NOVEL NEXT 090 - Differing Approaches
"—and these melted bits are going to take at least three hours to properly recatalyze," Kitt said, her presence feeling distinctly feline. "I just fixed this six hours ago, Blake. Six! Do you have any idea how much biomass I'm burning through keeping you functional?"
Blake glanced down at his combat suit. The left side looked like someone had doused it in battery acid, then taken a cheese grater to it for good measure. Bits of the underlying mesh showed through gaps in the armor plating.
"In my defense," Blake said, pulling off a gauntlet to inspect the damage underneath, "I didn't expect flamethrowers."
"Always something with you, Connover. They're always bigger than expected. Or faster. Or they have more teeth. At this rate, we can forget saving the Leviathan: I'll need to eat half of her just to keep your gear intact."
"You're being dramatic."
"Am I? Let me run the numbers. In the last twenty hours, you've—"
"Alright, alright." Blake held up his hands in surrender. "I get it. I'll try to dodge better next time."
"You said that last time."
"And I meant it. Both times."
Kitt's presence shifted, something like amusement coloring her irritation. She set to work on the worst of the damage, organic filaments extending from areas of less damaged material to begin knitting the tears closed.
"Speaking of problems," Kitt said after a moment, "how's your passenger doing?"
Rax's phantom form materialized beside Blake, mouth already opening. Before he could speak, Kitt's presence slammed down like a steel trap. The manifestation's lips moved soundlessly for a moment before he crossed his arms and glared.
"I asked Blake," Kitt said pointedly. "Not you."
Blake watched the interplay with interest. Rax looked genuinely put out by the silencing.
"We've actually reached something like equilibrium," Blake said. "When he's not actively driving me mad with the personality he was saddled with, anyway. We're making progress."
"Progress?" Kitt's attention sharpened. "You've got a lead on why you can't switch him off?"
Blake nodded. "There's something about the way our perspectives differ—something fundamental. He keeps hinting at it, but the system won't let him spell it out directly."
"Hinting how?"
"Comments about recklessness. Comparisons between how I fight and how the original Rax would have approached the same situation." Blake flexed his fingers as fresh material began to cover over the scars of his previous battles. "He made a point earlier about how Rax would never have dove inside that creature. Said it wouldn't even occur to him."
"Because Rax valued self-preservation above all else?" Kitt asked.
"That's part of it, sure, but I don't think me needing to be more reckless is the lesson I'm supposed to take away." Blake glanced at the phantom, who was making exaggerated gestures of frustration at being unable to contribute. "Something about the contradiction between the parts of me he's made from and Rax's actual personality."
"Interesting." Kitt's repair work moved to his chest plate. "And you think understanding this contradiction is the key?"
"Has to be. The Gravedigger title says I need to either integrate or reject the Gnosis. But every time I try to reject it, the attempt fails. Which means—"
"Integration is the only path forward," Kitt finished. "But you aren't looking to become a discount dictator like Rax was."
"And there's the problem. I don't get the sense that I have to accept whatever Rax is selling hook, line, and sinker, but so far, accepting the parts we already agree on isn't enough."
"Not enough..." Kitt murmured, her presence humming through their bond as she worked, organic filaments weaving fresh material into the damaged sections of his suit, then fell silent.
Blake took another bite of his nutrient bar. The thing tasted like so much vitamin-enriched cardboard, but it beat starving. He watched Kitt's work with idle fascination—the way the suit seemed to heal itself never got old.
A minute passed before Kitt paused her repairs. "Now that I think about it, Rax hasn't really told you much of anything you hadn't already known about yourself."
"I suppose that's true," Blake swallowed, considering. "I didn't much like the notion that this entire Roadwarden thing isn't a step in the right direction, but... yeah, I guess he didn't."
"So what if that's the issue?" Kitt's presence sharpened with interest. "You're telling the system that you've learned something, but the Demiurge knows the Path you've walked so far. It can see that you've already incorporated most of what he's been talking about into your path, you've just approached things differently than Rax would have."
"I... Hrm... I suppose that's possible, yeah," Blake said, setting down the nutrient bar and rubbing his jaw. "Think about what the Outsider tried coming at me with initially. It threw a lot of my history in my face and I didn't even blink."
"Right. Because you know who you are and already accept what you've done in your past." Kitt resumed her work on his chest plate, the damaged sections slowly knitting back together.
"So even if I say I agree with 90% of what Rax is saying..."
"It doesn't matter to the System. The lesson is in the other 10%. You've got to be able to articulate and understand what separates you from the vision that the Title is presenting you with."
"That makes sense," Blake said, reaching for his water canteen and taking a long drink. "So how am I different from Rax?"
"You're taller?"
Blake nearly choked on his water.
"Oh!" Kitt said, laughing. "You also have a functional sense of empathy."
"It's a start, I guess." Blake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Though I'm not sure 'being tall' counts so you only get one point."
Kitt's amusement rippled through their bond. "Fine, fine. Let me think." She shifted her attention to his left gauntlet, coaxing the torn sections back into alignment. "Rax believed in absolute hierarchy. The strong rule, the weak serve. You believe in... what? Protection?"
Blake flexed his fingers as Kitt worked on the gauntlet. "Protection's part of it. But it's more than that. I really want to protect their ability to choose. To grow. To become something more than they are."
"Whereas Rax would have kept them weak to maintain his position."
"Exactly." Blake picked up the nutrient bar again, grimaced at it, then took another bite anyway. "He saw strength as a zero-sum game. If someone else gets stronger, that makes him relatively weaker. Can't have that."
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Kitt moved to his shoulder pauldron. "But you trained Mara's people. Gave them the tools to defend themselves."
"Because a strong community is harder to destroy than a single strong individual." Blake rolled his shoulder as Kitt worked. "Rax never understood that. He thought fear was the only reliable motivator."
"And you think hope is stronger?"
"Not stronger, necessarily," Blake said. "Different. Fear gets immediate results, but it breeds resentment. Hope... Hope makes people invest in the future. Makes them willing to sacrifice for something better."
Deep in his chest, he felt the vague stirrings of something. He was on the right track, but not close enough. For his part, Rax's phantom form crossed his arms and glowered at them both.
"He looks upset," Kitt observed.
"He usually does." Blake finished the nutrient bar and crumpled the wrapper. "I've done a fair bit of community building in my day. Turning the locals to our cause was always preferable to having to fight them and the government we were there to overthrow."
"And? Does that speak to you?"
Blake shrugged. "Good strategy, but I've never been one for the politics of governance. Too many meetings, not enough action, and you still somehow end up with blood on your hands."
"You're a strange man, Blake."
"So I've been told."
"Alright," Kitt said, slowing his repair work, "so maybe it's not just about understanding the difference. Maybe you need to understand why someone would choose his path."
"Because they're power-hungry assholes?" Blake frowned.
"That's the surface level." Kitt shifted to his leg armor. "But what drives someone to become that? What makes a person decide that domination is the only path to security?"
Blake watched Rax's silent form. The phantom's expression had shifted from anger to something more challenging to read.
"Fear," Blake said after a moment. "Not the fear they inspire—their own fear. Fear of being weak. Fear of being at someone else's mercy."
"And you've never felt that?"
"Of course," Blake said, his hand going unconsciously to his side, where old scars would have been on his previous body. "But I always used it as fuel for training. To make myself capable of handling anything worth fearing."
"So the difference isn't that you don't understand the fear..."
"It's that I chose a different response to it." Blake stood and stretched, testing the repaired sections of his suit. "Rax decided the only way never to be vulnerable was to crush anyone who might threaten him. I guess I decided the better path was to take my lumps and come back less vulnerable."
As he spoke, Blake felt that stirring in his core again. Faint, but still a welcome sign that he was making progress.
"So, which approach do you think worked better?" Kitt asked.
Blake glanced at the phantom Rax, who had stopped his silent ranting and was watching them with an unreadable expression.
"Well, I'm still alive and he's not. So there's that."
Kitt felt the hum of the ship's core through the psionic bond they had forged. It was a faint vibration, a tired beat, but it was there. She knew the work that still lay ahead for her, deep within the Leviathan's shattered mind. She had to go back and continue stitching the ship's mind together, piece by piece. But Blake…
He was slumped against the wall, head tilted back, chest rising and falling in the deep, heavy breaths of true sleep. His battles had taken a toll, and even the new physiology she had given him couldn't entirely erase the debt. His hands rested on his knees, and his face, even in repose, held a tight-lipped grimness, a shadow that never quite lifted. It was the face of a man who had seen too much, done too much, and was always ready for the next thing.
As ever, a part of her felt a fierce, protective urge run through her when she saw him like this. She understood now, after the last few days, the vulnerability beneath his stoic veneer. She'd sensed it before, of course, but this excursion had still been enlightening. He'd thrown himself into the fight for her, for the Leviathan, for… Gods knew what. He saw there was a fight to be had—a good fight—and simply got to work. He hadn't hesitated. That kind of reckless self-sacrifice was… Well, it was a lot of things. It was heroic. It was borderline unhealthy.
And as someone deeply invested in Blake's well-being, it was terrifying.
She stretched her awareness, a tendril of soft energy, toward his sleeping form. His mind, usually a whirl of plans and memories and dry humor, was quiet now, a deep, dark pool. She felt the echoes of pain, the residual ache of battered muscle and strained bone, but deeper, a stillness she rarely encountered. He was truly gone, for a short while, into the oblivion of sleep.
Kitt settled herself, letting her own essence resonate with the quiet thrum of the ship. She could feel the lingering psychic residue of the Outsider, like a foul taste in the air, but it was distant now, held well at bay. The Leviathan, even in its broken state, had exerted its will, its ancient, wounded consciousness pushing back against the corruption.
Blake stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips, but he didn't wake. He just shifted, burrowing deeper into the wall as if trying to merge with the cold metal.
Kitt reached out again, a delicate, almost imperceptible touch to his mind. She sent a wave of calm, a gentle reassurance. She felt his body relax further, the tension easing from his shoulders. For a moment, she allowed herself to be with him, to share the quiet space, the steady beat of the Leviathan's heart.
Then she was rudely interrupted by a new presence in her periphery. She turned her attention to the interloper, noting his own complicated expression, and decided that it was time that she had her own one-on-one with this Ghost of Tyrants Past.
She gathered her Willpower and focused her Intent. She didn't get complicated with her visualization. With a surge of mental energy and a touch of mana, she created a partitioned space, one where she could converse with Rax without disturbing Blake's rest. The space materialized as a simple room—white walls, two chairs, nothing fancy. She'd learned long ago that elaborate mindscapes were just showing off, and she had work to do.
Her avatar coalesced first: the form she'd used last with Medea, all predatory grace and feline features. Auburn-blonde hair fell past her shoulders, black-furred ears twitching with irritation. She flexed her fingers, letting her nails extend into proper claws for just a moment. A reminder, mostly to herself, of what she was capable of.
Rax appeared across from her, looking exactly as unpleasant as she remembered. The cybernetic arm gleamed under the neutral lighting, and his scarred face wore that same expression of barely contained violence she'd seen during their final conflict.
"Awful to see you, Rax," she said, kicking things off. For a moment longer, Rax looked angry and confused, but he apparently figured out what was happening. His murderous expression shifted into one of wry amusement.
"Honestly, I'm surprised you and I can talk like this at all," Rax said, settling into his chair like he owned the place.
"I have always been something of a special case," Kitt said, her tail flicking once before she subdued it. "Now talk."
"About what? How the System cobbled me together from Blake's subconscious and whatever was left of the original?" Rax spread his hands, the gesture somehow mocking. "You can check for yourself. I'm exactly what I've made myself out to be. Blake's Gravedigger title spawned me—a whetstone to sharpen Blake on, nothing more."
Kitt's eyes narrowed, but she reached out with her senses anyway. One of the "killer features" of the Chimera program was that, in addition to her Leviathan-based abilities, Kitt could act as a Demiurge interface. She could sense immediately that nothing had changed with the entity before her: he remained an extension of the System, a product of Blake's title. He was still effectively an overgrown notification that she could suppress just like any other.
"Yeah, yeah. I know what you are," she said, settling into her own chair. "That doesn't mean I trust anything wearing Rax's face."
"Hey, at least they gave me a face!" The manifestation laughed, a harsh sound that made her ears flatten. "Could've been worse. I could've been some abstract concept floating around in his head. Or a weird pixelated avatar. That would be awful."
She didn't take the bait, even if every word spoken in Rax's voice made her want to fight the entity.
"Just tell me how you're manipulating him."
"I'm not—"
"It's your literal purpose."
"My job is to help spur on his growth, one way or another. Once he figures out his little revelation or whatever, I get decommissioned and any of Rax's useful gnosis gets sprinkled onto the boy wonder as a reward."
"Then tell me what you think his revelations need to be." Kitt leaned forward, her green eyes glowing brighter. "What insights are you pushing him toward?"
"We both know what I was meant to be pushing him toward," the being said, motioning towards his chest as if to say "this guy."
"Okay, fine. And we both know he's not going for it. But you do know something about what he needs to figure out."
Rax opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. His expression shifted from amusement to frustration as he started and stopped several times, like a video buffering on a bad connection.
"Sorry," he said finally, "but no. The System won't let me do an end-run around it by telling you what I can't tell Blake directly."
"You have to be able to tell me something."
Rax drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair—flesh hand, not the cybernetic one. "I know Blake about as well as he knows himself. Better in some ways, but I also have Rax's personality filtering my opinions, so I'm definitely biased."
"Okay, so you have ideas. We've established that."
"All I'm saying is that there's a decent chance he'll surprise me. Or you. Or both of us." He shrugged. "He's slippery sometimes. But..."
Kitt's tail stilled. "Spit it out."
"But like I said, I know Blake. I am him, in a way. And I think I can guess what he's going to settle on."
"You don't look happy about it."
"It'll be powerful, if I'm right," the manifestation said, its scarred face twisting into something that might have been regret. "But you probably won't love it."
"If it's something he comes to on his own, I'll learn to accept it. We're partners."
"Partners, yeah. Well then, I suppose you've gotten used to how he is." Rax's grin returned, sharp and knowing, but lacking the malice Kitt expected. "Blake doesn't mind if a blade is double-edged as long as it cuts when he needs it to."