Toledot, page 33
part #2 of Post-Self Series
They sat in silence for several long minutes while Ioan digested this and End Waking did whatever it was that the penitent architect of eir entire existence here on the System did. Repent, perhaps, but what did that mean in the face of such enormity?
“Let’s walk,” Ioan finally said.
End Waking visibly brightened and nodded. There was a small unwinding of the previous ritual, where the fire within the stove was banked, the mugs rinsed clean and replaced in their spot, and his cloak donned once more.
They stepped out into the cool, clean air of the onrushing evening, and the skunk led the writer along a narrow trail worn in the undergrowth, saying, “This is the way that I take to get water when the rain-barrel is empty.”
He walked silently, thick tail held high enough to stay above the plants that lined the path, and while Ioan tried to be as graceful as ey could, ey was still a far sight clumsier and noisier than End Waking.
“Why do you like this place?” ey asked. “If it’s close to hating you, I mean.”
“Do you remember the stanza of your cocladist’s parter?”
Ioan dredged up the Ode that was the basis for all of their names and recited slowly:
That which lives is forever praiseworthy,
for they, knowing not, provide life in death.
Dear the wheat and rye under the stars:
serene; sustained and sustaining.
Dear, also, the tree that was felled
which offers heat and warmth in fire.
What praise we give we give by consuming,
what gifts we give we give in death,
what lives we lead we lead in memory,
and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.
End Waking nodded. He murmured, “I sometimes…no, I often think that I belong to the wrong stanza. This is where I belong. I like her plenty and do not begrudge her the name that she owns, but I wish, sometimes, that I was named And The End Of Memory Lies Beneath The Roots.”
Ioan looked around at the trees, the ferns, the carpets of periwinkle and spots of mint and horsepepper and balm, the epiphytes climbing trunks, the moss on stumps.
“I do not think that the author of the Ode meant literally,” the skunk said, laughing. “But you share my views on it. While it is not strictly possible on the System, I do hope that one day, the end of memory, that memory of all that I did, lies dead beneath the roots.”
A few minutes of silent walking followed as Ioan was guided through a section of, yes, thick roots that threatened to entangle eir feet.
Once they were past that, he continued. “It is important to me that there be something other than politics in the world. I spent so much of my existence shaping the world around me to some grand scheme. Now that I am completely and utterly beholden to the world in turn, it feels relaxing, freeing.”
“May said something like that,” Ioan said, panting. “That there was freedom in staying behind in a world where not staying behind is the default.”
“May Then My Name is the only one of my entire stanza that I like, and certainly the only one that I trust.”
Ioan smiled, nodded.
“So many of the Odists are built to manipulate in such complex ways. It is all part of theatre. I am sure that you two have talked about that already. Even May Then My Name is manipulative in her unfailingly kind way.” The skunk stopped and stepped aside to let Ioan come stand beside him before a creek at the bottom of a ravine. “It is a very difficult habit to break. Serene is manipulative: this place is built to be loved in spite of its antipathy towards intrusions. Dear is manipulative: its life is one lived bending the experiences of others to its whims in ways far beyond any those of any prior artist as it plays its games. I am a repentant manipulator.”
“How so?” ey asked.
End Waking laughed. “Are you impressed with my earnestness? I hope that you are, because I strive to be earnest. Are you impressed with the silence with which I move through the landscape? I hope that you are, it is borne from practice. Were you amused by the absent minded way that I made tea? The way I just puttered around, doing this, then that, as though I kept remembering that I needed first wood, then water, then mugs?”
Ioan tilted eir head. “I suppose. It was endearing.”
“A clever ruse left over from long habit. It is a way to be likeable.”
“Doesn’t everyone want to be likeable, though?”
“Yes. It is a matter of intent, I suppose.” He gave a lopsided grin and bumped his shoulder against Ioan’s. “But I am being a mopey little shit. Thank you for humoring me.”
Ioan laughed. “Of course. It was still a nice conversation, even if it was a stressful topic. And it’s a beautiful place to talk, and a beautiful walk.”
End Waking nodded. “That it is. I never get tired of it. I wonder if it is still penance if one enjoys it.”
“I suppose it can be. It still sounds difficult.”
“It is that, too.” He leaned down and plucked yellow-green berries from a bush, gathering a small pawful to give to Ioan. “Gooseberries for May Then My Name. Did you have any more questions for me?”
Ioan frowned and accepted the handful of berries carefully, slipping them into a pocket of eir vest after unbuttoning it so that ey would not squish them. “Um, one more, though I am conscious of all the warnings I’ve received about not pushing anyone hard enough that they’ll resent me.”
The skunk grinned. “I will not resent you, Ioan. I am trying to shake that habit, and I like you. I just may not answer.”
Feeling strangely bashful at the compliment, ey shrugged. “Just that you mentioned your short- and mid-term goals for meddling with finances. What were the long-term goals?”
“Critical mass.”
“Critical mass? What do you mean?”
There was a long silence before, rather than answering, End Waking took Ioan by the elbow and guided em back to the trail. “Let us get you back so that the berries are still fresh for May Then My Name.”
Codrin Bălan#Pollux—2325
Throughout eir relationship with Dear, Codrin had had chances to meet several other furries, both those who had been in the subculture prior to uploading and those who had come to it after. They had come in various shapes and sizes, the two notable examples of which were a room-filling dragon of some sort (or so ey guessed) and a perfectly ordinary house cat. Perfectly ordinary, that is, except for her heavily inflected and curse-laden speech.
Despite not having the chance to meet him yet, ey had also learned much about Debarre from eir conversations with the various members of the Ode clade, as well as eir research into the Council of Eight.
At one point, ey asked Dear how it was that a full quarter of the council that guided the System toward secession was made up of furries, and the fox had laughed.
“Can you not guess why a furry might be an early and ardent adopter of a system that seems purpose built to allow one to assume what form feels most natural?”
Made sense. Ey still looked forward to meeting Debarre that evening.
What had started as a suggestion to get a few voices together for Codrin to interview had then turned into a suggestion for a dinner party, and from there into what promised to be a cozy, wine-fogged house party that might sprout from a group of friends who enjoyed company, but also quiet.
The guests started arriving in the late afternoon, with the first to arrive being Debarre. Dear greeted him with a grin and a hug before the slender mustelid greeted both of the fox’s partners with paw-shakes and half-hugs.
“Wonderful to meet you two. Dear’s been gushing about you for years, and I’m only sorry that it’s taken until now for us to actually meet.”
The weasel was about Dear’s height—which was to say a few inches shorter than Codrin—covered with a svelte coat of chestnut brown fur, minus a cream-colored front, though much of this was covered with a semiformal outfit of all black.
As ey did whenever meeting another furry, Codrin was surprised by just how casual they could be. For some reason, eir mind seemed primed to view them all as intense as the fox, but Debarre was friendly and relaxed.
Next to arrive was a…well, Codrin could tell that he was human and that he was male, but for some reason, he had a hard time discerning any distinct features about him. He was plain to the point where the eye seemed to simply slide off of him.
He was greeted with an enthusiastic handshake from Dear, who announced, “This is user11824, one of the unsung heroes of the early System.”
“I am in no way a hero,” he drawled laconically. “I spent more time keeping you dumbasses in check than anything else.”
“A truly heroic feat, that.”
user11824 rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be guided in to where there was wine and a few trays of snacks. He greeted Debarre warmly—more so, Codrin noticed, than he had Dear, though ey could not guess why.
The final guest was a tall, black gentleman dressed in a plain white tunic and white linen pants, who Dear greeted with a handshake that bordered on delicate. He seemed anxious nearly to the point of panic, so Codrin and Dear’s partner simply bowed to him unobtrusively.
Codrin watched the reactions of the other guests, making note of how they both treated him with some mix of deference and awe that ey could not quite place.
Dear’s partner explained as Codrin followed them to the kitchen. “That’s Yared Zerezghi. If the Odists are to thank for Secession sys-side, he’s to thank for it phys-side. He wrote the amendment that formalized Secession among the other phys-side governments.”
Ey stopped halfway through opening a bottle of wine. “Really? I wasn’t expecting a dinner full of politicians.”
They laughed. “I don’t think any of them would call themselves politicians. Dear would call itself an ‘interested party’ or something similarly vague. I think Debarre would call himself a guide, or maybe a dupe. user11824 would just call himself boring. Get used to that word, he uses it a lot.”
“And Yared? He seems, I don’t know, nervous.”
“He was just a DDR junkie. He followed politics as a hobby, but with a single-minded focus that made him attractive to both phys- and sys-side on the debate.” They shrugged and pulled down wine glasses from the cabinet one by one. “I think he’d call himself a pawn. A puppet, maybe. The nervousness stems from being so thoroughly used by both sides and now coming to the house of an Odist, I think, but don’t quote me on that. Take these.”
Codrin frowned, nodded, and accepted two of the glasses to carry out with the wine, while Dear’s partner brought out the other four.
Once the drinks had been poured and passed around, Dear stood and, in the grand style that ey had come to love, declaimed, “First, we will have a toast, and then we will drink. After that, we will eat, and then—only then, my dear—may you ask your questions.”
Ey laughed and raised eir glass. “I’m in.”
“The toast, then!” Dear composed itself, standing up straighter and holding its glass aloft. “To the complete stupidity of anyone unlucky enough to wind up in politics, and the utter hubris of anyone who tries.”
Debarre laughed and raised his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”
“Then, by all means, let us drink,” the fox said, and did just that.
The dinner was, as always, delicious: a spicy peanut and bell-pepper soup and a few dishes of beef, vegetables, and lentils. Far more food than was strictly necessary, but Codrin suspected that it was more for Yared’s sake than anyone else’s, as he calmed down greatly after having eaten (and having had a few glasses of wine), complimenting the food several times. He even began joining in the conversation towards the end of the meal.
Once plates had been cleared and another bottle of wine opened, user11824 nudged Codrin’s arm. “How do you put up with such an insufferably boring life?”
Ey grinned, “Dear provides the entertainment, we just watch.”
The fox preened.
“Yeah, but you’re a writer, Dear’s a whatever-the-fuck, and they’re a cook and I guess painter. Boring on, like, a subatomic level.”
“Boring is nice, sometimes,” Dear’s partner said.
“Oh god, you’re telling me,” user11824 laughed. “I’d never turn it down. Excitement always means that something horrible is happening.”
“You know,” Debarre said, nodding to the ill-defined man. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever actually explained that when I’ve been around. I always just thought you were bitching whenever we went somewhere or had a conversation and you called it boring.”
“If we’re somewhere exciting or a conversation is actively interesting, it means that someone’s fucked up.”
Dear laughed. “It is important to fuck up, my friend. Otherwise, the boredom may become terminal.”
He rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Fucking boring.”
Even Yared was grinning at the exchange. “You know, before I uploaded, I was in contact with a few members of the Council,” he said. “And although the work was interesting, I always loved hearing about the ways in which dynamics differed sys-side.”
“Oh, I guarantee you, I was just as bored phys-side.”
“Yes, but look at you. You’ve made being boring into an art. You went ahead and made it interesting.”
“Bullshit.”
Codrin laughed. “No, I’m with Yared on this. You’ve got a name that sounds like a default ’net username, and you’ve somehow made it so that I can’t seem to describe any one aspect of you. You’ve got a face, I can say that for sure. Your eyes are brown. Or maybe hazel? It’s like if I tried to look more closely to figure out which, though, I’d absolutely die of boredom.”
He laughed. “Job well done, I say.”
Dear raised its glass, “To artists who have perfected their craft.”
Figuring that, since dinner had come to a close, Codrin hazarded the first question. “Yared, you said you were in contact with a few members of the council. Who were you talking with?”
“No one here,” he grumbled. “Well, mostly. One of Dear’s clade and Jonas. If either of them were invited, I never would’ve come.”
“Me either,” Debarre said.
“Same.” user11824 shrugged. “Though I’d be surprised if Dear had invited them.”
“Quite,” the fox said curtly.
Debarre looked sheepishly at the fox, ears splayed. “Sorry, Dear. I know you’ve distanced yourself from all that.”
“They were interesting,” user11824 said. “And I can’t think of anything worse.”
Codrin redirected the conversation. “That aside, then, when did you upload, Yared? Or any of you, I guess.”
“I uploaded Secession day. Literally about an hour before Secession itself. I was the last upload before it took effect. An ‘honor’ they called it.”
Codrin nodded, looked to Debarre.
“The same day as Dear,” Debarre said.
“What? Was that planned?”
The weasel laughed. “Oh yes. Michelle and I pooled our money to upload as soon as we could.”
“You were friends before, then?”
Dear nodded. “We went through a lot together.”
Codrin was tempted to ask if Debarre had also known the author of the Ode, but knew that that went well beyond dinner-wrecking. Instead, ey looked to user11824.
“I dunno. 2120? It was an exciting time, and I’ve done my best to forget about it.”
“About what percentage of your time on council was exciting?” Debarre asked.
“More than I would’ve liked.”
Dear’s partner laughed. “Why’d you even join, then?”
“Mom was a politician,” he said, shrugging. “I learned all that bullshit from her, and the S-R Bloc gang pressed me into joining.”
“Who were they?” Codrin asked.
“There were three of them on the Council. Part of the initial agreement, since the System was originally hosted somewhere in Russia.” Debarre counted off on his fingers. “Those three, me, user11824, Zeke, and then Michelle and Jonas.”
“Well, I know the Odists are here on the LVs, as well as you two and Ezekiel. Are Jonas and the Russians here?”
user11824 frowned. “That’s an interesting question.”
“That’s a bad thing, isn’t it?”
“Jonas is on the LVs, yes. The S-R Bloc trio are no longer on the System.” Dear swirled its wine in its glass. “Ask a different question, my dear.”
Codrin nodded. “Alright. Were any of the rest of you involved in Launch as well as Secession?”
Debarre snorted and shook his head. “No, thank God. I had my fill, and I was glad when the Council dissolved.”
“What happened to dissolve it?”
He looked to Dear, who shrugged. “After a while, it was just Odists and Jonases,” he said down to his wine glass. “Any possible guidance the Council could have provided would have come from them even if we had said it. It had been so thoroughly undermined that we all basically gave up and let the thing end rather than artificially prolonging a puppet government.”
“We were terrible people, yes.” Dear’s shoulders slumped. “I am quite glad that I had not yet been forked for that. If I had had any direct participation in all that happened, I doubt that I would be sitting here with you all.”
Yared spoke up next. “I didn’t have anything to do with the launch effort. I dropped politics like a bad habit as soon as I saw the direction in which the Council was heading. That said, I couldn’t help but learn all I could about it, read every memo I could, learn about some of the physics of it. I was just done with being an active participant.”
“Why is that?” Codrin asked.
Yared turned his wine glass between his fingertips for a moment, simply thinking. “How much do you know about Christianity?” he asked.
Ey must have looked quite confused at the question, as Dear giggled.
“I promise I’m going somewhere with this,” Yared said, grinning nervously.
“You can actually blame me for this, my dear. I helped him come up with the correlation he is about to use.”
