I asked, "Whose shards?"

Rao dropped his hand too. "We've lost the technology now, but I think they're treated with a solution of aurichalcum. When they're altered they can become a recipient for certain memories. Confessions, memorials, histories. We used to have halls of memories, the walls covered with thousands – millions – of accounts. Families passed down ancestral shards, adding to them each generation," his mouth twisted. "In the Fall, the Hierarchs and the Partials destroyed almost everything. Cultural genocide. I collect what I can."

I stared at him. It was very strange to hear him speak for so long. For the first time I was able to get a sense of his voice, his manner of speech. I wondered if he only ever talked this much about these shifting, ancient histories.

Rao reached up and pulled one of his shard needles out of his hair. I bit the inside of my cheek, nervous. Next to me, Jake sighed, and one of his tattoos shifted down to the inside of his wrist, then along his palm. It seeped up to pool on his skin. Rao's shard contracted and pooled in his palm too.

"You too," said Rao. "Like you did in the immersion."

I concentrated, and my shard bracelet unwound and pooled in my palm – spreading out to cover it like a thin glove. Rao's and Jake's did too.

"We can only touch the wall with our shards," said Rao. "And that's only because it's been altered."

"What are you going to show her?" asked Jake.

Rao smiled, "How it all began," he said. "Babel," he told the wall. "Dr. Foreau."

The patterns on the wall shifted – shaping themselves into a dark, tall tower. It thrust into the clouds like a knife.

A single shape protruded slightly from the rest. Rao and Jake reached for it, their hands shielded by their shards. After a moment's hesitation, I reached for the wall too. The coldness of it spread through my shard, through my fingertips, through my blood: then the library liquefied around me, melting away like a watercolour.

^^^

Author's Note:

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Are you shocked by Rao's sudden talkativeness? He's a (not so secret) history nerd. Don't worry, whenever he's away from the wall he's his normal taciturn self. But I'm sure he and Anna can bond over postmodernist theory.

Next chapter you'll find out why Jake's so reluctant to accept Waker history (and why it's interesting that Rao's so obsessed with it) – and you'll find out what the Waker 'Primacy' is. Plus, there's an exciting Jake and Anna scene coming up. Well... it's exciting for me, as an evil writer. :P


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