"What do you think of her?" His voice is harder than I remember—and more broken. Maybe I just hear better than I used to.
Without a voice of my own, my response appears on the terminal screen: "She's dangerous."
Above us the turbine is a whirl of noise, not unlike a contained tornado: groans, creaks, vibrations, raw power screaming to be set free.
My red light, somewhere between neon and halogen, heats the half of his face I can see. He asks, "Isn't that what we need?"
"She has no control."
He is already frustrated, "Of what?"
"Her anger."
"Neither did He. I mean, shit, look at what we did. Do you still think we were in control?"
I continue to try to find ways that the woman, Tyra, isn't good enough for Him, "She's reckless."
"So were we." He doesn't mean it to be an insult, but the truth always hurts more.
"No, we did it all by the book She wrote for us, until He went off script and messed the whole thing up."
"Speaking of Her plan, is She still there? Still locked away in Her tower?"
A current not unlike real electricity flutters through my body—if you can call something this fluid a body—at the mention of Her, "Yes, still reading Her books. Barely eating, and starting to talk to herself, but she's going to be okay."
He catches the uncertainty in my voice. Though it has been close enough to a hundred years since we last saw each other, more than five hundred human years speaking to a person can make anyone seem like a good listener. "I was right, She's ready."
If I had eyeballs, I'd roll them, "Will She still be ready by the time we are?"
"Is that tone necessary? I'm doing the best I can—these people are animals." He lifts the mask that once stored oxygen to his mouth and takes a sharp inhale.
"She's bending, but She won't let herself be broken. I know it." I am less successful at convincing myself than I am him, "Her Essence will do what it takes to survive. And animals? Blasphemy—these are the gods we created you're talking about."
He nearly chokes, coughing up the black smoke that floods his veins and allows him to survive this far below the earth. His voice is rougher already, raw from what it does to his throat, "May the gods help us if this is who we are relying on for Renewal."
We sit in silence for a long moment, the only sound the clicking of the turbine begging to be restarted. He asks, "If not Tyra, who else did you have in mind?"
"I've actually been keeping an eye on Rachel since she arrived."
"Seriously? She's, fifteen, her birthday isn't for a couple more months."
"She's the smartest person here. Maybe the kindest too."
"Too smart for her own good. She's already making it clear she will refuse to take part in the program. She's become a bit of a thorn in our side."
"That's what I kept you around for, General. To carry their wills where we need them to go."
"A few cheap magic tricks aren't going to work on her."
"Don't call them cheap. You know what they cost." He bows his head in reverence, or remembrance. With his eyes downcast, I find the strength to ask, "What's the deal with the third girl you have me watching?"
He rolls up his sleeves, exposing the upside-down watch on his wrist. I catch a too-short glimpse of the blue liquid floating shapeless beneath the glass face. Though it has no eyes, I know it watches me. More fluttering of currents within me.
He raises an arm and places his too well-worn cowboy hat on his head. Despite his best efforts, all but the smallest of circles—a single point really—at the very top of the hat has turned black from the smoke created by the substance he burns, and the things he has done. All the black, a reminder of all he has done for me. For Her. For Us.
He grumbles, avoiding my screen now, "I better get back up there. Before everything turns from crap to shit."
I shouldn't have asked. I'll break the news that Cypress—whoever she is—isn't a viable candidate another time…maybe I'll never need to.
Above me, the turbine that brings them their power, and gives my brother his, finally gets its wish. Like the spirit of an unnaturally old woman getting up from too soft of a recliner, it groans, pops, but soon roars back to life as strong as ever, nothing but the walls of her body to stop its power from being set free. Out of its base, black smoke shoots downward and consumes the already dark chamber.
I go back to watching, studying the recordings, keeping notes within the database in hopes of deciphering the puzzle of which of these poor souls is strong enough to walk through Hell and come out the other side holding the reincarnation of a god.
When the guilt of what I do begins to turn me cold, I return to Her tower, and I try remembering whose plan this all was in the first place. The moment I see her, curled up in her chair, more childlike than ever, I instead recall the truth: this has been my plan from the start, even if it eventually was done in Her name.
The child, even before he is born, will need protection. Tyra will be most useful for that, even with her anger issues. Anger can be good, but recklessness we can't afford. The watch on Dan's wrist keeps swimming faster, and we only get one shot at this. The margin for error has gone from slim to none. I must be perfect, I must work harder, be smarter. I have already become more; I must make sure more also means better. Everyone is counting on me. More importantly, She is counting on me.