The Gus Ascendancy, page 15
Was he seeing her like this, more naked than she had ever been?
Journey found herself more afraid of that than of whatever small dangers she’d been fearing back among titans and reptars and cultist crowds.
She shrank back at the idea that Sam might see her here, fully exposed, where all her fears and petty resentments were on full display. Where he could see all her feelings about him — the secret judgments, the growing love she was afraid to admit even to herself, her tender hopes for their future together, and her unadmirable desires to steer him into a shape that would fit them. All the things she wanted hidden were on irrevocable display. As she shrank back, the whole scene grew dimmer and drifted apart, then she began to surface out of the vision that held them there.
But no. This was important. Sam was important.
She toughened up and turned back to the mission. If Sam saw her beyond naked, so be it. There were worse things she would have been willing to suffer. Part of her even felt the secret thrill of it. If they all got out of this intact, she would know and be known by Sam like few humans had ever experienced.
It was an idea that would have excited her at most times, and now, in this place beyond time and space — beyond body — it drew her with an almost magnetic power back to Sam and the true essence she wanted to draw out of him.
Had Thor felt this otherworldly intimacy with all the people he’d severed? No wonder he cared so much about severing every precious person he could. No wonder he was worn so thin. How could one man possibly bear it, to care so much about so many?
She set to work, feeling her way through the task, gliding instinctively and intuitively in that wide open and revelatory space.
She gave up quickly on the idea of getting it right. There was no chance. The discernment, complexity, and sheer volume of work would be as great as ... well, as completely fixing a person. It wasn't something you could do in a single sitting.
But that wasn't her goal. She refocused on just scouring away the bulk of the Ronan-imprint. She didn't need to get Sam perfect. She just needed to get him back.
Even with her new resolution, she quickly returned to the question of how, exactly, to do it.
Tentatively she moved closer to him, even without knowing quite what movement or closeness meant in that space. Parts of him shrank away. Others reciprocated, reaching out tentatively or confidently. A small part yearned toward her, already ready to merge into one.
Journey felt a flutter at the raw intimacy — not just the desire, but the complete transparency. It was the first time she’d seen someone's loves and fears like this, laid out for her to watch and manipulate, not hidden under layers of conflicting motives and muffled by voice and body, by self-delusion and self-protection.
Beginning to get a sense of how it worked here, she took hold of some of the most crudely obvious pieces of Ronan that had gotten layered onto Sam then began pulling it away. She'd thought of it like a heavy blanket muffling Sam’s real personality. But as she began trying to heave it away, she found it wasn’t that simple. Even the most obviously unfitting elements were complex in themselves, rooted together and beginning to extend tangles of connection into other parts of Sam's self.
And at her attempts to remove them, they shrank back, hardened, resisted.
In frustration, she cried out — not in words — This isn't you!
The emotion and the meaning went out from her in a pulse and, unexpectedly, as it hit Sam, he began disentangling himself from the part she was attending to.
Encouraged, she tried again.
This isn't you. You're Sam.
His response quickened, decoupling from Ronan and peeling away.
She redoubled her efforts.
You’re Sam. Not Ronan. You’re Sam.
But even as she kept pushing the image at him, even as he responded, she sensed it turning wrong. He was reconfiguring himself, yes, but not the way she expected. At first, it seemed almost random. He was tightening some connections, loosening others, gaining strength in unexpected places. He drew edges of the great Ronan-hulk close. The tactical insight. The care for his followers. He locked them down, fed energy into them, even as he let other parts — the boldness, the aggression — begin to wither away.
Other parts of him began dying off, too, even as she called him back to himself. A part of him reached out, palpably empty, feeling about for the missing piece that would fill it back in, and with horror she realized he was looking for Gus. Not Gus the person, but Gus the presence. Whatever it was Sam got out of that relationship — the affirmation, the need to be needed, or the quiet satisfaction of being the reliable one. It was complicated. But it was not Sam. Not the Sam she wanted, certainly.
No! she cried out, unable to hide her judgment, her horror.
Sam began to shrink back. He kept reaching out for Gus, but that part of him hardened and tried to hide. Not that he could hide, not here. She felt the pain of his retreat, and the pain she had caused him.
Journey tried to soften herself, to accept even the weakness in him that left him addicted to Gus.
It’s okay. She tried to imbue it with as much acceptance as she could. You’re Sam.
At this he relaxed a little. Softened. Came out of hiding. But he kept reaching for the missing presence of Gus.
And then she saw her mistake.
She wasn’t calling him to be himself. She was calling him to be what he pictured when he thought of himself. He wanted to be kind not tough, so the tough parts of Ronan fell away and the compassionate parts fixed themselves more firmly. He liked being clever and a little tricky, so he was doubling down on the clever tactical parts of Ronan to buff up the parts of him that loved puns and puzzles and twisty heist movies. Sam was clever, but Ronan’s real-world, practical, tactical brilliance was Sam’s wit on steroids. No wonder Sam was clutching it close.
And Gus. Of course, Gus. Gus had been part of Sam for years. Maybe decades. In Sam’s heart of hearts, there was no Sam without a Gus. Which was a horrifying idea, but what mattered here wasn’t her opinion. It was the vision that rang true deep inside Sam.
And with that, she understood her task.
Not just to push Sam to revert to type, but to call out the true Sam within him.
Her heart had been crying out to Sam urgently, unceasingly, You’re Sam! But now she fell silent, let go of the call, allowed the urgency to fade. For silent moments beyond time, they drifted together.
The changes in Sam stopped, then he began drifting back to his starting point. He was like a compass suddenly deprived of its north. She could feel the hesitation in him, wondering where she had gone but being afraid to ask.
Her heart wanted to rush to his rescue. But she held off. Urgency was dishonest. She waited.
Still Sam cast about, drifting back into the common slow semi-random evolution of the self.
She watched the gradual shaping work of his fears, his need to impress, his desire to win, his struggles to assert himself. And as if rising above a single hillside to see the whole landscape, she saw the underlying patterns of Sam. His shape made sense, seeing those small shifts and reflexive reactions. Of course he had become this person, given time. Watching the rivers, she understood the canyons.
And now she understood what was needed.
It was not a matter of teasing apart the Sam from the Ronan. It was about calling the true Sam, the best Sam, out of the web of desires and false voices and tangled influences that had shaped the landscape of his soul for years.
She began to think of everything she knew about him, everything she loved. Her own bare self reached out in a dozen ways, intensely vulnerable. There could be no hiding here, no coyness. He would see how much she wanted him, what parts of him she still hated or feared, each nuance of her desire, every little strategy she’d adopted for protection.
Steeling herself, she pressed on. It was not that she didn’t care if Sam saw it. She was mortified, and already it was taking all her effort to keep from thinking about the next time they saw each other in person, back in the real world.
But it was worth it. It had to be. And so, she pressed on.
Reinvigorated, she began calling out to him. This time it was not in desperation. This time it was calm, clear, with the blazing vision of the man Sam was made to be.
Not You’re Sam, whatever he understood that to be.
Instead, holding that blazing vision of the perfection of Sam, she called out to him from the depths of her heart, You’re this.
And Sam's soul leapt awake.
The changes were impressive to watch. The whole of Sam's self was a-quiver, startled and strengthened by the vision she held of him. It was as if everything in him was at once wondering whether it could possibly be true and surging ahead in the joyful knowledge that it was.
You’re strong, she told him, not in words so much as an intuitive mix of imagination and memory and emotion. She called to mind — no, to heart — the times she had admired him for hard decisions he’d made, for stepping up when she could see everything in him wanted to step back.
She felt him respond. It was almost like sex. In some ways better, though missing the physicality. It was a raw electric touch of soul to soul, a deep indelible stream of life-giving admiration. And as she held the vision before him, he released the strength he’d drawn from being Ronan.
Energized, she called out to him again.
You’re gentle.
Again, he responded to the raw love in the way she saw him. The walls he’d hardened against his gentleness melted away. His old self blossomed in all its compassionate sensitivity. Her love was like a magnet drawing his true self to the surface.
She continued to call to him.
You’re honest.
Indeed, Sam before Ronan was the most scrupulously honest of any of them, the only one willing to face the truth no matter how nervous it made him. And that unfolded her love another layer.
You’re brave.
They continued that way for time out of time, Journey growing ever bolder in love, Sam coming alive in the light she shone on him.
The roots the Ronan-self had sunk into him withered and weakened. The Sam-self returned, awakening and growing strong.
And then, in one unspeakably satisfying moment, the great bulk of Ronan sloughed off of Sam. That matted complex of cynicism and figuring and stale old memories and tired eyes fell away, and all that remained was Sam as she’d known him. Earnest, nervous, scared but brave, gentle but strong.
Not perfect, but perfectly Sam.
Without quite meaning to, she opened her eyes, allowed her consciousness to surface out of that starry place and back into scattered sight.
From the corner where the pyramid lay, she watched herself look into Sam’s eyes. They shared a long moment of silent understanding. A giggle escaped her. Sam leaned forward, quick as a flash, and they kissed, long and deep. It was him. He was back. More laughter bubbled out of her, even through sudden tears, and then they were in each other’s arms, laughing and crying, scared and alive and together.
And then she remembered Thor.
It was too soon. They needed time together. Time to make sense of it all. To return to the world.
Sam nodded, squeezed her hand. “Later.”
There would be time to process it. Time to enjoy each other properly. Later.
Hating the world, she brought herself back to the current crisis.
John Mark was back on his pew, a bundle of nervous energy. But all three had been holding hands when they started.
“John Mark? What—” She couldn’t quite put it into words.
But he apparently knew what she was asking. “Sorry. It seemed like you two had it covered. And it was getting a little — third-wheel-ish. You know?”
“Third-wheel-ish?”
John Mark blushed, but after a moment of hesitation, he managed to spit it out. “It was different than last time. I don’t know. Maybe because we weren’t severing anyone from the hive, just … you know. From himself.” His eyes darted to Sam. “You guys totally didn’t need me in the mix. It was … pretty intimate. Like, you don’t just hang out in the middle of the couch when the other two start making out. You know?”
“Oh.” She saw herself blush, shared a flicker of shy eye contact with Sam.
“Totally,” he said. “Um, cool. Thanks?”
“Yeah.”
“Um.” Sam rose awkwardly. “So. Thor?”
Journey quickly stood as well. “Yeah. Definitely. How long has it been since we started?”
John Mark shrugged. “Not long. Maybe a minute?”
“Good.” The hard confidence was gone from Sam’s voice. “Yeah, it seems like time passes differently in the star field. That’s good. It felt like—” His gaze darted again to Journey. “Um, it felt longer. But yeah. Good. Let’s take a look at Thor.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sam took a few cautious steps closer to Thor, studying him intently.
Journey was relieved to see his attention was no longer stuck on the altar.
Still, there was something different about him. Something un-Sam. Too steady, too confident. For a moment, she was scared the scouring hadn’t worked. He was diving straight into the dangerous unknown, calm and decisive. Very Ronan.
But as she watched him, she realized it was taking more out of him than she’d initially realized. His body was relaxed, but his face was tight with fear.
Maybe it wasn’t a matter of Ronan still in him. Maybe he was just growing. A person probably couldn’t spend months with Ronan in his head without getting a little better at handling things the way he would have.
She approached carefully. The block of crystal felt like it was lying in wait. Everything in her screamed to stay away. Probably the altar trying to protect itself, but she didn’t disagree. She’d felt the raw vulnerability of the star field, and even without the help of a powerful conduit like Thor or an artifact like the altar, it had been one of the most intense experiences of her life. Who knew what black and starry pit she would fall into if she touched the altar? Who knew if she would ever get out?
Still, she refused to let the it control her actions. She edged closer, her jaw tight with determination.
“Vitals?” Sam suggested.
“Yeah.” She felt at Thor’s throat for a pulse. It was slow, but present. Same with respiration. He could have been in a deep sleep, except for the expression of deep concentration on his face.
It was bizarre how quickly her brain was getting used to sight independent of her eyes. She could see almost the entirety of the sanctuary even as she leaned close to check Thor’s vitals. Behind her, Sam waited intently for the verdict. She turned and gave him a shrug. “He’s alive. Slow pulse. Maybe asleep.”
“Or a coma.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I’ll get Gus.”
“What?”
“He broke the altar in the first place.”
“I thought you did it together.”
“We were together, but he’s the one who did it. I tried. The hatchet just bounced off. I think you need his connection or whatever. I’ll get him.”
There was something reflexive in that last phrase, almost compulsive. Getting Gus was a groove worn deep in Sam’s brain. Ronan had covered it up, probably, but now Ronan was truly gone, and Sam was back to glomming onto the nearest alpha.
“We can figure it out without him.” Gus was the last person she wanted to deal with right then. She’d almost take the reptar over him. At least with a reptar, you knew where you stood. It would try to rip your face off. You’d try to kill it or get away. No harm, no foul. Gus made everything weird and slimy. “There’s got to be a way.”
“I mean, there might be. Probably. If we thought about it long enough and everything. But do we want to sit here figuring it out while the titans take over town and Thor keeps getting sucked in and Gus keeps doing his whole … whatever's going on out there?”
She barely held back a snarl of frustration. "Fine. Whatever. Go get him."
"Right. Yeah. Good." Sam looked around, a bit at a loss, then pulled himself together with a nod. "Are you coming?"
John Mark’s voice drifted out of the shadows. “Someone should stay with Thor.”
"Oh. Right. Obviously. Good thinking. I’ll be right — I mean, I’ll go try to … " Sam made a hesitant move toward the exit.
Journey darted a look at Thor. But he wasn’t going anywhere, and God knew what Gus would do to Sam in his newly vulnerable state. She rose. “I’ll come along. John Mark, you can keep an eye on things here.”
“Oh. Good.” Sam’s relief was palpable. “Great.”
He flashed a weak smile at her then darted ahead of her into the daylight.
Chapter Sixteen
Outside the church building, Gus was adopting a new strategy. He'd flipped through Sun Tzu’s The Art of War a few times in his day, and now he was employing an innovatively brilliant new combination of war of attrition and hearts and minds. Well, minds and gems, technically.
The key had been a change of mindset about the titans' massive uptick in acolyte formation.
If he thought of them as new enemy minions being granted superpowers, three at a time at a steady clip, he had to admit it was worrying.
But if he thought of them as a resource, everything changed. Gus didn't have the power to make his own acolytes out of just anybody yet. But he was quickly getting the knack of turning the blue gems of the hive’s acolytes into the red gems of the Ascendancy. It was psionic judo, basically. Use your enemy’s momentum against him.
He still wasn't as fast as the titans were, and there was only one of him and three of them — somehow the little old lady beside them forced herself into his count — but still, every one that he converted was one more for him and one less for them. So, in a way, he was working two at a time.
