Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Eventually though, I do make it to the top. I take each step very slow on that last bit of the ascent because there is a lot going on up here and I’m trying to listen in before I make my appearance.
When I arrive at the little stairwell foyer at the top the first thing I see is the tea spread. Silver trays holding tiny sandwiches, several tea pots with steam pouring out the spouts, and a whole set of matching china. There’s even a bouquet of flowers in the center of the fuckin’ table.
Of course, I do not partake. I walk right past it, but then stop short just outside the entrance to the god’s room because I realize I’m listening to a meeting of people. Many people because there are at least half a dozen different voices.
I catch a few words, but it’s not anything dramatic. More like backstage minutiae of city politics. When I finally step out of the little stairwell foyer, the first thing I see is the overlay.
Except it’s not my overlay. It’s Delta’s.
There are nine people up here, except they’re not people. Well, maybe they are. But in this tower, they’re holograms. The overlay is conducting a meeting. I’ve only ever seen something like this a handful of times while I was in Sweep. And it was mostly just walking past glass-walled offices while in random administration buildings. I’ve never actually been inside one.
For a moment I’m not sure what to do. Wait here? Announce myself? Leave?
But then Delta looks at me and steps aside—splitting himself in two.
The other eight… gods, because let’s face it, that’s what they are—they don’t seem to notice that my god has left the meeting. But that’s because he hasn’t. He’s talking to them in his other body even as he’s walking towards me, extending his hand in greeting. And as he does this, he stops being a spark hologram and turns into flesh and blood, wearing a cream-colored linen suit, nice leather shoes, and a smile that makes his spark-colored eyes brighten. His hair is slicked back, so I’m not sure if it’s long or short, and he’s got a ring on. I notice the ring because when I shake his hand, it’s cold against my skin.
I’ve never actually interacted with him in human form like this and it’s a little bit disconcerting. When I came up here as a kid—always because I was in trouble for… whatever—he was a giant face of code on the screen at the far edge of the room.
This human body was there, always, but it was sitting at a desk, its back to me, furiously writing things down in a book. Which feels like a really weird thing now that I’m a man, but as a kid, I didn’t even care. I interacted with the code face. Which was like forty feet high and twenty feet wide, so it was very intimidating and standing in front of it as a five-foot-tall child didn’t give me much time to look around and wonder about shit that didn’t concern me.
“Captain Tymothy Jarvinen.”
We finish shaking hands and so I withdraw mine before correcting him. “It’s Tyse Saarinen now. I’d appreciate it if you’d let everyone know.”
“Right.” He smiles again. “Tyse.” His eyes light up with spark. “Done. Tymothy is dead. All records erased and replaced.”
I sigh. “Well.” I sigh again. “Nice to see you, I guess.”
“Oh, you’re not here for a social call, Tyse. It’s business. But come, let’s get away from this boring meeting.” He turns and starts walking away.
I take one more look at the gathering of gods made of light, then follow.
We end up in a room behind the massive, dark screen and it’s kind of a relief when I enter and he closes the door behind me, making the many voices go away.
“Have a seat, Tyse.” He gestures to a large cream-colored leather chair situated in front of a massive desk made of glass.
I sit and he takes his place behind the desk.
“How was your trip?”
“My trip in?”
“Trip out, trip in, either-or. Here and there. All of it. I want to hear everything.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “You want my life’s story?”
“The highlights will do.”
“Don’t ya have that on record?” I tap my head to indicate his AI brain.
“Of course I do. But it’s rude to assume things you haven’t told me yet.”
“How about we just cut the bullshit, Delta. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I always did like your directness. I knew you were the one. The moment you were born I pointed at you and said, ‘He’s the one.’ And look. Here you are. The actual one.”
“For fuck’s sake. One what?”
“The Godslayer, of course.”
I laugh. “The Godslayer? The storybook guy? From the fairy tale?”
“Oh, it’s not a fairy tale. It’s a myth. A prophetic one. Well, it was. And then you were born, and… well, here we are smack in the middle of it. But there are many versions of the prophecy. It’s always like that, isn’t it? I mean, in the world we live in, secrets are impossible. The key to secrecy these days is disinformation. Confusion, is a better way to say it. Many versions make many questions. Many questions make many answers. So that’s my long-winded way of saying, yes, the storybook guy, with an asterisk at the end.”