Conjunction
Posting this to my LJ so koryne_is_me can see it and approve before posting to empirefiction.
Conjunction
"Iulian?" The voice echoes. The ruins of the Spire of Bounteous Creation are large, and were they lowlanders, the modern settlers of Shatterspire would rattle around in them like a pea in a pod or make themselves a cosy little warren in the corner; then again, of course, were they lowlanders, they would hardly have chosen to live here in the first instance.
"Iulian?" But of course, they are not lowlanders - and as to why it is that they occupy this accursed clifftop, one need only look around. The archaeologists had confirmed our initial conclusion: this was not just an observatory but an arboretum, once: a lab fit for an archmage, one of a dozen or more strung across the top of the spire and down inside it like pearls upon a hair-net. There is no college of Spring within the Empire - yes, the Lyceum's facilities are better-appointed, but nobody save the vates of Hercynia have an entire mountainside for a test bed, and good luck trying to get those worthies to publish - I have approximately (by my watch, which I have in my right hand) three seconds more before I must cease pretending that I do not know exactly where she is and indeed roughly what she wants - time to find the misstep in the column of symbols on the blackboard to my left and correct that sign error -
"Iulian!" The voice of the woman that I love can strip paint at a dozen yards if she chooses to so employ it.
"I'm here." Corrected, the sign propagates. Minus there means plus there...
"Spire meeting, Iulian. We've received an-"
"Important Heliopticon message. I couldn't read the origin code unaided, but the body was largely uninteresting. There's a draft of a reply for Sejanus' attention on the-"
"Iulian!" She's had a chance to follow my voice. I'm not in the workroom that I made of the place that was once my bachelor flat. She can see me now, between the plants, over the circle of instruments and ushabti and greenery. She's talking to the back of my head, but that's not unusual. "Meeting. Now. It's about an-"
"Imminent potential conjunction." I turn. Look at her over my left shoulder. My teeth are very white. "And whether we should re-align the primary mirror for Vigilance's sake and risk a drop in yield at this critical juncture, but you are perfectly aware that Braevell's fluxion isn't a hundred per-cent applicable in these exceptional circumstances. Alcuin likely thinks we should do it; you've run the numbers and say that if it's applicable then we must do it; Probus mostly thinks that his son is asleep - no, that's unfair - mostly he thinks we shouldn't rush into a decision; Sejanus wants to know what I think and will outright defer to me if I sound sure enough; and Septi-" Blink. "May her passage be short. Vices, love, I miss her. Anyway, it's moot: I realigned the mirror twenty minutes ago, on a hunch; I'm now reconstructing a proof and justification for the Proceedings of the Halls and incidentally for conversation over dinner-" I glance upward - "Tomorrow, now, it'll have... to..."
"Iulian?"
I'm still looking straight up. Straight at the primary collector. And forgetting even to blink. I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. "Servitors: retreat to your bases, avoiding Marissa, and hold." Still speaking softly, as if it will go away if I raise my voice. "Desperately trying to avoid ordering you around like a ushabti, dear, but do come here?"
She humours me. She follows my eyes. Looks up.
Then she speaks, similarly softly. "Messenger. Record: 'Meeting is now in Iulian's lab. Something to see.' Find Sejanus, starting in council chamber. Communicate. Return here and hold."
Her ushabti clicks its heels to acknowledge her instruction and stalks away across the flagstones. And there's a moment when I put my hand on her shoulder and there are only two people in the world at all, and all things are connected.
Conjunction
"Iulian?" The voice echoes. The ruins of the Spire of Bounteous Creation are large, and were they lowlanders, the modern settlers of Shatterspire would rattle around in them like a pea in a pod or make themselves a cosy little warren in the corner; then again, of course, were they lowlanders, they would hardly have chosen to live here in the first instance.
"Iulian?" But of course, they are not lowlanders - and as to why it is that they occupy this accursed clifftop, one need only look around. The archaeologists had confirmed our initial conclusion: this was not just an observatory but an arboretum, once: a lab fit for an archmage, one of a dozen or more strung across the top of the spire and down inside it like pearls upon a hair-net. There is no college of Spring within the Empire - yes, the Lyceum's facilities are better-appointed, but nobody save the vates of Hercynia have an entire mountainside for a test bed, and good luck trying to get those worthies to publish - I have approximately (by my watch, which I have in my right hand) three seconds more before I must cease pretending that I do not know exactly where she is and indeed roughly what she wants - time to find the misstep in the column of symbols on the blackboard to my left and correct that sign error -
"Iulian!" The voice of the woman that I love can strip paint at a dozen yards if she chooses to so employ it.
"I'm here." Corrected, the sign propagates. Minus there means plus there...
"Spire meeting, Iulian. We've received an-"
"Important Heliopticon message. I couldn't read the origin code unaided, but the body was largely uninteresting. There's a draft of a reply for Sejanus' attention on the-"
"Iulian!" She's had a chance to follow my voice. I'm not in the workroom that I made of the place that was once my bachelor flat. She can see me now, between the plants, over the circle of instruments and ushabti and greenery. She's talking to the back of my head, but that's not unusual. "Meeting. Now. It's about an-"
"Imminent potential conjunction." I turn. Look at her over my left shoulder. My teeth are very white. "And whether we should re-align the primary mirror for Vigilance's sake and risk a drop in yield at this critical juncture, but you are perfectly aware that Braevell's fluxion isn't a hundred per-cent applicable in these exceptional circumstances. Alcuin likely thinks we should do it; you've run the numbers and say that if it's applicable then we must do it; Probus mostly thinks that his son is asleep - no, that's unfair - mostly he thinks we shouldn't rush into a decision; Sejanus wants to know what I think and will outright defer to me if I sound sure enough; and Septi-" Blink. "May her passage be short. Vices, love, I miss her. Anyway, it's moot: I realigned the mirror twenty minutes ago, on a hunch; I'm now reconstructing a proof and justification for the Proceedings of the Halls and incidentally for conversation over dinner-" I glance upward - "Tomorrow, now, it'll have... to..."
"Iulian?"
I'm still looking straight up. Straight at the primary collector. And forgetting even to blink. I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. "Servitors: retreat to your bases, avoiding Marissa, and hold." Still speaking softly, as if it will go away if I raise my voice. "Desperately trying to avoid ordering you around like a ushabti, dear, but do come here?"
She humours me. She follows my eyes. Looks up.
Then she speaks, similarly softly. "Messenger. Record: 'Meeting is now in Iulian's lab. Something to see.' Find Sejanus, starting in council chamber. Communicate. Return here and hold."
Her ushabti clicks its heels to acknowledge her instruction and stalks away across the flagstones. And there's a moment when I put my hand on her shoulder and there are only two people in the world at all, and all things are connected.