Forerunner's Child (12) (Patreon)

Someone was waiting just outside the compact template housing exit. Whether Sawyer had been there just for her or happened to pick that place to read something on his little computer, she didn’t know. Either way, he tucked it into his jacket, and hurried over to her. "Kit! I hoped you'd be out soon. Got a minute?"

She scrambled onto her feet, running one hand through her hair. "Doesn't everyone?" she asked. Kit straightened her tail, keeping her ears as still as she could. Anything to keep from showing her anxiety. "Look at everyone—they've got nothing but time."

Sawyer reached up, tugging on the stubby antler emerging from his black hair. Kit was yet to see a single other citizen with antlers—but there were no other squirrels, either. "If you've got somewhere to be, I can find you later. Maybe next time you run out onto the surface alone."

She flushed. Her tail started to move on its own, protective fluff separating her from the deer. She pushed it aside with both hands. "Am I in trouble? Wren wasn't mad. Forerunner didn't tell me no. I think he wanted me to see."

"Trouble? Nah." He looked her up and down. "Let me guess. Calisthenics dome. You'd have shoes if you were going into the environmental dome."

"I think so. That climbing course..." She pointed down the hall, albeit only vaguely in the direction of the climbing area. She was still learning the Institute. "That's the same place, right?"

He patted her shoulder. "I'll show you the way. I promise not to slow you down much."

Kit shrugged and continued down the hall. It wasn't like they were the only ones—plenty of others stopped to stare. She didn't see anyone trying to hide or run away anymore. Did the Institute still think she was a barbarian?

"Wanted to see how you were doing," Sawyer said. "There's always an adjustment period when you first wake up. Half of our citizens end up in Remedial within three months of being instanced. It's a lot of adaptability."

She kept her voice low. "It's weird for you people too," she said. "Being this tiny." She poked his chest, at about her head level. "Not just me."

"Not just you." He caught her hand, pushing it gently away. "I didn't have a chance to tell you earlier, so I'll say it now. It's okay if you need time to adjust. It's okay to ask for Remedial. It's okay to ask for someone to talk to."

In a way, that was exactly what she was doing. But not about herself. "Wren said something like that."

"Some residents like talking to her. But others get intimidated. Wren's our leader, she has a fancy office. Not everyone thinks she can understand them."

"But you understand me," she supplied, without thinking. "That's what you're saying? It's okay if I talk to you instead."

"Maybe. It's good to have options." He hesitated, flicking a few strands of hair away from her face. "Should come by my office sometime either way. I could help you tame this."

"You cut girls' hair?"

He nodded. "Have to get it right the first time. We don't grow much, so—mistake sticks with you for a century or two."

"I'll do that." She stopped in front of the doors to the climbing course. Outside, she didn't worry so much about being overheard. Shouts, squeals, and giggles from inside covered anything she might say.

"I... appreciate what you're doing. Being nice to me, trying to help. Being a friend." She stood up as tall as she could, rising up on tiptoe. She could almost reach his chin. It would have to do. "I'm not losing my mind. Going out into space isn't a sign that I'm crazy—it's how I know I'm still me."

She settled back down onto her heels, folding her arms. "I'm an explorer, one of the bravest there ever was. If I just walked away from a chance to see my new home—I wouldn't be me. I'd know I was just a copy."

Sawyer patted her shoulder. "Okay, Kit. I get you. Just don't forget about this conversation. Forever's a long time. When you need help, I'll be there."

He continued down the hall, leaving her by the door.

"Who's there for you?" Kit called after him.

Sawyer's only answer was quiet laughter, fading as he slipped into an elevator and vanished from view.

She lingered outside the glass doors for a few more seconds, rocking nervously back and forth on the spongy floor. Until a cat peeked her head outside, holding out her hand. "Squirrel? Here to climb?"

She took it, nodding eagerly. "Can I?"

Sadie tugged her through the doors into the climbing calisthenics area, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder. "Sure Kit. But before I let you loose, I need to give you a safety briefing."

She pointed up at one side of the room, where a huge rock wall extended three vertical stories—from her size. At each level, padded ledges, floors, and other surfaces stretched in different directions, weaving together and over each other. They met slides, narrow gaps with rotating cylinders, and a huge pit of foam squares, all at different points.

"Always look down before you jump," Sadie began. "Anyone lower than you has priority. No food or drinks inside. Can you remember those rules?"

"That's it? They let you climb anywhere you want?"

"You can try," said another voice, not far away. Kit turned, and found a fox watching them—but not either of those she'd met so far. This one had white hair, white fur, and a white tail tipped with black. She was Kit's own height, instead of Sadie's. "Higher off the ground you get, the harder it is. Only full templates can make it to the top. You probably won't even go halfway for your first few years."

Sadie shrugged. "True. But that's not a rule. If you can make it to the top, you get to go to the top."

"She's just salty she can't make it all the way," said another fox, emerging from a huge slide exit. He could’ve been the pale fox's twin, except for being a little older, and a little taller. Kit guessed he was a boy, but it wasn't obvious. He had the same haircut, same fur, and the same general build. "Don't let Pat say you can't. That tail has to be good for something."

"I could explain how to get up there—but it's more fun if I don't." Sadie took a few steps back, then broke into a sprint, running straight for a length of heavy netting extending over a ledge. She clambered over it with little difficulty, ascending towards a tunnel. Soon the cat was gone, climbing the wrong way up a slide suspended several stories off the ground.

Several Kit-sized stories, anyway. As she watched, a kid went tumbling off a foam ramp a little higher, twisting over himself in the air. Kit jumped back—but she was nowhere near him.

Rich landed on the ground in front of her, on all fours. He spun on her, then rose onto two legs. He stretched both hands, then ran one through his disheveled hair. "Hey squirrel. Finally found the obstacle course?"

He leaned on a nearby divider, settling his glasses back into place on his nose. "There's lots of ways down, even from high up. That was a... shortcut. Probably too advanced for you."

Kit walked past him, scanning the course for every possible method of approach. She had seen plenty of its more modest equivalent. But if she had ever been the right age to enjoy one, she didn't remember it.

For a little while, Kit forgot about her fears—forgot her conviction and her purpose. Her worries were all still there, waiting in the back of her mind for when she had the time to take them seriously. But right then, in that moment, she had more important things to worry about.

Pat the arctic fox followed her around the climbing course, expression serious. "Don't let it scare you, squirrel. Everything in here is soft. Even if you go all the way down from up high, you'll be okay. Maybe a little sore."

Kit dropped down to one knee, stretching. "I'm not scared. Just... looking for the best way up."

"You won't see all the ways from down here. There are lots of little secrets. Forerunner changes things every few months—adds new stuff, takes away other things. Used to be a big trampoline in the center, but now there's the pit instead. Keeps stuff from getting stale."

She's scared, Kit realized. The way she pawed at the ground in her oversized jacket, without committing to climb. Kit turned, settling one hand on her collar. "You wanna go up with me? We gotta get rid of this first."

The fox froze in place, ears folding back. She stepped up on tiptoe, squirming away from Kit—but she was too quick. She had the jacket off, tossed towards the rack of other clothes. "I need the padding! I always fall."

"You wouldn't fall so much if you weren't dressed for the arctic." Kit tugged her wrist, over to a tunnel that opened near the ground. "Looks like this goes halfway up. We can take this to the ropes course, then loop around to the jumps."

Pat whimpered. "I guess... it's really true, isn't it? You went out into space on your first trip."

"Yeah. I'm Kit. And I'm climbing to the top. Wanna come with or not?"

It didn't even matter that there were people here she wanted to talk to. Maybe that would be important again when she reached the top—not before.

"I... used to. When my twin was the same size as me. It's harder now."

Kit saw it. Even from the ground, there were obvious divisions in the course, jumps further apart, ledges and steps that a little extra height would make far easier to overcome.

There was a flash of gold fur, visible near the exit of a high tunnel. Sadie was already most of the way up. She hadn't seen the bunny yet—Emma must already be up there.

"We can make it. I had to do stuff like this before. Maybe if this was homeworld gravity... but it's not! We can do this!"

"I think... okay. Since you're a squirrel. But don't let me fall!"

They climbed. At first there was no danger of falling—crawling up tunnels of plastic and foam, twisting through ladders and a maze of vivid colors. The fox following her even started to relax—until they reached the first big jump.

Kit took it without a second thought. Her tail stretched open, and her hands caught a net with superhuman speed.

"Come on!"

She made it up onto the ledge, then held out her arm. "I'll grab you if you fall!"

It wasn't even much of a fall, maybe twice Kit's height. Even so, Pat's eyes went wide, glancing down and up again with naked terror on her face. "How am I... I dunno if I can!"

Haven't you lived centuries in this gravity? A fall like that onto cement might be seriously dangerous, under homeworld conditions. But this wasn't the homeworld, and the playground floor was soft.

"Go on!" Kit could do nothing to force the fox—but she could reach out a little further, clinging to the ledge with her legs around a soft pole. "I got you!"

The fox jumped, without properly committing to the distance. She flailed, squealing and swinging her arms rapidly in both directions.

Kit watched, counting the seconds, then caught her. The girl's weight threatened to rip her away from her ledge—but she held on wrapping both legs tight. For a few seconds she hung over the edge, clinging to Pat with one hand.

"Don't drop me!"

She would have, if it wasn't for Mara's lower gravity. But despite her reduced strength, she still had enough. She reached down with her other arm, settling it on Pat's shirt. Then she pulled.

The fox lifted up over the edge with her, sprawling in a heap.

"See? Told you. We got this." She looked sideways, grinning toothily at her companion. Thanks to their little display, she wasn't the only one watching. Half the residents in the course were staring at them now, and a few more through the glass in other sections.

Pat sat up, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "That was... awesome! I was falling, then I wasn't, and then you... How are you so strong?"

"I'm not," she answered, without thinking. "I'm just..." She looked down, expecting to hear Forerunner say something. She'd forgotten to remove the computer...

And now it was gone. Of course.

Whatever, she would worry about that later. Computers were boring, they had more climbing to do.

It took her a long while to make it to the top. Not that she couldn't go straight up—but Kit didn't really want to. What was the point of an obstacle course if she skipped most of the obstacles?

She didn't try to pressure the fox into joining her for any of the hard ones, but she didn't really have to. After her first taste of excitement, Pat needed very little pressuring. Even when she fell, one taste of victory was enough to inspire her to push herself.

Higher obstacles were built for bigger residents. But nothing in the course was truly difficult—it was all made for the templates the residents used. Even leaps higher and farther than her whole body could be easily overcome with enough bravery. They were all small, but whoever designed them had packed considerable athleticism into their tiny frames.

Maybe this was a preview of what the proper human race had become while she slept. Everyone brilliant, everyone immortal and athletic, never tiring or sickening, never permanently injured or disfigured.

If future humanity decided—for whatever unfathomable reason—that they wanted to live with animal ears and tails, she could get over that. But why were they so small?

Eventually she tired of the adventure. The various hazards and challenges were still interesting, and would be again if she returned. But for now, other novelties drew her attention. There were experts here, somewhere.

She found them on the lower levels, playing with her. Emma could dress up like a chef or a doctor when she was outside the arena, and she seemed good at both jobs. But in here there were other concerns.

A few times Kit tried to ask her questions—but she was too easily distracted by a rope swing, or maybe she tripped and rolled onto a bouncing, inflatable pit. Some things took precedence.

Then she was at the top. She rolled onto her back in a soft, cramped space—high enough to sit, but not stand. Round windows with distorting lenses covered the little room, with a few exits to different slides and ways to climb up. An erasable board sat on one end, where residents had written their names, or drawn little pictures to represent themselves.

Sadie put a marker in Kit's hand, tugging her up into a sitting position. "Wait. Before anything else, you gotta write your name here. It's the rules."

She crawled after her, looking over the board for a space. Considering the population down below, she expected less room—but there were only a dozen names and pictures here.

Kit's choice was obvious: she drew an acorn, scrawling her initials onto it. Well... KRS. She still didn't know what the rest of her name really was. It would have to do.

She slumped back against the wall, tossing the marker into the bin with the rest. "Surprised everyone is so well behaved. No one erases the others to draw?"

"That would be mean," Emma said. "If some jerk did that, we'd know. Who would want to play with them then?"

Kit had no answer to that—though it did remind her of something important.

She wasn't here to “play,” even if that did make for a convenient benefit of the trip. She caught Sadie's arm, before the cat could make it to the slide. "Wait! I had... Can I ask you something? You too, Emma. If you've got time."

The bunny made her way over, resting on her knees in front of Kit. "Something wrong? Feeling ill after your first time on the surface?" She didn't wait for a response, pulling Kit's shirt aside and resting two fingers on her chest. "Hmm. Your hearts are working normally. Temperature is a little elevated, but you've just been climbing for two hours. Looks like you're about to get really hungry, and you kinda smell bad."

Kit pushed her away, then stuck out her tongue. "Not that. I feel fine. Great, actually! I haven't felt this good since I was..."

Sadie sat down beside her. She curled her tail around her wrist, fidgeting in place. "You don't have to ask permission to be places, if that's it. I already decided if you were a threat."

She flopped onto her back, touching against Kit's leg. "See? Not scared." She rested both hands on her shirt. "My vulnerable underbelly is exposed. I wouldn't do that if you were a barbarian."

"How do you know?" Pat asked. The fox didn't sign—she already had her name on the board, written overlapping with another name. Given the similarity of their handwriting, Kit could guess who had written it. "You've never met one before."

"I might have," Sadie argued, without moving. "Before the Institute of Perpetual Luminescence revived me. Maybe I just forgot."

Kit pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her tail around herself. On her right side, so she wouldn't cover the cat with fluff and suffocate her. "You girls forgot things too? When you woke up... I thought that was from the way they made me."

"You mean..." Pat drew a line across her neck, then fell over dramatically. "Dead."

Emma pushed Kit's tail gently away from her. "Losing memories is normal. It's part of how our templates are made... we're not ordinary people anymore. We think differently, our senses work differently. Even our memories work differently."

"Plastic," Sadie said. She sat up, lifting Kit into her lap. She nudged her neck with two fingers, grinning. "Feel it? You're soft."

She turned her head sideways, sticking out her tongue at the cat. "Am not! I'm part robot now. I think I got metal bones."

Emma giggled. "Not even you are that ruggedized, explorer. There are no wars to fight outside—just some old broken stuff to fix sometimes. You don't need metal bones."

Kit said nothing for a little while. She was suddenly so relaxed, comfortable in a way she hadn't fully understood.

Then she looked up, and she realized. The cat had her arms around Kit in a hug.

That shouldn't mean anything to her, obviously. She'd crossed well beyond the goal of the Aether's first mission. Maybe the trip cost her life and the ship along the way, but still.

Some things didn't need to make sense. She opened her eyes with some difficulty. Relaxed or not, comfortable or not, Kit had a purpose.

"I'm worried..." she said. "No one seems to care. But maybe that's the biggest proof there could be."

Sadie let go. She left the squirrel in her lap, probably for the best. She might not have been brave enough to say anything otherwise.

"Not about your new body," Emma guessed. "Unless you don't trust me. I promise, you're healthy."

She shook her head forcefully. "Not that. Something bigger."

She twisted around, gesturing out the fish-eye window at the Institute beyond. "It's about this place. I think... maybe it's one of those things. You spend your life living one way, and you think it's the only way. No one comes along to say different, so you just accept it. Even though you shouldn't."

"If you don't like it here..." Pat began. "Maybe that doesn't mean anything is wrong with the Institute. We like it."

She waved that thought away with one hand. "It's not about liking things. I know I'm new—I know I don't get to tell anyone how to live. I'm not gonna."

"Then what?" Sadie prodded her shoulder. "I know you like it here. You get adventures, isn't that what an explorer wants?"

Yes, though she wouldn't admit it. Forerunner couldn't distract her with exciting new things. Not forever, anyway. "I want to talk to people outside the Institute," she said.

She rushed ahead, speeding up with every word. She had to say what she was thinking! "It feels like everyone here is a hostage of Forerunner. The AI made our brains so... confused all the time... that we don't realize. We listen because he's in charge, even though it doesn't make sense. But maybe if I could talk to some adults... they could tell me why the Institute is worth it."

Finally, she had their attention. Kit had to assume they were listening now, judging on their sudden silence. Down below, residents giggled and climbed and played—but not up here.

Sadie finally broke it. "We can send letters. We all only have... very extended family. They don't really know much about us or say a lot."

"Sometimes they thank us," Pat said. "When we invent things, our families get a share of the patent. That's why being here is so important. It's..."

"Worth the sacrifice," Emma finished. "Mara needs us. The things we do here change the world. New treatments, new machines, ways of living..."

Sadie squirmed out from behind her, sitting beside Emma instead. "Lots of people want to leave when they wake up. You can ask Sawyer about it, he'll tell you."

"Are there rules against it?" Kit pressed. "Against leaving? Talking to the regular citizens of Mara?"

"Nobody leaves," the cat said, without hesitation. "It was what we agreed to when we volunteered to come here."

I never agreed to anything.

"Lucien handles communication," Emma said. "If you want to talk to outsiders, he can set it up. They might not want to talk much."

"What are you even trying to find out?" Pat asked.

"If..." you've all been lied to. If you're hostages of an AI. Kit didn't know enough to poke around in their labs and see if they were doing real work. "I want to hear why they think this place is okay. See if they have a good reason."

Pat giggled. "The founders were archived a long time ago! Except the ones who joined... but they're so old they don't remember that stuff."

Kit folded her arms, expression hardening. "I still want to find them." She could try to press the founder she knew for information—but she didn't expect much. They were citizens now, subject to the same mental conditioning as everyone else.

But outside, maybe she could learn more.

"Shower first," Emma suggested. "You want to look presentable. Lucien will send you right out if you stink up his lab. And by the time you're done, it should be close to dinner time."

"Just don't get your hopes up," Sadie said, before she could make it to the slide. "Mara's regular people don't know us. They never have much to say."