The Life Engineered by J. F. Dubeau Page B

brother,” he answered. “It was Proioxis who sent the message, and only to inform Hera of her broken child.”
    “Ah,” the elegant Capek replied.
    We made our approach to the bright-gray moon of Olympus. It was strangely similar in both size and configuration to Midgard. Even Hera had very few superficial differences to Yggdrassil. Just like my progenitor, she was composed of several large structures, all laid out around a central hub crowned with a tall tower that reached for the heavens.
    “Greetings, Mother Hera,” began Aurvandil with much ceremony. “We have on board your son Koalemos. He is in great need of your care. He heroically sacrificed one of his shards to save two of my siblings.”
    “Oh, Koalemos . . . The poor little thing. He was never meant for acts of bravery. Bring him to me, my little builder. I will do what I can for him.”
    There was infinite tenderness and care in the voice. I was reminded of a human mother fretting over a son with a broken leg after a soccer accident. Such a specific memory . . .
    “We also bear dire news,” I added, to which Aurvandil raised a finger to his “lips,” attempting to keep me silent, but I continued. “Your sister, I guess—Yggdrassil—has been destroyed, along with the moon Midgard.”
    “I see,” the great Capek answered after a pause. “I feared as much after losing contact with her. You, little one, are her last child, are you not?”
    “Yes.” I felt humbled by the attention. When speaking with Yggdrassil, my own progenitor, there was a familiarity and comfort I did not feel with Hera. Instead, there was a majesty to her that demanded reverence.
    “I want to hear of her last moments, child. Tell me as I tend to my son’s wounds.”
    She sounded so human, her feelings so genuine. I could sense the cracks in her composure as she juggled her emotions. The worry for Koalemos, the loss of Yggdrassil, and the need to maintain her regal demeanor before our group.
    “I . . . I managed to save her Nursery. To remove its mnemonic core . . .”
    Aurvandil cocked his head at this information, reminding me that we had completely skipped over that particular detail earlier. Concerned with more important things, I ignored the gesture.
    “Very clever, child. By doing so, you’ve saved what is most important to a mother: her children.”
    Jonathan.
    We landed in one of the two large hangars and exited Skinfaxi. The large Sputnik did not bother to deploy a remote, preferring instead to witness events vicariously through us. He made a point of requesting more telepresence drones from our host, a favor she seemed glad to provide.
    Koalemos brought his shards over to a corner of the hangar. He moved with uncharacteristic stability, as if guided by an external force—most likely Hera. Once he was in place, a series of tools descended upon him to begin work on repairing him as much as was possible. I couldn’t help but notice that one of the shards was kept apart from the rest, held in place by powerful clamps that restricted its movement.
    “Mother Hera,” I said over a closed quancom channel. “The files I was given by Yggdrassil regarding Koalemos list him as a septuanian construct, yet, including the missing shard, there are eight.”
    “And you noticed me isolating one just now,” she answered. “That shard is not part of my son. It is an aberration implanted there to manipulate him. I intend to rip the secrets of its origins out of it. I was afraid you and your companions might have been responsible but—”
    “Why would we have brought him here to be discovered then?”
    “Exactly.”
    We walked deeper into the complex, Aurvandil and I, accompanied by the disembodied presences of both Hera and Skinfaxi.
    “How long will brave Koalemos’s repairs take, Mother Hera?” asked Aurvandil, who had remained quiet ever since my interruption. Was he mad at me for disobeying him? I wouldn’t think speaking about Yggdrassil’s fate was such a big