Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie had had many adjectives attributed to her over the years. Quiet, dorky, boring, pasty, pretty—once, by college boy who stopped talking to her after she’d won the grant they’d both applied for. More recently things had taken a positive tilt; they called her diligent, dependable, antsy, which she chose to interpret as a good thing. But for everything she’d been called, never, not once in her life, had she ever been accused of being ‘sturdy’.

So, when Quinn barreled into her at the closest human’s could reach to mach-speed, despite the girl’s meager stature, she sent both of them sprawling to the floor. Tillie let out a yelp not unlike a small dog, but was too concerned with her immediate fate to be embarrassed.

Her first thought was: Shoot, I’ve upset her somehow and now I’m going to die. After all, everyone she’d ever spoken to about it had told her that pilots were fickle. That the weight of heroism caused them such mental strain they could be given to fits of violence at even the most minor of provocations. However, as she realized that Quinn’s grip around her was not, in fact, an attempt at snapped her spine in half, she considered the idea that she was not in trouble.

“Tillie Tillie are you--are you okay—are you okay—”

Huh?

She felt rather silly then. How could she think Quinn would try to kill her—Quinnlash Loughvein! Yet, somehow just as unlikely in her mind was the idea that the girl would be hugging her so tightly, either. When that reality made itself apparent as well, she felt like her mind might just stop working.

“Eeee—” she said—or squealed, really, as it was not words she produced. Unsure of what to do with her hands, they flittered around like hummingbirds, too afraid to actually touch her and hug back.

Blessedly, her composure did eventually return and she managed to wrestle back her grasp of language. “O-okay? Uhm! Oh gosh, I’m so much more than okay! Wow!” She pulled herself upright, momentarily mortified by the look her supervisor shot her, before they walked off. “I was just, uhm! I was just testing Ablaze’s assimilative functions. I’ve never gotten to perform it myself, it’s exhilarating! Oh—uhm! I’m sorry, were you going to do it yourself? We can totally run it again if you want!”

Amygdala Circuit

That Quinn’s celebrity status was in flux across the Aerie—and most of Illun, for that matter—was more statement than question. However, in the hangar things were stubbornly unchanged. For certain some of that starry-eyed adoration had mellowed over the months as the crew saw her more often, but unlike some of the staff in security or logistics or wherever else, here none of the faces soured at her.

They were like this with Dahlia as well. For the hangar crew, who spent most of their days laboring over the Saviors, the pilots—at least, the ones they liked—wound up as close as colleagues.

Ablaze stood in its usual spot, flanked by a pair of walls that doubled as supports. Scaffold platforms were wheeled up and anchored around its legs, though only one or two people manned them. It seemed that whatever maintenance was being run on it had already concluded, while down the way, Dragon’s was just starting.

But as she got closer, Quinn could spot a brace fixed to Ablaze’s mouth, holding its mouth open. Had Quinn ever looked into her Savior’s mouth before? Beyond those gleaming razor teeth there seemed to be nothing but blackness. Saliva, dark but not quite so much as modium, dripped in long strands to the ground, vanishing into the drainage system built into the floor.

What sort of horror must it have been, to be eaten by a monster?

It seemed she’d have an answer. A long cable attached to the brace went taut, and slowly, something crawled its way out of Ablaze’s throat. Bright orange and drenched in fluid, limbs thick, hands grasping—it was a person. They wore some sort of hazard suit, holding the cable linked to a harness on their chest with one hand, and a strange device in the other.

Even the passenger in her mind recoiled. Some maniac had gone down inside the Savior? Why? Who?

Suddenly, the alien spelunker seemed to notice Quinn approaching. They jolted, nearly dropping their machine down Ablaze’s throat, and waved with an almost hysteric excitement. They made their way out of the mouth, ducking expertly beneath the teeth and onto one of the platforms. They vanished behind the Savior’s neck, then emerged on the other side, suit undone to their waist, and waved at her again. This time, without layers of modium-resistant material blocking the way, her voice was loud and clear.

“Quinn!”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia hugged Quinn back. She wouldn’t cry—for starters, she didn’t have the energy. Some days it was all she could do to drag herself to the sims, she didn’t have it in her to break down so early in the morning. Besides, Quinn made that easier. However fraught she was some days, having her around made Dahlia feel…safer. More at ease.

Being a pilot was so tumultuous on the best of days. Constants were scarce, and fleeting, and at times Dahlia was scared of how close she and Quinn had become, if for no other reason than she might lose her. For now, though, she was right here.

“You don’t have to be sorry either. We’re both just…tryin’ our best, right? That’s family stuff.” She let her head rest on Quinn’s. “Real family stuff.”

Another few indulgent moments, then Dahlia let go before she could decide to forget about her responsibilities for the day.

“Alright, I’m headin’ out. Wanna do lunch? You can pick a place, just text me whenever you get hungry!” She stuck her tablet in her pocket, threw on that bright yellow jacket from the hanger, and made for the door. “Love you!”

Then she was gone, and Quinn was alone in the dorms.

Well, partly. It was rare for Quinn to ever feel truly alone these days. As Dahlia left, a longing bubbled up in her mind. A chill ghosted down her spine, brief and not uncomfortable, like the touch of a cloud. A sound like distant hoofsteps underlaid the ambient buzzing, and the quiet sound of the TV, a decreasingly strange phenomenon as the days went by.

In the corner of her eye was the flicker of a girl sitting on the counter, absently kicking her legs, vanishing in some imperceptible trick of the light, but not gone. Never gone.

The day had begun.

Amygdala Circuit

Suddenly, Dahlia wished she’d eaten faster. Then, she felt guilty. Hovvi came to her often, sometimes as a terrifying jolt in the middle of the day, others as a protracted nightmare when she slept. Every time it was the same; she saw the lake roiling, the town burning, she heard thousands of voices screaming in fear. She saw Safie die. She saw her father…

What was she supposed to do? Lie? She couldn’t. Even if she wanted to, she could never bring herself to praise someone like that. But at the same time, what did spilling every detail of Hovvi’s destruction do for anyone? What did Quinn gain listening to Dahlia try to explain it all without breaking down? What did she gain dragging herself through it again?

But she couldn’t lie to Quinn.

“I didn’t like him,” she said flatly. “He got on with everyone, and people liked to be around him. I thought he was a selfish jerk. But he helped Runa for a long time, before…Hovvi.”

Her appetite was gone. She set her fork down and dumped what was left on her plate into the trash, then took it to the kitchen. What would Quinn do in her place? How would she feel about someone like that? Would she be as merciful to Lucis as she was to Roaki? Probably—or at least, she’d handle it better than Dahlia was.

“I’m…I’m sorry. Is it okay if we don’t…talk about this? I didn't...I’m still kinda working through it with Follen. I…I don’t really even know how I feel, yet.” She shrank a bit over the sink. "I'm sorry."

Amygdala Circuit

Stupid of her not to expect this. What, had she believed Quinn could go the rest of her life without hearing his name? That would have been practically impossible for a civilian, let alone a pilot so connected to what had happened to her. And yet, somehow, she’d managed to avoid it this long. Her memories of that night were foggy, scattered. Certain, unfortunate images had stuck with her, but the details seemed to be lost.

Besca could count on two hands the number of people who actually knew what happened in Hovvi, and fewer than that who had seen the footage. Just about none of them worked on the Aerie. She had, of course, been sworn to secrecy for the sake of Runa’s alliance with Casoban—who she wasn’t even certain were aware themselves, even at the highest level. Frankly, she had expected the RISC to try and leverage it against them, but by now either they hadn’t, or the CSC didn’t care.

Either way, hearing people speak Lucis’s name with the same reverence they did Ghaust and Safie turned her stomach. But she’d held her tongue this long, and, really, what would letting go now do for anyone?

“Oh,” Besca said, sighing and shaking her head. “He was one of the pilots who died in Hovvi. Part of the exchange deal we had going on with Casoban.” Her tablet beeped, and she didn’t have to look to know it was the Board. “Speaking of…”

Setting her fork down, Besca donned her coat and came around the counter. She gave Dahlia a quick hug, sharing a knowing glance with her—perhaps the last person on the Aerie who deserved to have to keep such an awful secret. Then she went to Quinn, planted a kiss on top of her head and squeezed her close.

“You both be good, I’ll try to be back for dinner.”

And with that, she went out to face whatever shitstorm was waiting for her today.

Dahlia was finishing up as well, though she seemed to be in less of a hurry. “Think I’m headin’ for the sims. How about you?”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca let Quinn swerve the topic of her dream. There were a lot of things she still didn’t fully understand about the girl, like what went on in that head of hers when she laid down at night. Most people, especially so early on into their piloting careers, were utterly wrecked with nightmares. Some managed to string out their honeymoon phases longer than others, but usually after they’d squared off against the Modir a few times, they began to dread shutting their eyes at the end of the day.

Yet Quinn, who by every account ought to have been entirely unable to sleep for the amount of terror Besca expected her to face at night, sleep soundly and, apparently, pleasantly. She thought about the ‘Little Her’ Quinn had told them about. The thing that came curiously to her in her dreams. Whatever it was, it was undeniably tied to the Circuit—it had to be—which meant that no matter how it presented itself, it was dangerous. But for now there was nothing to be done but to keep her monitored just like they did any other pilot, and thus far she was, diagnostically-speaking, fine.

Things were picking up on the TV. A countdown was displayed at the top of the screen, presumably for when the singularity would open. Besca knew better; the only people with the instruments to most accurately predict it were the analysts in the CSC. Nevertheless, as the clock ticked down, the two newcomers made their way to their Saviors with raucous fanfare. On their way, the broadcaster pulled up a familiar face: a picture of Lucis Abroix. It seemed they were holding some sort of memorial for him.

Besca grimaced and went back to her own meal, nearly finished, and returned her attention to Quinn. “So what’s on your agenda for the day, hun?”

Amygdala Circuit

An alien warmth bubbled up from the depths of Quinn’s mind when she took Dahlia’s hand. She wasn’t alone in missing her sister’s company, and though what few memories of her dreams followed her to the waking world were consistently foggy and fleeting, there had been a concerted effort to bring Dahlia to the forefront. When they reached the kitchen and Quinn let go, the warmth shrunk and dissipated.

The food was done. Besca slid the last of the pancakes onto a third plate, tongue struck out between her lips as she focused on stacking the fluffy, golden discs on top of each other. The middle of each pile was dotted with dark spots, which, as she set the plates out on the countertop, Quinn would realize were actually blueberries.

“Morning hun’,” Besca said.

Deelie retrieved a couple bottles from the fridge. Short and fat, labeled plainly as “Supplemental Beverage: Pilot,” they were made by the RISC and shipped up regularly. According to Besca, most places kept their pilots on strict diets alongside their exercise routines, but that was mainly for the sake of appearances. Westwel had done it too, and meals were miserable. Blessedly, at RISC, so long as the pilots kept themselves physically fit, and followed their training schedules, the worst their dietary regulations got were these vitamin shakes.

On a subprint beneath the label was the word: “Vanilla”, which, by now, Quinn could have determined to be more of an opinion than a flavor.

Dahlia didn’t even wait to eat. She cracked the top off hers and downed it all at once, face scrunching up before she tossed it in the trash, and got herself a glass of water. As she took a seat next to Quinn, she flipped on the TV.

A small singularity was forming in Casoban. Following their pyrrhic victory against Helburke, they’d had to replace two pilots. Enavant and Spectre had fully regenerated, and now it seemed Casoban was taking the opportunity to show off. An attempt at showing they were perfectly independent, perhaps.

The two Saviors stood in a field along seaside cliffs. In the far distance a town was so rife with people that the crowd was visible from miles away. A reporter in a corner sub-screen was rattling off the new pilots’ accomplishments in training, scrolling through photos like dogs at a show. Dahlia quickly lost interest, Besca continued to watch out of the corner of her eye.

“Sleep well?”

Dahlia nodded, already chewing a forkful of pancake. Besca knew better than that, even if she was sleeping better now than recently. She still kept a strict leash on how much time the girl spent in sims, but there was more to her exhaustion than sleep deprivation.

“How ‘bout you?” she asked, turning her eye to Quinn. She smiled—she made a point to. Quinn had done something drastic, and the consequences were going to be severe one way or another, but strangely she wasn’t angry. She thought she would be, certainly, but no matter how long she thought about it, she couldn’t bring herself to hold what Quinn had done against her. More than that, she didn’t want Quinn to think she did, either.

Amygdala Circuit

When you joined the RISC, and you got stationed on the Aerie, you had to square yourself with the fact that, as long as you had a job, you might never step foot on Illun again. If you were lucky, you might get assigned to the elevator crew, and every now and then you’d get to ship down and spend an afternoon at the loading bay, and maybe sneak off to grab some local food. Some people wouldn’t see a proper sunrise for three, five years—others ten, maybe longer. When you were dealing with the Modir, there wasn’t much room for vacation.

All this to say that, despite having come down to the RISC planet-side HQ to get fired, Besca went straight to a familiar burger-joint just outside of base, and decided to await the Board’s decision there. She’d taken for granted what an ocean shore looked like, and the smell of a cool breeze through a well-kept garden—she wasn’t about to miss out on this.

She ate slow, watched a Sim-Savior-League match on the desaturated television mounted on the wall, and enjoyed what was otherwise a rather pleasant quiet. She’d taken that for granted too. For a place floating in the silent void of space, the Aerie was loud, often, and as its commander, her job was to keep it that way.

Through the window she spotted Follen cross the street, and decided her break was over. If he stepped foot in here, it’d be ruined for her. She took her drink with her and met him outside. It was windy out—something else she wasn’t used to; she had to pull back her hair to keep it out of her face, and Follen’s was whipped out of its normal shape. Still, even now he had the same, indecipherable little grin plastered to his face.

“Well?” she asked, taking a long sip. “Should I expect a trial before they lock me up, or are they just gonna off me in my sleep?”

He chuckled, but didn’t answer. Instead he produced a cigarette from his breast pocket, and a lighter, and they stood there quietly as he took a drag. He brushed his hair back, blinked up at the sky, then took another. Through the smoke, he said: “You’re getting a commendation.”

For the sake of her dignity, Besca refused to choke on her drink, and elected to quietly gag. “That’s…an interesting response to treason.”

“It’s not treason. Not officially. The Board has decided our best course of action is to present a united front, in the face of our treaty’s inevitable collapse.”

“They’re giving up on Casoban?”

He shrugged. “Roaki Tormont was in possession of crucial intelligence relating to Helburke’s Great Houses. You acted under orders to secure her as a RISC asset.”

That was flimsy. Anyone who spent more than a minute around her would realize that the absolute last words that could be attributed to Roaki Tormont were: ‘crucial intelligence’. Then again, their relationship with Helburke couldn’t get any worse, and there was precedent for this sort of thing even more recently with Ghaust.

Difference was, Ghaust had been an asset of actual value. What were they going to do with Roaki?

“Don’t relax too much,” Follen said. “They’ve begun a new search for your replacement. You’re still listed as interim commander, after all.”

“And Quinn?”

Follen moved to take another drag, but Besca swiped the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it aside.

“What. About. Quinn?”

“Hm. The girl defies you at every turn, shelters an enemy, and plunges our country towards what will in all likelihood be its doom, or at least subjugation, and you’re worried about her job?”

“She’s sixteen.”

“Most teenagers just dye their hair.” Follen said, and retrieved another cigarette, turning theatrically away from Besca to light it. “Obviously, they want her gone, but losing her now would break the façade. There’s still two Saviors to fill before they can justifiably retire her, so I imagine she’ll be around longer than you—if not by much. Besides, they’re aware of Dahlia’s…attachment, to her. They’ve asked me to begin conditioning distance between them to help facilitate an eventual split.”

“That won’t work.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t particularly care; I wasn’t going to do it anyway.”

From anyone else, she would have assumed that to be a sign of affection. From Follen it was practically a confession that he was planning something worse.

“So that’s it?” Besca asked. “We just go back to business as usual?”

“We’re losing Casoban, Besca. Runa is about to be alone for the first time, against powers older and richer than we could ever dream of being. Sure, with Dahlia, and Quinn, and whoever else gets roped in we may be able to hold out awhile, but things like this happen in generational increments. Today marks the death of this nation in one fashion or another, and most of the world will be cheering.”

“And yet, you don’t seem the least bit worried.”

“Like I said, this is going to make a lot of people happy.” He flicked his cigarette away and looked down at her, eyes empty behind those pale veneers. “When have you ever known the Modir to let that stand?”

--

News spread quick, and outrage quicker. Casoban, Eusero, and of course Helburke, exploded with indignant anger. How dare Runa deny the Casobani people justice? Who were they to involve themselves? First their own incompetence costs them one of their most beloved pilots, and now they have the audacity to moralize?

Eusero, for their part, would never betray their allies so brazenly.

Even Runans seemed split on the decision. Most seemed to understand this meant the end to their allegiance with Casoban was imminent, and while many found within them a sudden patriotic compassion, many still demanded answers and a change of course. News began to report that investigations into the Board were to begin—which would, undoubtedly, peter off into nothing.

Still, the confusion was there, and a national effort to curb the rising hysteria was in full force by the end of the week. Certain foreign news channels were no longer aired, interviews with Euseran politicians and even pilots were slimmed down, with only a few appearances from high-profile Casobani guests who still favored the treaty.

On the Aerie however, there was no such embargo.

Morning, noon, and night they were bombarded with the consequences of Quinn’s actions, and the effects were noticeable. No one was outright mean, but the heroic air that had seemed to waft from her everywhere she went was wilted, and plenty of the staff regarded her coldly, or with indifference. Most, after all, didn’t know it had been Quinn’s call. The official story disseminated to the country and to RISC was that it was the Board’s, acted through Besca. But people blamed Roaki, and Quinn was openly nice to her, so she was caught in the crossfire.

Roaki, to the surprise of no one, didn’t care. She was in sims almost as often as Dahlia, sometimes without any opponent at all, even simulated ones. Life had returned to her overnight, and while her privileges were still limited, made full use of them. Most days, Quinn could find her exercising in her room, scarfing down whatever meals she was allotted, then pestering her for a duel or five. Rarely was she ever in that bed, and never did she stare into the faux light in the window.

Dahlia’s schedule had only slightly changed. At Besca’s behest, and then orders, she was disallowed from spending her every hour in the simulations. Slowly, her circadian rhythm realigned itself to normalcy, but the dark pits were practically stained around her eyes now, and even when she smiled genuinely, and laughed, and hugged Quinn tightly to tell her she loved her, she seemed tired.

Today was no different. Early to rise, but not earlier than Besca, she woke up to find the woman cooking breakfast.

“Mornin’ Deelie. Mind gettin’ Quinn? Pancakes’re almost done.”

Yawning, stretching, Dahlia made her way over to Quinn’s door, cracked open as was the way. She pushed in just enough to not flood the room with sudden light and made her way over to the bed. A gentle hand nudged Quinn’s shoulder, a sweet voice beckoned her awake.

At the lake, Quinnlash watched invisibly from the shore while Quinn enjoyed the company she’d made for her. She heard Dahlia’s calling, and eagerly faded the dream to an end.

Amygdala Circuit

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Amygdala Circuit

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