Sylvia Chapter 8 (WIP)
As it turned out, Sylvia did not go to the mall with her friends the next day.
Instead, she woke with a cry of pain in response to Zeta Zelda's soft calling and prodding, feeling as though fire were shooting through all the joints of her body and exploding into her skull with a rush that left her senses reeling. "Ahh! What? ...Where...?" Her throat contracted and twisted her voice into an agonizing series of hacks.
"Help help!" she faintly heard Zeta Zelda cry, and then blackness closed in.
* * *
"There's no mistaking the prognosis." The expression on the face of the mainframe's avatar was grave. "Two separate viruses are using her as a host at present. One is a fairly common super bug that attacks the human nervous system. It can have severe consequences if the patient is not given optimal care, but said care will not be difficult to provide. She no doubt contracted it from the same source as her young friends, whom you tell me are also currently ailing."
"Yes." Sylvia's grandfather inclined his big head in a terse nod, his single eye nearly white with the force of his anxiety for his young human descendant. "When I called to let Piotr Riley know that she would be unable to accompany his granddaughter and Esther Mbnai to the mall he informed me that Esther and all three of his grandchildren had come down with with high fevers and joint pain over the course of the night. His family and their medical care provider are especially concerned for the infant Mattias."
Then he rumbled uneasily as Sylvia twitched and then succumbed to a series of bronchial convulsions... coughs. "What is the other virus?"
The avatar's expression lengthened. "She has the war plague."
"What??" Grandfather staggered backward with the force of his shock, then dropped abruptly into the chair that stood in a corner of the lower part of the room. "But how?? She is human."
"Human, yet with a legacy that she inherited from you," said the avatar gently. "It is that legacy that is affected by the nanovirus."
"The war plague..." Grandfather bowed his head and leaned his forehead against the hands that grasped the head of his cane. "Merciful Creator... please..."
"Do not despair, sir." The avatar turned toward the gently swaying hammock in response to a faint moan from the girl that it held. "The war plague is not one hundred percent fatal even to people of your own race, and Sylvia's organic nature will greatly baffle its effect on her. If it were not for the presence of the second virus the war plague may never have actually affected her at all."
"But it is affecting her," rumbled Grandfather gruffly. "And the memories of communities- whole colonies- denuded of all life by that virus... They will never leave me. Nor will the recollection of how closely I myself skirted the veil when my own systems fell prey to it. Even through the delirium I can clearly recall the time that my life failed for several moments. The thought that Sylvia will have to face such moments of confusion and pain grieves me deeply."
His ancient shoulders lifted and squared, the smokestacks that still bore artwork done by some ancestor of the girl in the hammock glinting softly in the light of the star projector. "Yet my grief, concern, and compassion will not aid her in any way. It will be better for me to focus my energy on caring for her and seeing to it that her needs are met." Ancient joints creaked and groaned alarmingly as he tried to lift himself from the chair, and he grumbled at forgetting himself and activated the seat lift with a nearly irritable jab of one finger. "...And to asking God to heal her and her young friends."
"Indeed." The avatar nodded, then turned his head to look at another figure who rezzed into sight next to him. "...You should not be here. You passed long ago."
"Died, but did not pass." The transparent image of Grandfather's first wife shook her head, then looked up toward the ancient face that now frowned down at her. "I promised Olivia on her death bed that I would be here for our husband in his times of need, and so I come to fulfill that promise."
"You..." The avatar's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are a holo projection. But your source... stems from my own systems??"
"Yes." Gentle amusement filled the soft voice. "That is where I rest."
"And not you only..." The avatar looked surprised. "Did I do this? I... did. And then closed off the files. How odd."
"Not as odd as some of the things you did when you were in the transitory period between self awareness and true sentience," said Grandfather shortly, his eye going to Sylvia as he gently set her hammock to swinging once more. "Have you informed your daughter of her true nature yet?"
"Yes." The avatar looked abashed. "And she has forgiven me for my proposed intention of not doing so."
"I thought that her manner of conducting herself had altered," noted the ghost as she stepped forward, softly glowing, to look down at the child in the hammock. "Will you be constructing a means for her to interact with the world outside your systems?"
"I have presented the possibility to her." The avatar scanned Sylvia and adjusted the temperature of the cold pack that was strapped over her chest. "She has not yet expressed an interest in it."
"Hardly surprising, with such company as I suspect she finds presently available to herself," rumbled Grandfather absently. "They are there, aren't they?"
"Two of them." The ghost looked up, her eyes brightening into a smile. "And my little sister who married the older one. They would not leave you. And she would not leave him, or me. But the Doctor is with his wife, and the Scout too rests peacefully."
"Good. She deserves to rest, after what she has gone through." Grandfather scanned Sylvia again and rumbled absently to himself with concern. "But so do you."
"As I have told you before, I would go if I wanted to." One slender memory of a shoulder lifted slightly in a shrug. "My existence now is no trial."
"'Told you before'?" The avatar turned and looked up at Grandfather. "You knew that she was here?"
"She has spoken to me before." Grandfather shrugged in his turn and asked the chair to move closer to the railing around the upper part of the room, then verbalized the code that would lower that part of the room so that he would be able to access it and care for Sylvia from a seated position. "But due to the nature of the artifact that I bore within my body during the term of my leadership, seeing those who no longer live is a common experience. I had not realized till now that her projection came from a different source."
"They still speak to you?" The ghost looked up as the floor beneath her dropped slowly and smoothly, one hand gently touching Sylvia's shoulder as she moaned quietly.
"Yes. I myself am part of the artifact now, as are all who have ever held it. I have no doubt that our daughter sees me as often as she does the other denizens of the shard." Grandfather once more deployed the chair lift, this time to gently lower himself into the comfortable piece of furniture. "Zeta Zelda, do not grieve. Sylvia will soon be well."
The little mechadrone peered over the rim of her basket. "Soon soon? Or old-soon?"
"Soon," he repeated firmly.
"Old-soon." Zeta Zelda gave a despondent sigh. "Gonna sleep sleeps."
"Very well. You may enter sleep mode till Sylvia needs you." He turned his head to give the little toy/pet a compassionate look. "Rest well."
"Sleep sleeps." She sighed again, then pulled her blanket over herself and went still.
"I still marvel that you never purchased a nanny," noted the avatar, turning away from watching the exchange.
"I wished to care for Sylvia myself. The level of commitment needed was welcome after so many years of comparative solitude." Grandfather leaned his chin on the hand that held the cane. "Do you see any sign that I have failed in the endeavour?"
Both the avatar and the ghost shook their heads in reply to the question, which was presented curiously rather than challengingly.
"No." The ghost chuckled softly. "You were always marked in your skill with the young and undeveloped. Our children never failed for anything that it would be possible for a youngster to need from their parent. I would surmise that the son born to you and Olivia experienced identical treatment."
"David." Grandfather's voice held affection and longing as he voiced the name of his second son. "And I did fail once. If I had not then David would have known both his elder siblings as he grew up, instead of only his sister."
"That was not your fault," said the ghost calmly but firmly. "And it does not change my statement about your abilities with the young. Our son was a mature individual that day that he decided to navigate that road during those unfavorable weather conditions. You could have done nothing to prevent his being blown from the cut by the storm and hurled into the canyon."
"I could have given the mission to another whose sense of duty was not so acute," returned Grandfather quietly. "Then his life would not have been wasted, and the mission would have been fulfilled. Instead not only he, but also the city he had been going to warn were destroyed."
"Dwelling on the past repairs nothing." She shook her head. "He would have taken the mission even if you had tried to send another, and you know it. Like you, he would never let someone else go where he himself was not willing. Like you he preferred direct contribution to delegation."
Grandfather grumbled softly. "My mind sees the logic in your words. However my heart remains unconvinced."
"Then ignore it," said the ghost gently, her attention once more on the child in the hammock.
"I will go and obtain further supplies for her care. I will return shortly." The avatar made a respectful gesture that had not been used since well before Sylvia was born, and then rezzed out and vanished.
Silence settled for several moments, broken only by the soft, nearly soundless whisper of the air circulating systems.
Then Grandfather stirred slightly, his creaking alarmingly loud save that those present were well accustomed to the sound. "I would hold her, if I were certain that it would not cause her pain."
"She knows that you are here," was the ghost's soft reply from where she stood over the sleeping child. The memory of bright eyes flicked from Sylvia's face to the one hovering above them. "She bears some resemblance to you in her features."
"Does she?" replied Grandfather absently. "I had not noticed."
"Yes. In the planes of her cheeks, and the shape of her chin." A slender hand gently sent the hammock to swinging again.
"Ah." He glanced at the ghost with surprise. "You have mass?"
She rubbed her nose and nodded. "The mainframe's projections can be quite solid, if he, or they, choose to be. However, accessing the ability leaves us open to detection by scanners and recorders."
Then she looked up at him. "In a way the mainframe is our child too. His rise to sentience was achieved through the acquisition of a life force like those possessed by all our people. During his time of self awareness he forged it together from slivers taken from many life forces." More softly, as she looked back to Sylvia. "Including yours and mine."
Grandfather shook his head slowly. "The thought of the lack of ethics involved in such activity makes my synapses ache. Yet he was unaware of doing wrong at the time. And now seeking to undo what was done would be a greater crime than the initial act itself. Lives are treasures to be nurtured and preserved."
"Do you know that many humans no longer believe that?"
He sighed. "I have recently turned my attention to studying modern human policy and thought. It is baffling. I would surmise that the population here has been isolated for too long, in an environment that they were not created for. These laws against emigrating must be overruled."
"Our daughter has sent people to investigate."
"I know. I have watched some of them, with the mainframe's assistance." Grandfather scanned Sylvia and sat back to let protesting neural connections have a little more space past worn and slightly swollen joints. "Humans are such delicate creatures, but so resilient."
"I believe it is that very delicacy that necessitates the resilience." The ghost moved to the other side of the hammock so that she could see both child and old man at the same time.
"As do I." He frowned at her absently, his mind sidetracked slightly. "The musician died when we were but a few days arrived on Earth. Has the mainframe been aware of himself for so long?"
"He has. He was already starting to question things and himself when you did that which turned the tide of the old battle. Our son was actually the first life to leave a part of itself with him."
Grandfather inhaled deeply, then raggedly sighed out the old hurt over the end of that younger life, which still ached deeply despite the millions of years that it had lain in his heart.
The ghost vanished from her place beside the hammock, and then those slender arms, larger now, were encircling Grandfather's neck from behind.
"Do not," he said softly. "You are no longer my wife. Death has broken the bond."
"Only temporarily," she said softly. "With the mainframe, my sister, and your brothers at arms as witnesses I now claim you once more, and vow that nothing will ever part us again. Though physical bonds are now outside our grasp, yet affection will never die. And I have my promise to keep. To you, and to this child who is part of you."
Grandfather closed his eye, but the tear escaped anyway as he seemed to hear and feel the whisper of voices affirming their witness of the ghost's words.
"Airy one..." he whispered himself, his voice rough with emotion. "No mortal being deserves such loyalty."
"Shhh." She lay her cheek against his audio receiver and rocked very gently from side to side. "You need someone to take care of you as much as you need people to take care of. It is part of who you are, and the fact that you can love and trust so deeply is why others were ever willing to love and trust you in return."
"Not everyone," he rumbled quietly, one hand stealing up to cover her arm where it rested against his upper chest.
"Those who functioned properly," she countered promptly, her hand coming to meet his.
He sighed at the familiar, nearly forgotten feeling of her fingers winding through his, then opened his eye and looked toward Sylvia, who was twitching slightly in restless sleep.
"I pray she will be spared the delirium," he murmured, soft strains of ancient Earth music flowing softly from his speakers.
"If she is not, we will be here to guide her through it," came the quiet, sure reply.
"Yes." He nodded, feeling new strength flowing quietly through his aging systems. "We will."
Instead, she woke with a cry of pain in response to Zeta Zelda's soft calling and prodding, feeling as though fire were shooting through all the joints of her body and exploding into her skull with a rush that left her senses reeling. "Ahh! What? ...Where...?" Her throat contracted and twisted her voice into an agonizing series of hacks.
"Help help!" she faintly heard Zeta Zelda cry, and then blackness closed in.
* * *
"There's no mistaking the prognosis." The expression on the face of the mainframe's avatar was grave. "Two separate viruses are using her as a host at present. One is a fairly common super bug that attacks the human nervous system. It can have severe consequences if the patient is not given optimal care, but said care will not be difficult to provide. She no doubt contracted it from the same source as her young friends, whom you tell me are also currently ailing."
"Yes." Sylvia's grandfather inclined his big head in a terse nod, his single eye nearly white with the force of his anxiety for his young human descendant. "When I called to let Piotr Riley know that she would be unable to accompany his granddaughter and Esther Mbnai to the mall he informed me that Esther and all three of his grandchildren had come down with with high fevers and joint pain over the course of the night. His family and their medical care provider are especially concerned for the infant Mattias."
Then he rumbled uneasily as Sylvia twitched and then succumbed to a series of bronchial convulsions... coughs. "What is the other virus?"
The avatar's expression lengthened. "She has the war plague."
"What??" Grandfather staggered backward with the force of his shock, then dropped abruptly into the chair that stood in a corner of the lower part of the room. "But how?? She is human."
"Human, yet with a legacy that she inherited from you," said the avatar gently. "It is that legacy that is affected by the nanovirus."
"The war plague..." Grandfather bowed his head and leaned his forehead against the hands that grasped the head of his cane. "Merciful Creator... please..."
"Do not despair, sir." The avatar turned toward the gently swaying hammock in response to a faint moan from the girl that it held. "The war plague is not one hundred percent fatal even to people of your own race, and Sylvia's organic nature will greatly baffle its effect on her. If it were not for the presence of the second virus the war plague may never have actually affected her at all."
"But it is affecting her," rumbled Grandfather gruffly. "And the memories of communities- whole colonies- denuded of all life by that virus... They will never leave me. Nor will the recollection of how closely I myself skirted the veil when my own systems fell prey to it. Even through the delirium I can clearly recall the time that my life failed for several moments. The thought that Sylvia will have to face such moments of confusion and pain grieves me deeply."
His ancient shoulders lifted and squared, the smokestacks that still bore artwork done by some ancestor of the girl in the hammock glinting softly in the light of the star projector. "Yet my grief, concern, and compassion will not aid her in any way. It will be better for me to focus my energy on caring for her and seeing to it that her needs are met." Ancient joints creaked and groaned alarmingly as he tried to lift himself from the chair, and he grumbled at forgetting himself and activated the seat lift with a nearly irritable jab of one finger. "...And to asking God to heal her and her young friends."
"Indeed." The avatar nodded, then turned his head to look at another figure who rezzed into sight next to him. "...You should not be here. You passed long ago."
"Died, but did not pass." The transparent image of Grandfather's first wife shook her head, then looked up toward the ancient face that now frowned down at her. "I promised Olivia on her death bed that I would be here for our husband in his times of need, and so I come to fulfill that promise."
"You..." The avatar's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are a holo projection. But your source... stems from my own systems??"
"Yes." Gentle amusement filled the soft voice. "That is where I rest."
"And not you only..." The avatar looked surprised. "Did I do this? I... did. And then closed off the files. How odd."
"Not as odd as some of the things you did when you were in the transitory period between self awareness and true sentience," said Grandfather shortly, his eye going to Sylvia as he gently set her hammock to swinging once more. "Have you informed your daughter of her true nature yet?"
"Yes." The avatar looked abashed. "And she has forgiven me for my proposed intention of not doing so."
"I thought that her manner of conducting herself had altered," noted the ghost as she stepped forward, softly glowing, to look down at the child in the hammock. "Will you be constructing a means for her to interact with the world outside your systems?"
"I have presented the possibility to her." The avatar scanned Sylvia and adjusted the temperature of the cold pack that was strapped over her chest. "She has not yet expressed an interest in it."
"Hardly surprising, with such company as I suspect she finds presently available to herself," rumbled Grandfather absently. "They are there, aren't they?"
"Two of them." The ghost looked up, her eyes brightening into a smile. "And my little sister who married the older one. They would not leave you. And she would not leave him, or me. But the Doctor is with his wife, and the Scout too rests peacefully."
"Good. She deserves to rest, after what she has gone through." Grandfather scanned Sylvia again and rumbled absently to himself with concern. "But so do you."
"As I have told you before, I would go if I wanted to." One slender memory of a shoulder lifted slightly in a shrug. "My existence now is no trial."
"'Told you before'?" The avatar turned and looked up at Grandfather. "You knew that she was here?"
"She has spoken to me before." Grandfather shrugged in his turn and asked the chair to move closer to the railing around the upper part of the room, then verbalized the code that would lower that part of the room so that he would be able to access it and care for Sylvia from a seated position. "But due to the nature of the artifact that I bore within my body during the term of my leadership, seeing those who no longer live is a common experience. I had not realized till now that her projection came from a different source."
"They still speak to you?" The ghost looked up as the floor beneath her dropped slowly and smoothly, one hand gently touching Sylvia's shoulder as she moaned quietly.
"Yes. I myself am part of the artifact now, as are all who have ever held it. I have no doubt that our daughter sees me as often as she does the other denizens of the shard." Grandfather once more deployed the chair lift, this time to gently lower himself into the comfortable piece of furniture. "Zeta Zelda, do not grieve. Sylvia will soon be well."
The little mechadrone peered over the rim of her basket. "Soon soon? Or old-soon?"
"Soon," he repeated firmly.
"Old-soon." Zeta Zelda gave a despondent sigh. "Gonna sleep sleeps."
"Very well. You may enter sleep mode till Sylvia needs you." He turned his head to give the little toy/pet a compassionate look. "Rest well."
"Sleep sleeps." She sighed again, then pulled her blanket over herself and went still.
"I still marvel that you never purchased a nanny," noted the avatar, turning away from watching the exchange.
"I wished to care for Sylvia myself. The level of commitment needed was welcome after so many years of comparative solitude." Grandfather leaned his chin on the hand that held the cane. "Do you see any sign that I have failed in the endeavour?"
Both the avatar and the ghost shook their heads in reply to the question, which was presented curiously rather than challengingly.
"No." The ghost chuckled softly. "You were always marked in your skill with the young and undeveloped. Our children never failed for anything that it would be possible for a youngster to need from their parent. I would surmise that the son born to you and Olivia experienced identical treatment."
"David." Grandfather's voice held affection and longing as he voiced the name of his second son. "And I did fail once. If I had not then David would have known both his elder siblings as he grew up, instead of only his sister."
"That was not your fault," said the ghost calmly but firmly. "And it does not change my statement about your abilities with the young. Our son was a mature individual that day that he decided to navigate that road during those unfavorable weather conditions. You could have done nothing to prevent his being blown from the cut by the storm and hurled into the canyon."
"I could have given the mission to another whose sense of duty was not so acute," returned Grandfather quietly. "Then his life would not have been wasted, and the mission would have been fulfilled. Instead not only he, but also the city he had been going to warn were destroyed."
"Dwelling on the past repairs nothing." She shook her head. "He would have taken the mission even if you had tried to send another, and you know it. Like you, he would never let someone else go where he himself was not willing. Like you he preferred direct contribution to delegation."
Grandfather grumbled softly. "My mind sees the logic in your words. However my heart remains unconvinced."
"Then ignore it," said the ghost gently, her attention once more on the child in the hammock.
"I will go and obtain further supplies for her care. I will return shortly." The avatar made a respectful gesture that had not been used since well before Sylvia was born, and then rezzed out and vanished.
Silence settled for several moments, broken only by the soft, nearly soundless whisper of the air circulating systems.
Then Grandfather stirred slightly, his creaking alarmingly loud save that those present were well accustomed to the sound. "I would hold her, if I were certain that it would not cause her pain."
"She knows that you are here," was the ghost's soft reply from where she stood over the sleeping child. The memory of bright eyes flicked from Sylvia's face to the one hovering above them. "She bears some resemblance to you in her features."
"Does she?" replied Grandfather absently. "I had not noticed."
"Yes. In the planes of her cheeks, and the shape of her chin." A slender hand gently sent the hammock to swinging again.
"Ah." He glanced at the ghost with surprise. "You have mass?"
She rubbed her nose and nodded. "The mainframe's projections can be quite solid, if he, or they, choose to be. However, accessing the ability leaves us open to detection by scanners and recorders."
Then she looked up at him. "In a way the mainframe is our child too. His rise to sentience was achieved through the acquisition of a life force like those possessed by all our people. During his time of self awareness he forged it together from slivers taken from many life forces." More softly, as she looked back to Sylvia. "Including yours and mine."
Grandfather shook his head slowly. "The thought of the lack of ethics involved in such activity makes my synapses ache. Yet he was unaware of doing wrong at the time. And now seeking to undo what was done would be a greater crime than the initial act itself. Lives are treasures to be nurtured and preserved."
"Do you know that many humans no longer believe that?"
He sighed. "I have recently turned my attention to studying modern human policy and thought. It is baffling. I would surmise that the population here has been isolated for too long, in an environment that they were not created for. These laws against emigrating must be overruled."
"Our daughter has sent people to investigate."
"I know. I have watched some of them, with the mainframe's assistance." Grandfather scanned Sylvia and sat back to let protesting neural connections have a little more space past worn and slightly swollen joints. "Humans are such delicate creatures, but so resilient."
"I believe it is that very delicacy that necessitates the resilience." The ghost moved to the other side of the hammock so that she could see both child and old man at the same time.
"As do I." He frowned at her absently, his mind sidetracked slightly. "The musician died when we were but a few days arrived on Earth. Has the mainframe been aware of himself for so long?"
"He has. He was already starting to question things and himself when you did that which turned the tide of the old battle. Our son was actually the first life to leave a part of itself with him."
Grandfather inhaled deeply, then raggedly sighed out the old hurt over the end of that younger life, which still ached deeply despite the millions of years that it had lain in his heart.
The ghost vanished from her place beside the hammock, and then those slender arms, larger now, were encircling Grandfather's neck from behind.
"Do not," he said softly. "You are no longer my wife. Death has broken the bond."
"Only temporarily," she said softly. "With the mainframe, my sister, and your brothers at arms as witnesses I now claim you once more, and vow that nothing will ever part us again. Though physical bonds are now outside our grasp, yet affection will never die. And I have my promise to keep. To you, and to this child who is part of you."
Grandfather closed his eye, but the tear escaped anyway as he seemed to hear and feel the whisper of voices affirming their witness of the ghost's words.
"Airy one..." he whispered himself, his voice rough with emotion. "No mortal being deserves such loyalty."
"Shhh." She lay her cheek against his audio receiver and rocked very gently from side to side. "You need someone to take care of you as much as you need people to take care of. It is part of who you are, and the fact that you can love and trust so deeply is why others were ever willing to love and trust you in return."
"Not everyone," he rumbled quietly, one hand stealing up to cover her arm where it rested against his upper chest.
"Those who functioned properly," she countered promptly, her hand coming to meet his.
He sighed at the familiar, nearly forgotten feeling of her fingers winding through his, then opened his eye and looked toward Sylvia, who was twitching slightly in restless sleep.
"I pray she will be spared the delirium," he murmured, soft strains of ancient Earth music flowing softly from his speakers.
"If she is not, we will be here to guide her through it," came the quiet, sure reply.
"Yes." He nodded, feeling new strength flowing quietly through his aging systems. "We will."