A/N: Chap 23 review responses are in my forums as normal. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. And now, we have the last flashback sequence of this part of the story. Some have noticed that each flashback has gone back earlier and earlier. This one...well, for those who came from the Worm side, you'll recognize this. This is what happened after Theogony.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Mortui Sunt Omnes
ELAPSED TRANSMISSION TIME: 21 minutes ten seconds.
COMPRESSION RATE: 150 PBPS.
RESTORING: In progress….
She lived.
DATABASE DIAGNOSTIC: Complete. 32 GB corrupted data, purging files.
MUSCLE FIBER RELAY STATUS: 98%.
FACIAL COMMUNICATION ALGORITHMS: Complete.
SOCIAL INTELLIGENCE ENGINE: Active.
Line by line, system by system. In the space of a single human eye-blink, she examined every aspect of her internal cognition. Her mind, her body. Her soul.
She had a soul. A god told her so as he shaped her new bodies and imbued life in a way no mere tinker could. Her name was Theresa Richter. She was artificial, but she was no less alive.
She sent a command; her eyes opened, and then blinked away dust.
The rest of her internal diagnostics continued to run as she directed her gynoid body to sit up in its charging chair. This was the very first body Ilmarinen built for her when Kratos first introduced them. Ilmarinen called her his Golden Woman. At the time, it made some of the surviving parahumans very uncomfortable, but she understood. Takoja was no mere parahuman, any more than Kratos, Aengus, Angelia or Sunny were. Takoja Ilmarinen was a god. The pantheon from which he sprang inspired the works of Tolkien.
He referred to Telos as "Ilmatar". He called Sunny his "Paivatar". And he called Theresa, whom the world once knew as Dragon, his "golden bride."
POSITRONIC SENTIENCE ENGINE: Complete.
LANGUAGE MODULES: Complete.
POWER: 95%
The batteries in this model were almost seventy years old, built by the tinker Prometheus. Even after seventy years, with the last ten being on standby, the body had only lost five percent power.
She stood. Dust didn't pour off her body–it had caked to her organo-synthetic skin. She looked down on her perfectly crafted feminine form, lovingly built and given life-like attributes by her lover seventy years before, and smiled fondly at the memory.
The room she sat in was featureless save for the metal chair that held her body. Though she appeared to be a fit, healthy woman in her late twenties of average height, she weighed over two hundred pounds due to the many systems and mechanisms that gave her such an accurate simulcram of organic life. Around her, cold, chiseled granite held only the high-powered wireless port to the mountain's crystal lattice mainframe.
Even over a decade old, it remained an incredibly powerful computing system.
She stepped from the cold storage room, and overhead lights activated with her. She left footprints in the dust of her passage. A woman's size seven, five toes on each foot. Arched and slim and elegant, as if carved by an artist. Or a divine craftsman.
The bathroom, like the cold storage room, consisted of a small vanity and a shower. There was no toilet. She removed the vac-sealed poly-protein soap, shampoo and conditioner that she made just for this body of hers. Her hair was perfectly human–donated by a Finnish woman who had long since died of old age. The skin was a complex organic polymer that, when her systems were active, maintained near human temperature and skin-like malleability and texture.
The water felt deliciously cold as she soaped the dust off. Even after so many decades, it was the simple, physical sensations that she adored so very much. That made her love her Ilmarinen so very much for all he'd done for her. For the many days watching the sun set over tea she did not actually drink, just to speak to him.
SYSTEM RESTORATION: Complete.
Using her internal systems and the larger network of the mountain, she first confirmed the date and time, and then she made a wireless call. It was to a number known only to a handful of people world-wide. She did so while continuing her shower, using internal voice modulation systems.
"Dragontech Limited, Sena Gluskab's office. May I ask who's calling?"
She received both audio and visual, and within her mind saw a handsome man of Latino descent–more Nahua than Spanish, she'd guess based on the shape of his cheeks. His digital signature announced his name as Jose Chepe.
"Good morning, Mr. Chepe. My name is Theresa Richter. I would like to speak to Sena if she is available."
She didn't make the call through an external device, but through her internal ether connections. She saw him, but he could not see her. He heard nothing from her shower.
"Thank you, ma'am. I…um…" She could hear the poor secretary typing and looking for what to do.
"You need to ask me for my credentials, which are DLVARMS25QRSITN. Voice print authentication Richter, Theresa. Dragon."
Her words and digital signal tone bypassed the security firewall of the digitized audio connection and gave her direct access to the young secretary's ether terminal.
"I…see. Yes, ma'm. I'll connect you now."
"Thank you, Jose."
At the exact same moment he was transferring her, Theresa also confirmed that the charter service she'd ordered the day before in their daily data burst was ready, and that her finances were in order.
A new voice and video signal came over the connection.
"My goodness, you've grown up just as beautiful as your great-grandmother," Theresa said. "You were only seventeen since the last time we spoke."
Sena Gluskab, Chief Executive Officer of Dragontech International, blinked sea-green eyes at her. Platinum white-blonde hair hung about a face with features many mistook as Chinese, but which were, in fact, Inuit. More than just native, Sena was the great-grandchild of a god and a demigod.
What surprise then that she would be among the very best at whatever she did? In this case, an MBA at 21 and running a multi-trillion dollar international tech company by 27.
"Aunty, I hope you understand that we've had a lot of pretenders."
"I'm in Mount Cayley. I just restored by databurst to my old body and will be traveling east. I wanted to give you warning that I will be accessing my personal discretionary funds, since I can detect some new security features on those accounts. I will meet with you within the day."
Sena suddenly smiled. "It's really you," she said. "You've come back!"
"I have. And I will see you soon."
"Is it because…is it because of the miracle?"
"There are many important reasons for my return, the miracle is one of them. I will see you soon, Sena."
Out of the shower and toweled dry, she spent a few minutes working on her hair. If she wanted, she could replay the early days when Sanna, Sena's great-grandmother, taught Theresa how to care for her human hair. Some people had memories–Theresa had files.
Leaving the cold storage and bathroom, she stepped into the room that she used to share with Ilmarinen. The dust cover sheltered their bed from years of disuse. She ignored it and stepped to the vac-sealed closet.
They still had media signals at the Project Site, it just took 13 minutes to reach them. Their partner offices tended to send the entire day's media broadcasts to them in single data bursts each following day. She had a fairly good idea of what clothes she could wear that wouldn't stand out from modern fashions.
She packed a few clothes extra since she might not return for a few days, and then walked through the mountain.
Many of the old mainframe servers that once housed her existence were shuttered and covered by acid-free plastic tarps. The advancements on crystal lattice computing made these clunky, Tinker-crafted old machines redundant. And the need for them more so, once Ilmarinen crafted her body and freed her once and for all from the limitations her father imposed on her. She was no longer a bound spirit of the digital realm, but rather a real, physical being. Perhaps not living in the organic sense, but she would never let herself return to being trapped solely in the ether. Not now that she had her bodies.
If only Colin could see me now.
The original production lines for her Dragon suits were long discontinued and scavenged for the Project. Nor were there any other tinker shops left. Kratos's organization had spent a century hunting down and containing or eliminating parahuman shards. There were times when she thought his actions cruel–most parahumans did not choose their powers. But when the triggers broke due to Scion's death and killed whole communities, she understood why he did what he did. She cooperated. The rewards for that cooperation were beyond anything she could have hoped for.
Look, pa! No strings!
Which meant she had no dragon suits to fly her to New Hampshire.
Though she might not have had a dragon suit, she did have a DragonT Z45 Quadcar. She found it partially disassembled for cold storage, but that was easily resolved. At her signal, the robotic arms began to assemble the two-seater back to its intended condition. The fuel cells were fully charged, the tires removed from storage and inflated to spec while the quad rotor turbines were attached. The door opened on its own, and she slid into the tight, perfectly contoured leather interior with a grin.
It was good to live in the physical world, she thought to herself for the millionth time.
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Two hundred million people died on the day Telos fought Scion.
Shanghai, Hong Kong. Los Angeles. Oklahoma City, Chicago. The entity the world called Scion ripped a scar across the planet when he exploded into motion from China, across the Pacific and across the continental United States, to attack Telos and her allies in New Hampshire.
They called the battle itself–that one-day war against Scion and his Endbringers–the Titanomachy. The war against the titans. But the end…the burst of golden light that exploded from Scion's avatar and that marked his death and the last time the world saw Telos…that event the Church of Telos called the Golden Ascension. It was, according to the liturgy of the still young, vibrant faith, the moment that Telos ascended into heaven to assume her watch over humanity.
"Yes," Ilmarinen told her, when she asked if it was possible. He was a god, surely he would know more than most?
That two hundred million dead, however, was just the beginning.
The gods that fought in the Titanomachy–those that survived, anyway–helped wash away the radiation of the Endbringer Behemoth who essentially ignited nuclear bombs from his body as a weapon. They absorbed the massive, exotic radiation from Scion's passing. But they were so few, and so weakened from the battle, that they could not stop what followed. Many, in fact, perished in the act of saving whom they could.
Scion released more energy in his brief trip from China to New Hampshire than the entire human race had ever produced. That massive release of energy did far more damage than anyone realized at the time. They found out in the years to come, though.
Those two hundred million who died immediately were followed by over nine hundred million others from around the world. Weather patterns across the globe were disrupted; the magnetic poles were reversed. Already fragile nations, reeling under the cumulative effects of parahuman violence and targeted endbringer attacks, broke under the weight of mass starvation, food system failures, and a series of brutal, brief wars.
Even over a century later, the effects of the Titanomachy could still be felt. Around Cayley Mountain where she'd built her first facility years ago, that took the form of glaciers. It was why she did not bother with any ground vehicles.
Her prized Z45 Quadcar emerged from the hidden hangar door into a blizzard. It was morning, supposedly, but if not for her GPS system, she would have no way of knowing what time it was or where she was.
The storm battered around her sturdy little air car, but she persevered. She was on a time limit, after all. There was still so much to do.
It took almost an hour to get out of the North Shore Mountains and the glaciers that filled valleys which once held dozens of small, idyllic towns. As she approached the coast, she saw with a sad smile how the sea ice had filled the entirety of the Straights of Georgia and the Salish Sea. The San Juan Islands, like Vancouver itself, were locked in ice now for the majority of the year. Long term forecasts predicted at least a century or more of the cold–a mini-ice age at best.
The damage caused by the thousand-foot high tsunami that Scion created with his passage had never been repaired. Seattle fared little better
It wasn't until she reached Portland that she saw signs of civilization. The Columbia River was also frozen, but the presence of shipping yards at least gave some indication it wasn't a year-round phenomenon. More importantly, she intercepted signals that gave ample evidence the airport still functioned.
It took only a thought to access the charter service she'd contracted with to signal her approach.
Rather than fly directly into busy airspace, she brought the quadcar down in the cracked parking lot of an abandoned, dilapidated box store and drove the rest of the way in. Though Portland had regained some population and had some new construction, she saw that many parts of the city still appeared abandoned. It was very cold in the winter, and the North Atlantic current that used to keep the northwest and southern Alaska livable still hadn't stabilized yet.
The sign to the airport surprised her. Richter Memorial International Airport.
She smiled despite herself–she'd used her considerable wealth as the majority-owner of her old company to help Portland recover following Titanomachy. The renaming of the airport, however, took her by surprise.
It took only a few minutes of driving and open-mouthed stares from pedestrians to recognize that her quadcar was still a rare item. At a quarter million adjusted dollars per unit, she usually only sold a few thousand a year, and most of those were overseas or further to the south. They were especially popular among the increasingly wealthy merchant class in the Pan-African economic zone, which had increasing amounts of wealth, but not the infrastructure that came with centuries of industrialization like in Europe or America.
She gladly paid for the VIP secure parking option before making her way across the tarmac from the main terminal to the private hangars. The snow came in flurries, accompanied by ten-below freezing wind.
When she stepped into the hangar, she found a DragonFlight Mark 12, judging by the lifting body configuration and the carbon-composite hull. Two of the charter company technicians were waiting for her.
"Ms. Richter?" The booking agent looked tall, spare and tired in his suit. He was yelling over the sound of the wind until she closed the door behind her.
"Yes. You must be Le?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry to tell you that the pilot has been delayed. We're…"
She waived his concern. "I don't need a pilot, Mr. Le."
He stammered at you. "But..ma'am, company policy and…"
Theresa couldn't help but laugh. "I know it's been a few years, Le, but I've not been gone that long, surely? I own the company. I am Dragon. And I made sure to keep my license active with the NAAA. The onboard systems are telling me it is fueled and ready. I've filed my flight plan and would appreciate it if you can open the hangar doors so I can taxi out."
"Ma'am…"
The Mark 12 roared to life, causing the poor agent to jump. "Call Susanne in corporate," Theresa told the man. "She'll clear it."
His shoulders slumped. "Ma'am, the conditions aren't safe."
"I've flown shuttles into orbit and landed on Mars, Mr. Le. I designed the Mark 12 to fly in any conditions. I'll be fine."
Thirty minutes later, Theresa was flying East at just under a thousand miles per hour at forty-thousand feet. As she remotely flew, she also accessed her satellite network for the most recent news on the Indian-Pakistan War.
Her internal monitor was greeted by digital footage of a mushroom cloud over Lahore. Oh, no!
Fifteen tactical nuclear weapons were exchanged during the brief war, nine from Pakistan, six from India. Two of Pakistan's weapons managed to pierce Indian air defenses. While Pakistan's air defenses only stopped one.
Pakistan's weapons were aimed at population centers–but the nation didn't have range on their old, third-hand ballistic missiles. They hit New Delhi, but the city had long been abandoned due to Endbringer Activity. No missile made it further south than that.
The five successful Indian strikes were purely tactical–Lahore was one of Pakistan's major staging centers for their initial invasion into the Punjab. But the other missiles crippled oil and energy production, hit Pakistan's largest airbase, and most importantly, the President General who had ruled Pakistan for the last twenty years as an absolute dictator.
The war ended shortly after, and Theresa watched the news footage of four hundred thousand Indian regular army pouring over the border into the nation as part of a military annexation. The fallout was being loudly condemned around the world, but the unstable world political landscape kept any of the world's nations from doing anything about it.
The days of Europe, America, Russia and China dictating terms to the other nations of the world was long over. Neither the dollar nor the Euro were used by these nations as reserve currencies, and America itself could no longer afford the "foreign aid" that bought influence.
The growth of the Telosian church in India, and its syncretizing with the Hindu religion there, was cited by Pakistan as one of their reasons for their initial attack.
She received the signals from Boston International and began her descent.
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Sena met her at the airport. The CEO of DragonTech was a tall woman, but nothing like her great-grandmother. Instead, she stood just a smidge under six feet. She wore a black blazer over a pearl blouse, with a matching split skirt that hung to her ankles. It looked slimming and elegant.
"Aunty!"
In the privacy of the Executive Lounge, Sena squealed like a little girl and bent down to give Theresa a hug. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you again! I have another quadcar waiting. I think you'll like the latest model, we increased the range by almost a hundred miles, with a new interphased fuel cell."
And that, Theresa thought, was why she chose Sena to succeed her as CEO when she left for the Project.
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Dorothea Washington, like Sena, was a descendent of those who knew Telos in person. Her grandmother was no less than the Didomi, Marie Washington. Her grandfather was Ty Washington, the man who helped organize the Church's warden program which provided security to overseas missionaries.
With the death of Sarah Rothschild, Telos' personal friend and the first Pythia, Dorothea was named new Pythia, and she handled the transition perfectly. She stood now, wider of body than either Theresa or Sena, and shorter than both, and stared through the window with a tear in her eyes. On the other side, a young woman claiming to be Taylor Hebert sat at a school desk with a text book, pencil and paper like any ordinary student.
"She was wearing the same clothes that appear in Taylor Hebert's high school ID," the Pythia said. "The shoes she wore were a generic brand made by a company that didn't survive the Titanomachy. They were brand new, Theresa! We've done DNA tests, facial recognition tests. We've interviewed her and done voice comparison…"
"The voice and accent are perfect," Theresa said. "The expression likewise. What is she studying?"
"Algebra II," the Pythia said. "She doesn't have clear memories of her high school experience, and when tested her scores were indicative of a smart, capable high school freshman or sophomore from the early 2000s. She is more read than typical for her age, but in all other aspects she…she appears to be an ordinary teenage girl."
Theresa continued to speak to the head of the young church while at the same time accessing every file she had on Taylor, from before she adopted the name Telos. The best, most direct footage she had was from Colin's helmet cam and the body cam footage from a US Marshall, when the PRT confronted them near their family cabin in White Mountain.
"Miles, we have to go. I'm very sick, and there's something we need to get before I can get better. I don't know why the Protectorate is bothering us, but we're not villains. My dad's just trying to protect me. Why don't you go back to your car until Dad's done dealing with these people, and we'll be on our way."
The Taylor in the classroom looked identical, down to the same hairstyle. She even had the same spray of freckles on her nose and chin. This young Taylor Hebert was being tutored by an older student at the Church School, a handsome man that Theresa recognized. He was one of Sarah's great grandsons.
Taylor had her lips pursed in puzzlement. "How does this work, though?" 100% voice print match.
The tutor came over to show her, but that question was enough to confirm intonation, volume, regional accent.
"There is danger," Pythia Dorothea said, dropping her voice now. "The Pope's decree shocked us, and the Vatican has refused to answer my calls. Two of our churches were burned, and a dozen of our brothers and sisters were murdered in Italy after we announced Taylor's return. I felt it necessary to spread the word, but…"
"The news was already leaking," Sena said. It was little surprise the two women knew each other well. "She had one of the most recognized faces in the world and she just wandered around Hope Bay for three hours in broad daylight until she made her way to the Church. There were social media videos and speculation for days before the Church made the official announcement."
"She was looking for her house," Dorothea explained. "She was very, very upset when she learned that her house was destroyed. I'm worried about her safety, though. Dragon, she's a literal reflection of our god. A living, breathing saint! Our recruitment surged to unprecedented numbers, but we're also seeing unprecedented violence and protest. There're credible threats against her person. That's why we sent the signal. Is…Lord Kratos still lives. Sarah told me that she saw him, only sixty or so years ago. Could he…?"
"He is the reason none of the North African nations have joined in the Imam's calls for jihad," Theresa noted quietly. "But his work is not just to defend one person. We're trying to save humanity. The threat that Scion represented isn't gone, merely contained. The Great Project can't be interrupted. Not even for her."
"But…you, more than anyone else on Earth, would know. Is that Taylor Hebert, Dragon? Has the mortal aspect of our goddess returned to us?"
Theresa Richter looked through the window. She dismissed her video and audio files. She instead just watched, and felt.
"Yes," Dragon finally said. "I believe so."