Valence 3-1

The Grid and the fortress

Valence TOC

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What began as a headfirst dive into an immeasurable pit of darkness has been flipped around, and I am now being drawn in, born on an invisible cushion, unable to stop myself. Ahead of me, a tiny grain of sand glimmers. I blink, and it multiplies countless times. A cloud of sand spreads out to either direction in front of me, beckoning to me. I've made my choice already. I give myself over to the sandstorm.

I spread my arms out, close my eyes, and relax. The storm can have me. All of its familiarity feels like returning to my true home, but it comes with a cost.

On the verge of collision, both myself and the tempest are frozen, suspended in the air. The only light comes from what is refracted through each grain of sand, the source of which is unseen. Each grain seems to be taking its own consideration of me, maybe even lost in thought about what it has encountered. My resolve is unwavering and I leave my mind open for it to look as long as it needs to.

Then, the sandstorm seems to have made up its mind, echoing its pleasure as a ripple of light traveling from one end to the other. I smile, and we converge, the Grid and I.

Each shimmering grain of sand elongates into a sharp metal needle before impaling my body, one by one. I experience fullness, but no pain. The needles expand, separating muscles, cracking my bones, creating a multitude of crevices for filling. I can hear the wet sound of my gray matter splitting and I delight at the efficiency with which they work.

I appear now as a ball of light, with millions of mirror-like slivers jutting out of me in every direction. There is a tender moment, like a kiss on the forehead, before the slivers are launched from my body, like arrows let from bowstrings.

Time slinks into the perforations and erodes away the parts of me that are no longer necessary. Tides flow in and out, carving me over eons into a creature worthy of being seen and held by the Grid. I burn from the core outwards, each wound filling with liquid fire before cooling and hardening into smooth obsidian. Each point of obsidian represents a new connection, where I have fused with both the Grid and the parts of Paul it has chosen to keep.

This is how I will find him. This is how I merge with his figment so that he can't eject me again.

This is also how I lose myself in him - how the thin membrane separating my soul from his gets thinner still.

CRACK

Light flashes and a gust of wind roars, not past me, but from me. A sweet aching throbs through my entire body as I adjust to my place in the figment.

Creating one's own figment is easy, much like lucid dreaming. Downloading someone else's by means of melding with the Grid is an overload for any normal consciousness. If it weren't for the delicious taste of flight, infinity, and harmony, the experience would be horrifying. But the Grid knows what we want, what will keep us coming back.

By the fourth time, the risks, the nightmares, the lingering feeling of an unnamed substance having been leached from the very atoms responsible for holding me together - it was all worth being cradled in the crook of the arm of the Grid.

I am back in the downtown area of Paul's figment, the building with the blue glass windows towering before me. Late afternoon sunlight bounces off of the windows of the fortress.

I can feel him here. Probing the air around me gently by sending out small bursts of energy, I can see that he is aware of my shared control over his figment and that he is not alarmed.

He evidently still wants me to wear this silly dress, since I've materialized in it again, but I let it go. It's growing on me.

Buzz, buzz.

Static humming tickles my awareness. I had almost forgotten about them, in that room, waiting for me to complete one last task for them. I grimace at the thought and push the hum away. I am able to silence the transmission completely now that I've joined with the Grid, which is exactly what the commander had hoped I wouldn't do.

"Can't have it all," I whisper to the empty sidewalk stretching out in front of me. All is silent, seeing as neither of us has bothered rendering any cars or people. No use.

Approaching the building, I can sense the boundary he has put up. It feels like a heavy woolen curtain - not impossible to get through, but definitely there. If I continue into the building, I will be giving over a small amount of influence to him, since it has been created as his sanctuary, almost like a living being made just to protect him.

There is no choice to make now, but still I experience a moment of trepidation. I don't want to be here with him, even though my very essence cries out for him every day that we are apart. I never asked for this.

Crossing through the boundary, a slight tingling feeling travels from the crown of my head down to my toes. I grasp the gold metal door handle and pull the heavy door open.

I step into the interior lobby of the fortress. Paul is no artist or architect, but he is sentimental and imaginative. He has managed to mix components of a library, a theater, and an old metro station together into an angular, ornate, and imposing chamber with marble pillars, wooden shelves filled with books, and high ceilings. Everything is bathed in warm yellow and orange light, bouncing off of shades of teal, absorbed into dark corners of rich chocolate brown.

These are his favorite places, his favorite colors.

Turning in a circle, I look closely at the tall staircases with red carpet that start mid-air and lead nowhere. There are plush balcony seats jutting out of the gold-tiled walls, along with bookshelves on top of bookshelves, and numerous bronze-colored ticking clocks of various sizes.

The minute hands of the clocks all tick at once, the sound of a pebble dropped into water. I feel a force tugging my hands. He's getting impatient. Where before he was hiding from me, now he wants me to find him.