Phoenix - the Insilico tales - chapter 18 - "Settling Debts"
(originally posted 8/7/2011)
Phoenix' eyes blinked open at the appointed time. She still hadn't gotten used to not sleeping anymore, so the hours of recharging she had to undergo every day were nearly maddening. She leaned forward slightly in her chair to release the recharge connection from her lower back, and smoothly stood. She strode across the room, turned, and backed into the attach point of her grav pack, hanging in its bracket on the wall where she stored it for the night, and activated the magnetic lock, fastening the pack to her chassis. She moved to her dresser, picked up a slip of paper there and folded it, then turned toward the door of her apartment, and stepped out.
The time was chosen for the likelihood of least activity. The souls suffering in the courtyard were quieter than normal. Phoenix hoped it was because they were sleeping. She passed out of the courtyard and proceeded south through the mostly empty streets. She wondered if her city would ever really be the same - if she'd ever see the bustle of street vendors and Bowl customers again. She followed the road, turning west toward Atonement. She turned toward it, ascended the steps, and opened the giant door.
She'd been inside Atonement many times. Mainly because the huge edifice was largely ignored by everyone, and it looked like a good place to hide out of one were up to no good. So it had become part of her usual patrol route. But she'd never used the building for anything like its intended purpose. Today when she walked down the grand center aisle, she felt the gravity of the place - its size, its beauty. She came to the end of the pews, turned right, and started to ascend the staircases. She kept going until she reached the top - a beautiful throneroom. She stepped to one end of the reflecting pool, picked a spot, and walked a slow circle around it, looking outward. When she was finished, she knelt down on her knees in that spot.
"Laura..." Phoenix began, then halted awkwardly. Who exactly did she think she was talking to? Her memory? The idea of Laura? The universe? She forced herself to continue despite the discomfort imposed by her now very logical mind. Something had to be said. By someone. Somewhere. ".. you died bravely, in the line of duty, on a dangerous mission in hostile territory. Your mission was one of peace. Find phantom attackers who were hijacking IPS droids to carry out missions in West. Stop them before they could irreparably damage the treaty. Your desire for peace between sectors was so strong that it caused you to violate your programming constraints. You became rogue, class 5, sentencing yourself to certain death, for the simple purpose of explaining your mission to me. You entrusted that mission to me at the expense of your own life. I will carry it out on your behalf. We'll find them before they break the peace. Your mission has succeeded, officer. I swear to you that it has succeeded."
Phoenix licked her lips and composed herself.
"When I was born, I took on a life vendetta against IPS for what they did to Dawn." Her voice began to break with emotion. "In your memory, and in your honor, I now cast that vendetta aside. Your sacrifice paid her debt in full."
Phee unfolded the paper and looked at it. It bore the logo of IPS. She remembered all her fear and anger, the running and the hating, and poured it into this representation of that vendetta. Then she put the paper on a small bowl on the floor, produced a cigarette lighter, and set it aflame. As she watched it burn she studied her feelings. Was this enough? Was this an adequate memorial service for Laura? Was what needed to be felt and said being felt and said?
Finally the last ember faded out and the smoke stopped. Phee stood, walked the circle a second time, looking outward again as before, then took the bowl, and dumped the vanishingly small amount of ashes into the pool.
"It is done." she murmured.
Phoenix' eyes blinked open at the appointed time. She still hadn't gotten used to not sleeping anymore, so the hours of recharging she had to undergo every day were nearly maddening. She leaned forward slightly in her chair to release the recharge connection from her lower back, and smoothly stood. She strode across the room, turned, and backed into the attach point of her grav pack, hanging in its bracket on the wall where she stored it for the night, and activated the magnetic lock, fastening the pack to her chassis. She moved to her dresser, picked up a slip of paper there and folded it, then turned toward the door of her apartment, and stepped out.
The time was chosen for the likelihood of least activity. The souls suffering in the courtyard were quieter than normal. Phoenix hoped it was because they were sleeping. She passed out of the courtyard and proceeded south through the mostly empty streets. She wondered if her city would ever really be the same - if she'd ever see the bustle of street vendors and Bowl customers again. She followed the road, turning west toward Atonement. She turned toward it, ascended the steps, and opened the giant door.
She'd been inside Atonement many times. Mainly because the huge edifice was largely ignored by everyone, and it looked like a good place to hide out of one were up to no good. So it had become part of her usual patrol route. But she'd never used the building for anything like its intended purpose. Today when she walked down the grand center aisle, she felt the gravity of the place - its size, its beauty. She came to the end of the pews, turned right, and started to ascend the staircases. She kept going until she reached the top - a beautiful throneroom. She stepped to one end of the reflecting pool, picked a spot, and walked a slow circle around it, looking outward. When she was finished, she knelt down on her knees in that spot.
"Laura..." Phoenix began, then halted awkwardly. Who exactly did she think she was talking to? Her memory? The idea of Laura? The universe? She forced herself to continue despite the discomfort imposed by her now very logical mind. Something had to be said. By someone. Somewhere. ".. you died bravely, in the line of duty, on a dangerous mission in hostile territory. Your mission was one of peace. Find phantom attackers who were hijacking IPS droids to carry out missions in West. Stop them before they could irreparably damage the treaty. Your desire for peace between sectors was so strong that it caused you to violate your programming constraints. You became rogue, class 5, sentencing yourself to certain death, for the simple purpose of explaining your mission to me. You entrusted that mission to me at the expense of your own life. I will carry it out on your behalf. We'll find them before they break the peace. Your mission has succeeded, officer. I swear to you that it has succeeded."
Phoenix licked her lips and composed herself.
"When I was born, I took on a life vendetta against IPS for what they did to Dawn." Her voice began to break with emotion. "In your memory, and in your honor, I now cast that vendetta aside. Your sacrifice paid her debt in full."
Phee unfolded the paper and looked at it. It bore the logo of IPS. She remembered all her fear and anger, the running and the hating, and poured it into this representation of that vendetta. Then she put the paper on a small bowl on the floor, produced a cigarette lighter, and set it aflame. As she watched it burn she studied her feelings. Was this enough? Was this an adequate memorial service for Laura? Was what needed to be felt and said being felt and said?
Finally the last ember faded out and the smoke stopped. Phee stood, walked the circle a second time, looking outward again as before, then took the bowl, and dumped the vanishingly small amount of ashes into the pool.
"It is done." she murmured.
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