"Language Barriers. Okay, look, I know what you're thinking. What if my soulmate is from a. Totally different country? Different culture? What if we don't even speak the same language! To that I would tell you, it's more common than you think. But there's no need to panic. Fusion has several immediate reactions. First, after the initial Fusion, you're connected emotionally. Words can't express what your emotions can. But also, that connection grows deeper the longer you're fused. Soulmates report a heightened ability to learn their partner's language. You're immersed in their emotions and way of life. You pick it up that much faster. So don't worry."
—Excerpt from "So you're expecting a Soulmate? A history of Fusion and some Tips and Tricks to Ensure a Healthy Relationship (1984)
—
She's shocked to learn there was at one point 8.7 billion people on the planet. Now there are only just over 400 million. She had thought that number was large.
But now knowing the difference… She understands quickly that the killing of babies is at fault.
But not the only reason.
She thinks of herself and Michael. More and more citizens her age aren't choosing to get married. Either too disillusioned since the match they might make will always have that subconscious off kilter feeling, because they know they're not a match. Or because they fear that settling down and having a child could result in said death of that child.
Not exactly a tempting fate.
A few hundred years ago, they forbade birth control. And she knows there's been talks about conscripting pairs. The council leaders are concerned that numbers aren't going to be replaced fast enough to fill the workforce needed.
She dreads that possibility.
"But…" after 7 hours of talking and being shown artifacts, she rubs at her dry eyes and sits on the squeaky metal chair. Her hair is dusty and her hands coated in grime from handling everything, "if Soulmates were so prevalent and if they were good… why pretend they're not? Why get rid of them?"
"We don't know. Not yet at least and…" Clint shrugs with a grin, "we aren't even sure we're right. We just think we could be. We haven't confirmed anything. And…" he gestures to Howard who is balancing a pencil on his nose, "it could be that they were good and then something happened. The record books that do talk about the Fusion Wars cite an 'event' that led to the decision to rid the world of soulmates. So maybe they did turn evil, or always were. We don't know."
She frowns and huffs, "if you don't know why would you tell me? All this for nothing?"
Howard's pencil clatters to the ground, and he looks up at her, a raised eyebrow matching the way his mustache lifts in a grin, "we told you, because you're going to help us find out."
"And if we do find out—" she says softly, "—that the wrong side won… what do we do then?"
Clint shrugs and then plops down on a chair with wheels, spinning in a slow circle, "one step at a time."
—
"Separation of the soulmates is critical. They must be out of eye sight of each other and the further away the better. Pain must be inflicted to one as soon as possible to overwhelm the partner with fear. Utilizing their connection and instilling fear for one another is vital in getting their senses overloaded. Then they will obey. First, the fusion site must be found and removed by whatever means necessary. Burning is most efficient. That will begin to sever and weaken the bond. These sites are usually hidden. Do not alert the soulmates that you are going to do this. Explain their cooperation is necessary to ensure the other's safety. Then utilize their cooperation to debilitate them. This will send both soulmates into a frenzy, making them easier to eliminate."
-Notations found in a series of journals, written by Doctor Arnim Zola
—-
The next two weeks feel like a whirlwind. They don't actually have that much time to investigate what they'd dropped on her the first day, as there are expectations from thsoe above them on cataloging, filing, and reports.
But every once and a while she or the other two will come across something strange and place it in a certain section.
New shipments of items come in every three days. Sometimes they're large loads, huge pieces of equipment or furniture, other times it's simply boxes of books and papers.
Everything deemed unimportant is burned or disintegrated in the chambers down one of the other long hallways. Things deemed worth keeping or worth researching are carefully reported, filed, cataloged, and shelved.
At the end of her trial period, she is interviewed, shadowed for a day, and then told to report back the next morning.
She grins all the way home, happy to have passed the trial and excited to learn more.
Things she can't even comprehend. What were manicures and why did they have special lights? How did they get the waves micro? Was surfing an expected skill for everyone to know?
Each tidbit she learns about the past feels like a lifeline to the future.
She's just not sure how yet.
—
Her house is very well sized, has all the amenities one could wish for and even an extra budget allowance for decorations. Something that is almost never allowed until one has gotten married. She doesn't spend much of it. But one day, she lets her impulse overtake her and she purchases a little golden clock, and she hangs it proudly on the wall.
Her mother and father "ooo" and "aah" over it. But when they ask her how she obtained it, she lies and says it was a gift for doing so well in her first few months.
They don't question it.
—-
"Sorry—" Clint chokes out, eyes red and fingers clenched on one of the shelves.
"It's alright." She says quietly, "I understand."
He's frowning, scrubbing hard at his face. "I know you do." He lets out a long suffering sigh and tips his head back, "it just never goes away," He grits out, "the soul crushing sadness."
Her heart heaves a sigh and she nods, "I'm well aware."
She and Clint are alike. Soulmates having died or been killed before they were born. Howard is like Michael, soulmate unborn.
Which makes her curious. "What would happen in the past?" She asks quietly, "if a person was born and their soulmate wouldn't be? I mean, what if your soulmate is born when you're 45 years old? Are you simply to be in love with a child?"
Clint wipes at his eyes another time and shrugs, "my thoughts for the present are that we kill so many babies that of course the number of babies who are morose are rising. But I don't know about the other side, if they're born over-wild, then that means they're waiting for their soulmate to be born." He clears his throat and shrugs again, "maybe back then with that many people on the planet, it was less likely your soulmate hadn't been born yet?"
"If that's the case then you could theoretically match with more than one, depending on what century you were born in?"
"I don't think so... Defeats the purpose of soulmate."
"So Howard's soulmate is not yet born, but even if they were to be born this second he would be 26 years older. That can't be right."
"Beats me." Clint answers, "but I have a feeling there's more we don't know than we do. So perhaps it's something we just don't have enough information on?"
"I suppose."
—-
Each evening she listens, as expected, to the nightly broadcasts. Hearing Alexander Pierce's voice speak to them, assure them of their country's strength and undying loyalty to its citizens.
Together, he intones as he finishes up, we are stronger than ever before. Each man, woman, and child has a purpose. Each purpose is fulfilled. No one is hungry, all needs are met. We strive to thrive. We are all the future.
It's his normal sign off. The phrases that she sees hanging on large banners and chiseled into marble memorials.
She listens and when the sound of the music swells and finishes, she flips the switch on the radio and stands, not sure how they can all be the future if they're killing half of them at birth.
—
Every day she marvels at her freedom. Her transportation restrictions are practically nonexistent. There's a day off where she takes the train to the richer neighborhoods and simply strolls about, looking at their properties before dutifully heading back before curfew. She's wise and never abuses the power, but the knowledge that she could is a heady feeling.
—
"Heads up!" Clint shouts, tossing something over the shelf to her. She snatches it out of the air. She frowns, looking up at the front.
"It's just a book—"
"Inside."
Her fingers flip through the pages until she sees a drawing.
It's one they've found a few times now. Always hidden. Two hearts, hooked like a Venn diagram, and the little markings at the bottom. They haven't deciphered what they mean yet. But it's like a stamp. Someone was marking these books. But for what purpose? They aren't sure.
—
"While each pair of soulmates experience the usual benefits from Fusing. Some soulmates are so perfectly aligned, that the benefits they receive are tenfold. In 1643 AD, a pair of soulmates were charted as having the strength of 10 men and the eyesight of hawks. In 1762 AD, another couple was cited as having the ability to hear each other's exact thoughts. Soulmates can always sense emotions and connections from their partners. But these two could actually speak to each other. The truer the bond, the more spectacular the benefits."
—Excerpt from "So you're expecting a Soulmate? A history of Fusion and some Tips and Tricks to Ensure a Healthy Relationship (1984)
—
Her heart is racing as she wakes, startled from sleep as she gasps, oxygen struggling in and out of her lungs.
The lights are off and only the muted lights from outside enter her room.
She's shaking, trembling, hands clenching at the nightgown she's wearing and trying to breathe. Tears are streaming out of her eyes and down her cheeks, sliding down her neck and into her nightgown. She laughs, an unhinged sound of hysteria that is so overwhelming she thinks she might drown in the emotions bubbling through her.
She quiets herself, covering her mouth with one hand before she's reported for Unseemly Night Noise, and tries to calm down.
It takes long minutes for her heart to listen, the racing slows to thumping which slows to pulsing and finally to beating.
Her breathing slows and resumes normally and the shaking alleviates as her adrenaline comes down.
She wonders if she dreamt something unsettling and that's what woke her. But try as she might, she can't remember anything. Only the strange twinge was magnified by 1000, leaving her elated and breathless and—-
She's stunned. Unable to even think straight.
Slowly she lays back down and stares at her ceiling.
Unwilling to acknowledge the shift…. She closes her eyes and tries to ignore the new feeling. Finally, her consciousness drifts, she simply feels at peace.
—
"You seem different."
She looks up, her brother watching her. "I do?"
He nods, a strange expression on his face. "Yeah."
"How?"
"You seem—" he frowns, "happy."
That makes her frown, "what? No I don't."
"Did you meet someone?" He grins, "in that new job of yours?"
She scoffs, setting her teacup down. "I have not. And I'm not happy."
Michael shakes his head, "you don't have to be so adamant about it. I was just kind of surprised. You know I've never seen you truly happy—"
"Because—"
"I know." He cuts her off, "I know. I'm not blaming you. I'm simply stating a fact. For the first time today you seem…" the words die in his throat and his brow furrows.
But she can hear the ghostly echo as if he had said them. At peace.
She seems at peace.
But that's impossible. And illegal.
They stare at each other for a long moment before he simply picks his book back up and continues reading. She sips from her tea and tries not to think very much at all.
—
They have an inspection the next week and she, Clint, and Howard ensure everything is perfect so there will be no complaints. They have everything filed and cataloged and anything newly discovered in a section for them to inspect.
When asked if they've found any illegal items, they've stated mostly no, but that a few items were discovered, promptly reported and disintegrated. Howard has those files on hand as well.
Except she knows they're not disintegrated. They're buried in an under the floor storage space that they hide under a large metal shelving. Hoping one day to have time to study the items.
At the end, the man and woman nod and give them a certificate of completion that they're to hang on the wall.
They all breathe a sigh of relief after the doors shut.
—-
Howard and Clint are already deep in discussion as she makes her way inside the large doors.
"What is it?" She asks, setting her bag down and scanning her identification card to clock in.
"They're bringing in something big." Howard says without looking up. "And they're opening the back doors to drop it in, which means we have to move stuff."
"Back doors?"
Clint nods, picking up a cup and tossing it in the air before deftly catching it and setting it back down. "You've seen 'em." He thumbs in a direction, "we've just never used them. Didn't even think to mention they were doors."
She nods, accepting this. "What's so large? It's just now been discovered?"
Howard turns to her and grins, "we don't know yet. But documents state it was found a while ago, transport is just taking a long time since it was discovered way up north."
"North?"
"According to that old textbook map, someplace called the Arctic."
She frowns, picturing the map in her mind, "you mean to tell me we have people out that far searching for old things? Why?"
They both shrug in unison. "Looking for something I guess."
"Like what?"
Clint rolls his eyes, "if we knew wouldn't we tell you?"
She wrinkles her nose at him and he laughs.
—
It's getting worse.
She actively has to force a neutral expression. The way her chest feels lighter than it's ever felt is unsettling.
Her skin feels like electricity is trying to run through it and she has a hard time sleeping.
—
"What is with you?" Clint asks one day, "you're weirding me out."
She has to suck in the laugh and quiet her mind. "I don't know," she admits breathily, "something's wrong with me."
Howard pops out of nowhere, "what's wrong with you?"
"I can't explain it." She says, setting the report she was writing back onto the desk, "three weeks ago I woke in the middle of the night." Her fingers tap against the old metal desk, "I was having some sort of hysterical fit—" their eyes widen, "I don't even know why. I hadn't dreamt anything that I can remember. But I was crying and laughing and my heart was beating out of my chest." Her hands go up in a helpless gesture, "since then, I've felt strange. And each day it gets worse. it's like I'm constantly excited for something, but I don't know what."
They're both eyeing her, then Clint frowns, "but…"
"I know." She cuts in, "I can't explain it."
A long silence pervades the room until she picks back up her report.
People who have lost their soulmates don't experience a change in behavior.
She feels their eyes on her.
—
"Many different attempts to defeat Schmidt were employed. Soulmates rose up and committed atrocities to ensure they retained power. But Schmidt was wise, using his knowledge of their weaknesses against them. Soulmates were rounded up, separated, and destroyed to ensure the safety of everyone else."
— A History of the Fusion Separations
—-
There's no chance to sleep. It's like her body refuses. Too much energy to anything but pace about. She tries everything, hot tea, a warm shower, even turning on the radio to listen to the weather reports, train schedules, and citizen sessions that play throughout the night intermittently.
But to no avail. She's ready to rip something in half with how much her blood dances beneath her skin.
At the first ray of sunlight she's getting ready, eating breakfast and heading towards work. She can't stand inactivity, and she can't be seen being a wild hellion around the neighborhood. So far only people she trusts have noticed her change in behavior, she's been very conscious to seem "normal" around everyone else.
But sprinting through the tiny green space her neighborhood is allowed, would end poorly.
So she decides to walk all the way to work. A solid hour of walking, but the energy is still just as vibrant as she scans her identification card to enter the building.
She's still hours early. But no one questions her. That's something she's noticed in this job. Only the uppermost administration asks questions to ensure they're following rules and protocols. If they're not around, everyone else assumes you're doing what's been asked of you. Makes it simple to give a respectful nod and walk with purpose to the lifts that drop her below ground.
The large doors creak open and she's hit with a wave of adrenaline. Like she wants to go tearing through the entire room with her bare hands.
"Margaret?" She jolts in surprise, turning to see Howard standing there, a clipboard in his hands, "what are you doing here?"
There's no easy answer. So she goes with a partial truth, "I couldn't sleep. Figured I'd come get a head start."
He shrugs, "well, the delivery is on its way, so I guess you can help me with it."
"Delivery?"
"The item they found up north?"
"Oh, right, of course." She snags her jumpsuit off the hook and heads towards the old room full of lockers. She changes, pulls on her boots, and ties up her hair. When she washes her hands, her eyes catch on her reflection.
A mile crosses her face, something so natural and easy that her chest aches with the relief it feels. "What is happening to me…" she breathes out, unable to quell the shaking in her hands.
—-
The doors take three times longer to open than the ones they use daily. There's a horrific grinding noise and Margaret swears she smells something faintly burning the whole time, but eventually they do open and she stars into inky blackness. Then she jumps as another sound begins. Doors above them, right outside of the back doors begin to open. Another long and painfully loud process. Howard hands her ear muffs half way through and she puts them on gratefully.
Once those doors are open, light from outside burns the ground beneath it and she watches in awe as something huge and metallic is lowered in by a crane. "Is it—" she gasps, "frozen in ice?"
Howard seems equally stunned by teh amount of ice clinging to the outside.
Once it's touched ground, the crew work to unchain it and it rests there for an hour as inspections are done. Then it's reclaimed up and dragged into their facility, she had thought they were exaggerating when they'd cleared the large space with forklifts and a large team, but apparently not. The giant object fits just barely into the space, towering over them and dripping water like mad.
Her blood is pumping. Her heart is racing. She's pretty sure she's sweating. "Margaret?" Howard asks in a whisper, "you look flushed you feel okay?"
"I'm fine." She whispers back, "just excited. I think."
He eyes her but then goes to talk to the crew leader. She watches documents get exchanged, Howard signs multiple things, and then they're told officials will be down to inspect it soon before they can start the defrosting and decosntructing process.
Impatiences rears through her, knowing that process will take hours, but she keeps silent, resting her hands and even her face against the ice at a few moments to try to calm and cool down.
Finally it's just the two of them and she's staring at the object like it might have all the answers.
"Geez." Howard huffs, "I've never seen them be so uptight about an object. I mean, granted it's probably the oldest thing they've found, but still. The instructions I have are like a mile long." Then he gasps, "holy shit, Pierce is coming!"
She snaps towards him as he stares at his clipboard, "what? Alexander Pierce!?"
He nods, "holy… that's insane." He frowns at the object, "what is so important about this plane that Pierce is coming?"
"Plane?"
He points to the main structure, "it's an old plane. Very old. Missing one of its wings, but yeah, some sort of flying transport."
"We need to get in there." The words exit her mouth before she can stop them, "I need to get in there."
Howard is staring at her like she's insane. "What do you mean, 'you need to get in there?"
"I don't know." She's feeling itchy, her nails scratching at the ice, "I need to get in there."
"Well," he says, gently grasping her hand and pulling it away, "you're going to have to wait."
—-
Six hours is how long everything takes before they're back alone with it. Pierce's presence had truly been a strange phenomenon. She had practically hid behind a shelf to keep from ripping at the ice while he was present.
But now. Now they can get to work. Clint is present and they stare at the giant hunk of metal and ice for almost a minute before Howard claps his hands and rubs them together, "let's get melting."
—
"I'm going to stay."
Clint blinks at her, gloves already halfway removed. "What?" He asks, "why?"
"I need to get in there." She repeats. The thought that has been pounding through her chest all day. "I have to get in there."
"Okay, you keep saying that." Howard joins, yawning and wiping ice from his jumpsuit, "but I don't understand why—"
"Neither do I." She admits, "but it's killing me. I have to get in there. I can't wait."
"It's going to take us hours, maybe even all tomorrow to get the through this ice enough to make it to an entrance."
"Okay." She says numbly, hands still holding the heated tools.
"Hey."
She doesn't answer, already back at working on the ice.
"Hey—"
Her tools start to drown them out.
"Hey!" She's yanked gently, twisted to face Clint, whose hands are on her arms and he's staring at her like she's got three heads. "Margaret, what's going on? You're face is flushed and you look strange."
"Glowy—" Howard offers.
"Yeah," Clint nods, "you look glowy. Are you feeling feverish?"
"I'm fine—"
"You don't look fine."
But there's only one thought she can think to say. "I have to get in there."
"Go home. Get some sleep." Clint says firmly, "we will get into it tomorrow."
She's shaking her head, "no, you guys go. I'm going to stay."
"Margaret."
"I'm staying!" She snaps, shoving away from him and sending him stumbling back much further than she would have thought possible. Clint looks at her stunned and she's panting now. "I'm sorry," she breathes out, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."
But now Howard is looking at her and the plane and then back to her. "I'll stay too." He says quietly. "I'll help you."
Clint's standing brushing himself off. "Okay. Me too."
She should be glad, or thank them or something. But her mind is already turning back to the plane, her tools working on the ice.
She knows they're eyeing her strangely. She can't find it in herself to care.
—-
Someone does leave to retrieve food and water. She does take a small break for the bathroom a few times, but the closer they get to the door, (they can now see it through the ice) the more she becomes mute and of one mind.
Get inside.
She must get inside.
Clint and Howard try talking to her, try to calm her down, to get her to take a break, to rest. But she can't respond. Brushing them off and even going at the ice with her nails when they take her tools out of her hands.
They give the tools back.
"It can't be." She hears Clint say. "It can't."
"Then what else?" Howard shoots back. "What else would cause this?"
Clint's answer is slow and nervous, "I don't know."
She's hearing them. But not really processing anything.
—
It's 39 hours later when they finally manage to get through the layers of ice and the metal door that is so frozen shut that it takes three different types of saws and then a giant metal claw to get through it.
Once a section is big enough for her to crawl through, she stares at the black space behind it in a sense of frozen disbelief.
Something is in there. The magnetism begins drawing her forward and she crawls through the metal opening and lands with a thunk inside.
"Hey, whoa!" Howard calls, "wait for us!" But she can't. She can't wait for anyone. Something is waiting for her. She has to find it. What is it. Where is it.
Her eyes adjust to the darkness and she begins walking. Metal grates creak beneath her feet. She can see her breath. She knows it's cold. But she doesn't feel it. Her body feels a thousand degrees. She's surprised the ice in the space isn't melting as she walks past it.
Two thunks and two groans alert her that they've entered the space as well, but now she's stepping through a doorway and down a darker hallway.
"Wait up!" Someone calls.
She doesn't.
—
She'll recall walking through doorways, slipping through metal railways, dropping down onto lower levels and stopping in front of a small circular door. It's about the circumference of a ceiling fan and she stares at it. Then she's gripping the handle and attempting to pry it off.
Her jaw is clenching and her fingers aching as the cold metal resists.
"What is that?" Clint asks, suddenly at her side having caught up faster than Howard.
"I don't know." Her first words in hours. "Help me."
"We don't even know what's behind that."
"It's mine." She says. Not processing the words. "It's mine."
He just looks at her weird and shrugs, "okay."
Howard arrives at some point and she has to be physically removed from in front of the door so he can get some tools to work through the mechanics.
Eventually, the door hinge hisses and clicks open. Her heart is pounding as the door swings wide, water trickling out and a metal handle attached to a drawer.
Howard frowns, "what the hell is this?"
But she's beyond asking questions. Her hand reaches out, snagging the handle and pulling. It doens't budge.
She tries again.
It refuses.
She growls, yanking it harder.
"Margaret—"
But she throws her entire body weight into it and yanks, letting all her adrenaline strengthen her.
With an almighty shriek and the sound of shards of ice scraping together, a long bed rolls out, and she has to stumble back to avoid being rolled over.
Slowly she stands, eyes widening and flicking back to the door and back to the man laying on the bed. Preserved in ice.
The ice is muddled, making it difficult to make anything out, but he's laying on his back, and she can see wires and tubes floating in the ice. A mask covers his face and neck.
"What the hell," Howards breathes out, "what the actual hell!"
"Get him out." She orders, nails scraping against the ice, "get him out!"
"Stop—" Clint tries, pulling her away, "stop!"
She shoves him off and feels out of her mind, "get him out! Now!" She feels one of her nails catch on the ice and rip, but she can't even process that pain. Someone's holding her, restricting her arms and she's thrashing, "get him out!"
"We will!" Howard snaps at her, his face in front of hers, "we will! Calm down!"
She's panting, adrenaline pumping, eyes leaking water heavily.
"It's him." She hears Clint say, "it has to be."
He lets her go and she goes stumbling forward, resting on the ice like her life depends on it.
"Holy shit." Howards breathes out. "It's her soulmate."
She looks at him, glaring, "GET HIM OUT."
"He's dead." Clint tries to say, "remember? He's dead."
"No." She snaps out, "no, that's not true. He's alive. I can feel it."
Howard gets in her face again, but with a sympathetic expression this time, "no, Margaret, no. He's dead. He's been dead for a very long time. Remember? You were cleared because your soulmate was dead."
She grabs his collar and yanks him forward, making their faces an inch apart, "he. Is. Not. Dead. Now get him out."
Clint shrugs like 'what the hell can you do'. And Howards sighs. "Fine." But it sounds more like, 'you'll see."
—
It takes another hour to melt and chip away at the ice enough to release his body.
She's there every second. Her finger now bandages (Clint's insistence) and Howard works on transporting the man on the bed outside of the plane. It takes some finagling, as he's incredibly heavy, but soon he's on a table, ice still dripping from his clothes and hair and skin. They remove the mask and she gasps at the face behind it. Dark thick blonde hair, sharp jaw, elegant nose and long eyelashes.
She's staring at him, hands centimeters away from his blue tinged skin.
"Listen." Howard says slowly, "he's got no pulse. No heartbeat. He hasn't had oxygen in his lungs for hundreds of years. Margaret, I'm sorry but he's not alive."
And something settles very deeply into her soul. "He will be." She looks up at their stunned expressions and feels very assured and calm for the first time in weeks. "He will be."
