And then with one motion, both figures turn to Sarya.
“Oh, hello,” says Observer from two mouths. “It’s you.”
Sarya can do nothing but stare. How in the sight of the goddess— For the third time today, she has been thrown out of her orbit. She stands there, frozen, until she becomes aware that she is at the focus of a great many eyes and sensors and clears her throat. “Do I—do I know—”
“I know you, Sarya the Daughter,” says an Observer, still smiling. “Though I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“A long time ago for you, at least,” adds the other. “Scarcely an eyeblink for Me.”
Sarya is still grasping for something to say, conscious of just how public this moment is. She swallows. “You…know me?” she says, feeling like an idiot the second it’s left her mouth.
Observer smiles with two mouths. “I do,” says the one with the prosthetic. “And perhaps We can reminisce later. But for now—well, you know how it is, piloting billions of tons of mass by feel.”
“One wrong calculation,” says the other with a smile, “and everyone dies screaming.”
Sarya’s mind still has not caught up. “I—”
“I’ll tell you what,” says an Observer. “I have a friend on the station. He’s not currently piloting a giant ice ship in close proximity to thousands of so-called intelligences. Why don’t you go have a chat with him?”
“He’s in Dock A,” says the other. “And I’ll warn you that he’s a bit lower-tier than—” The voice lowers. “Well, in current company I suppose he’s about average.” It follows this judgment with a quick glance at Ellie’s silver glow.
“You’d better hurry, though,” says the first. “He’ll be leaving any minute.”
Sarya doesn’t move. She can’t move. Nothing in her experience has prepared her for this. And then both the small figures gesture with a single finger each, a twitching curl that she interprets as come closer. She hesitates, then chooses one and leans forward to bring her ear to its mouth. It raises that finger to touch her on the forehead, and she jumps; the spot on her skin tingles as if electrified.
“I know where you came from,” whispers Observer.
Sarya is somehow able to stumble a good two hundred meters down the corridor with zero awareness of her surroundings. She is trembling, hands crammed in pockets to keep them under control. The bright new world of the Network is an out-of-focus mishmash of brilliant irrelevance.
I know you, Sarya the Daughter.
She stomps through advertisements and throngs of fellow citizens without taking notice of either, taking turns at random. She has no idea where she is going and she’s never cared less. It’s happened, the thing she has most desired—and the thing her mother has most feared. For the first time in her life, Sarya has been recognized. And not just her species, which would be notable enough, but her own personal identity. This Observer knows as much about her as her own mother—
No. He knows more.
He knows where she came from. Her mother has told her—angrily, and more than once—that not even she knows that. Only Sarya’s dimmest and most distant memories give her any kind of direction, and they are so faint as to be useless. She remembers…warmth? Light? She remembers—no. She remembers nothing, and her mother knows nothing because she said so and Mothers do not lie to Daughters, it’s right in the Widow proverbs, and this has been the greatest frustration of her life—
It’s too much to think about. She slows to a halt in the first empty corridor she comes to. She backs against the wall, feeling for it with quivering fingers. Still shaking, heart still thumping, she sinks into a crouch and slides hands into tangled hair. She very nearly pulls up her Network interface to send a message to her mother, but then she remembers that her mother is asleep and halts that line of action immediately. One does not disturb a dormant Widow, not even for matters of life and/or death. And now that she’s thinking about it, this would be a terrible thing to tell her mother. She knows how her mother takes Human-talk—having barely escaped discipline just hours ago—and this is the worst Human-talk of all: talk of discovery. Her mother would be—well, angry is best case. Worst case, well…people could literally die.
But that’s exaggeration, points out another part of her mind. Surely it’s the responsible thing to do, to tell her mother. It’s only, let’s see, six hours until her mother wakes. She’s waited six hours to go home before. It’s practically the story of a Daughter’s life, finding things to do until it’s safe to go home. She’ll just avoid Dock A until she’s sure this mysterious friend is gone—and of course avoid her apartment until Mother is awake. It’s not like this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right? Giant group minds recognize Humans they know every day—
Listen to her, says yet another part of her mind. Mewling like prey instead of seizing opportunity like a hunter! Is she not the daughter of a Widow? And what would a Widow do in this scenario?
What would a Human do?
She sinks farther toward the ground, her mind flipping between extremes. “Goddess help me,” she whispers, and the empty corridor swallows her words.
“Finally,” says a voice in her ears.
And she is on her feet like a shot, glancing up the corridor in both directions. No one.
“And here I thought you’d forgotten me!” says the voice.
She can feel her heartbeat accelerating again. What powers does this Observer have? He can communicate telepathically across a billion minds. He refers to the central intelligence of Watertower Station as low-tier. He clearly has staggering mental capabilities. Can He insert His voice into her mind from the observation deck, from that giant ice ship? And if so, why does that voice sound so familiar? It’s as if she’s heard it her entire—
Oh.
[Sarya’s Little Helper online], says the corner of her overlay.
“I was getting super worried about you, best friend!” says the more-than-slightly grating voice in her earbuds. “How do you like hearing me outside your room, by the way? You’ve got nifty ear thingies now! Now I’m in this ear…and now I’m in this ear! It’s very comfy in here, by the way—very roomy. I just felt like I didn’t have enough space to think in the old one, you know what I mean? Sometimes you’d ask me a question, and by the time you got to the end of it I’d have forgotten the beginning. Not anymore, though! Go ahead, try it. Ask me the longest question you can think of.”
Sarya leans against the wall again, attempting to slow her heart manually. Thankfully, amidst the clamor in her head, she finds she has capacity for a bit of good old annoyance.