Codrin Bălan — 2346

Convergence T-minus 22 days, 9 hours, 12 minutes

Tycho stayed until they could talk him down from the plateau of anxiety he had seemed determined to hold onto for as long as he could. They fed him tea, then ice water, then leftovers, anything they could do to help. They talked to him about how to prepare for the inevitable discussions that would be coming from the other astronomers aboard as well as for the inevitable contact that would come from the Odists or Jonases, seeking answers to why he had done the things that he’d done.

And, once he was able to talk without the volume of his voice continually rising, once he was able to smile again, they sent him on his way, off to go get some sleep, even though the sun was beginning to color the eastern sides of the house in salmon and orange.

“It’s alright,” he had said, laughing tiredly. “It’s always night in the field. It’s always night outside, isn’t it?”

This left Codrin and Dear to sit in silence for a few minutes. After making more coffee, they moved out to the patio despite the chill of the morning.

“What do you think, my dear?” the fox asked, cradling its mug close to its chest.

“Mm? I don’t know that I’m thinking anything. I think my brain’s too full with new information packed in around sleepiness that I can’t actually process anything.”

“I would suggest drinking your coffee to wake up, but if it is the same feeling that I have had, that will simply replace the sleepiness with caffeine, and you will be no more easily able to process.”

Codrin grinned, nodded, and sipped eir coffee. “I’m a little disappointed I didn’t fork to get up so that at least some part of me could keep sleeping and just deal with it in the morning.”

Dear laughed. “You jumped out of bed so fast I thought that we were under attack. I do not think you would have been able to get back to sleep even if you had tried.”

“Probably not.”

They sat in silence, drinking their coffee and watching the sun creep up until the horizon reluctantly let it free. When they realized that they were squinting and shading their eyes too much to actually see anything, they went back inside to claim the couch, huddling under a throw to warm themselves up while their partner puttered sleepily around the kitchen.

This led, of course, to further cups of coffee and warm sweet rolls, and a long hour of Codrin and the fox catching their partner up to date.

“Well,” they said. “How do you feel?”

“That is a very Codrin question.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. I feel…” Ey paused, looking down into eir mug. “I feel overwhelmed. I guess that’s not a complete emotion, though.”

“You want help teasing it apart?”

Codrin slouched down into the couch further, resting the mug on eir stomach. Tiredness clung to em in a thin, sticky film. “I guess. I mean, I think a lot of it is due to exhaustion.”

“Seconded,” Dear mumbled. “I am surprised you slept through that, my love.”

“I’m one of the lucky ones who can sleep through anything,” their partner said, grinning. “But Codrin dear, first, how do you feel about being woken up so early?”

“I don’t think that really entered into my mind. That’s how I met Dear, after all. A jolt of adrenaline and then a sensorium message.”

“I do hope that mine was not so panicked. From what you said, Tycho was a bit shouty.”

Ey laughed. “He was, at that. I hope we sent him home a little calmer. But that made me anxious. Given that I was still fighting my way out of a dream, it felt rather like waking up into a nightmare, rather than out of one.”

“Alright,” they said. “And how do you feel about meeting him?”

“That’s a little tougher. Equally anxious, I guess. Frustrated as well, given how poorly he reacted to Dear. I think he’s very much a tasker and hasn’t experienced individuation before.”

Both Dear and its partner nodded. “I am not Michelle, and I am certainly not True Name, which is who I am sure he was imagining.”

“I suppose, yeah. So it was frustrating hearing that his first reaction was — or that anybody’s first reaction — to one of my partners could be one of, I don’t know, distrust? Disgust?”

Dear’s ears flinched back, but it nodded all the same. Codrin suspected it had had more than its fill of dealing with the rest of the Odists by now.

“So,” their partner said. “Anxious, frustrated, maybe a bit defensive?”

Ey nodded.

“And what about the topic of the conversation? How did that make you feel?”

“I think that’s where I’m struggling the most. I’ve worked on so many projects through the years, and this has the potential of being far and away the biggest of them all.”

“Have you accepted it as a project, my dear?” Dear said, grinning slightly.

Codrin hesitated, taking a sip to gain a bit more time to mull that over in eir mind. “I think I have, though I don’t know what shape that’ll take yet.”

“So, how do you feel about that?”

“If we consider the scope of the History as ten times that of Perils, and if we give this one a cautious estimate of ten times that of the History–”

“Ten times?” Dear’s partner frowned. “A hundred times the size of On the Perils of Memory?”

“Size maybe isn’t the best descriptor. Intensity, perhaps?” Ey shrugged. “Working on the Qoheleth project never had me screaming into the void or shouting at the sky. The History was longer, but while I can see this one maybe being shorter, the intensity is going through the roof. I’m not sure how much of that is just being exhausted, though.”

“That is about the work, though. How do you feel about the topic? Aliens sending us copies of Douglas? Or perhaps us sending aliens copies of…well, whoever we decide?”

“Frightened? Excited? Anxious? It feels too big to think about, in a way.”

“Agreed,” both of their partners said at the same time, then laughed.

“But also, to tie those two together, I think my first reaction — the very first thing I thought as soon as I connected Tycho’s mood with the topic at hand — was “God damnit, not again”.”

Dear frowned. “Do you feel obligated to take on the project, rather than actually wanting to?”

Codrin shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say other than that. Obligated, then worried about scope, as though I’d already accepted the burden, such as it were.”

“Do you need a vacation, my dear?”

“Good Lord, no,” ey said, laughing. “I don’t go as nuts as you, fox, but sitting around idly is decidedly uncomfortable. It’s not quite an ‘I hate my job’ feeling, either. It’s just more, “Why is it always me? Why do I always wind up at the center of these enormous happenings?” feeling.”

As though on cue, both Codrin and eir partner looked over at the fox, who burst into giggles. Ey felt so loopy from exhaustion that ey was soon joining Dear in the fit.

“I will accept a portion of that responsibility,” it said when it could speak again. “But the rest falls on my cocladists. I may be one of them, but I am no metonym.”

“I’ll accept that,” Codrin said.

“We’re not wrong, though, you know. Even if True Name and her stanza nudged you towards Dear, you wound up here. You wound up so influenced by the project that you almost resented Ioan when you needed to merge back for the project. I know there were a few tense discussions between you two when it came time to decide who would write Perils.”

Ey waggled a hand. “Tense is maybe too strong a word. We were both excited, and it came down to whether it was me because my memories weren’t muddied with what ey’d experienced in the interim, or whether those memories would help add to the, uh…damn, what’d you call it, Dear?”

“Umwelt? One’s worldview combined with one’s experience of the world? I know that I have overloaded the term somewhat, and I am not sorry.”

“That’s the one. If Ioan’s combined knowledge of what I experienced via my memories as well as eir own experiences during the project would provide a better worldview as a canvas for the project. We decided that I’d write and ey’d consult.”

“I left you with a tainted soul,” Dear said, still sounding loopy.

“So dramatic,” ey said, rolling eir eyes. “But you changed me enough that I became a Codrin rather than a Ioan, while Ioan remained one.”

“Then May Then My Name tainted em in turn.”

“I miss them,” their partner said. “I can’t imagine seeing them together would be anything but adorable.”

“Saccharine, even.”

“Don’t be a jerk, fox.”

“I am not! I am simply stating the fact that my teeth might rot from just how adorable that must be.”

“Do you think True Name is pissed?” Codrin asked.

“That May Then My Name settled down with someone? Refused to fork for her, then even to talk with her? That she has taught herself how to hate specifically to hate her own down-tree instance? Of course she is pissed. It is her own stanza rebelling against her.”

“From what we’ve seen, it sounds like their — True Name’s and Jonas’s — attempts to control the outcome worked as expected, but also that True Name hasn’t been seen around the Lagrange System nearly as much in the last few years. Sounds more hurt than pissed, I guess.” Ey shrugged. “I imagine having your own clade that upset at you tempers your devotion to a cause.”

“Much of the liberal side of the clade distanced themselves from the conservatives when the History came out, yes. The definition of ‘Odist’ is quite diluted now. I do not believe that True Name lost much in the way of tools, such as it were; I think she just had to write many of us off, or think of us simply as safe places to store other tools, as she did with you, my dear. She has likely replaced them with yet more finely tuned versions of herself or Jonas.”

“That’s a rather horrifying way of looking at it. It sounds so sterile.”

“Do not misconstrue me. I am not so far removed from them that I do not feel empathy. True Name is still a fully realized person. She is not a truly sterile being, I do not mean to imply that. She does still have emotions, they simply come from a place that we cannot access.”

Codrin finished eir coffee and set the mug on the table, sitting up straighter and rubbing at eir face. “I’ll grant you that, though it’s still going to take some work to internalize.”

“There is no rush, my dear.”

“Isn’t there?” their partner asked. “Can you imagine True Name not getting involved in this? I’d honestly be surprised if she wasn’t already stringing Tycho up by his toes for what he did. If Codrin’s to wind up working with her again, maybe ey does need that empathy.”

The fox only frowned.

“Either way,” Codrin said. “I probably ought to send those two a message. Dear, you’re welcome to chime in as well, but I want to share my thoughts on this with Ioan. How long’s the transmission time, these days?”

“I think about thirty days? Somewhere around there. Tycho would know, but I don’t think asking him right now is a great idea.”

Codrin nodded. “Well, nothing for it. I’ll write to Ioan and May Then My Name, then get ready for the shitshow that’s doubtless coming down on us.”

“If I may make a suggestion, my dear,” Dear said slowly. “Hold off until you have a better idea of your feelings on the matter.”

“Why?”

“This is something enormous, as you say. Let it marinate for a day. You will be able to better construct your message with some rest.”

“Right, yeah.” Ey slumped down in the chair. “Not like they’ll be able to do anything, anyway.”