The Life Engineered by J. F. Dubeau Page A

other Capeks exhibited. His slow, graceful gestures and deliberate cadence of speech indicated a less physical being. A thinker or perhaps an artist. He and others like him would fall like wheat under the scythe before a monster like Anhur.
    “Who is the closest Gaia to Yggdrassil?”
    My own navigation systems answered at almost the same time as our entrancing host.
    “Hera.”
    “We have to warn her,” Faxi said.
    “Not so fast, brother,” Aurvandil warned, raising a hand to halt whatever my companion was about to do. “Lucretiuses are incredibly advanced and well-equipped Capeks. If Anhur knows you’ve escaped him, he will probably do his best to keep a warning from reaching Hera, and I have no doubt that he is capable of it.”
    “We have to warn her ourselves—and fast.”
    “Mmmh . . . If Anhur’s out there knowing we escaped his clutches, then he might still be hunting us down. You’re asking us to swim in shark-infested waters.”
    Aurvandil paced for a moment, rubbing what would pass for his chin in a very human display of concentration.
    “Then I’ll have to ask a more foolhardy Sputnik for a lift,” he finally said in a strained voice. “I wanted to keep the evolving crisis between us for now, but I would feel better if you did avoid any heroics, my brother.”
    Either Aurvandil did not know much about Skinfaxi, or he knew him too well. Even I was aware that this kind of talk would only fire up my large friend’s ego. Sure enough . . .
    “Aha! No, no, no. If there is a Sputnik who will claim the title of savior of Hera, it will be me. And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, brother. Well played.”
    “I know what to expect from you, Skinfaxi.”

OLYMPUS—HIGH ORBIT ABOVE TARTARUS
    T he trip to Olympus, the moon where Hera was installed, was long but quiet. An interesting detail about life as a Capek is the infinite possibilities our internal systems provide. Each of us can sit still for days without moving, focusing solely on whatever project, studies, or even games we might be running within our own minds.
    Aurvandil looked like he was meditating, sitting cross-legged, floating in the vacuum of Skinfaxi’s inner bridge, the hands of his long arms resting on his knees, his robotic chin high. What was he contemplating? Or was he communicating with friends and collaborators?
    When I wasn’t observing my companions, I spent the long hours reviewing technical information and familiarizing myself with some of the basics of Capek anatomy. It was one thing to have access to the information with little more than a thought, but I needed more. The knowledge had to become a part of me.
    Koalemos was restless. Though mostly motionless, he’d often twitch one of his shards or fire his thruster array for no reason. If anyone had reason to fear being ambushed by Anhur, surely it was him. While Skinfaxi and I had escaped narrowly, he had suffered a traumatizing injury from the event.
    Skinfaxi was also unusually quiet. Occasionally, he would send me batches of data to help analyze—anomalies in stellar displacements or long-range sensor readings that did not sit well with him, or any possible clue to Anhur’s presence or passage. So far, nothing. If the giant Lucretius was out there, he was being very subtle about it.
    It was an incredible relief when we arrived at Olympus unmolested. Seeing Tartarus, the dark gas giant, was unsettling at first, its surface covered in constant storms of green lightning, around which Hera’s home orbited. Thankfully, after completing a thorough sensor sweep of the area from our comfortable position close to the collapsor point, we confirmed that there were no other Capeks roaming around the system.
    “Welcome, children,” came Hera’s deep, motherly voice over open channels. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    “Skinfaxi?” Aurvandil asked so only me and the large Sputnik could hear. “I thought we had agreed not to contact Hera?”
    “No worries,