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“The more time passes, the more I'm sorry about it. We shouldn't have done it… We did not learn enough from this mission to justify the death of the dog.”
- Oleg Gazenko on Laika, the first dog sent to space.
-
As expected, there is not much of Kristen’s to be thrown out.
The first thing Saria does upon stepping foot into her office is thumb through each and every one of the files left there. She has neither the reason nor time to; the job could’ve been relegated to anyone with a handful of PhDs and high enough clearance. For someone with the title of ‘Director of Control’, it is nothing more than busywork.
It takes her two months to get through just half of it. Not all in one go, mind you, and she’s not the most thorough in the world about it, but it takes roughly two months of just sitting there between meetings and late night reviews before she finds something that makes her startle.
It’s barely a scrawl of notes in the margins of some study on mineral formations, the similarities in which salt and originium crystals gather in deposits. Saria, follow up on this, it reads in Kristen’s looping cursive. She double checks the date. It’s around two months before Kristen had launched herself into the sky, years after Saria had departed Rhine Lab in a flurry of anger.
She’d anticipated this, too, Saria realizes.
She closes the file.
-
It never stops being off-putting, seeing Silence without glasses.
Or with her hair up, or with her back that straight, or with the tone of her voice so strong. Saria is used to arguing with Silence, has years of experience with it, but those arguments had sputtered off into angry, emotional rants on Silence’s end. Not this upturned brow, quiet smile situation. It borders on unsettling.
This is better. Saria knows this is better, and not long ago she’d spent nights tossing and turning and pretending not to care about how much a single meek Liberi’s opinion had bothered her, but far worse than it being better is the fact that it’s different.
“Where do you want me to put this?”
She’s talking about yet another stack of documents, long triple-checked and simply awaiting one more signature that’ll be probably pointless for her to give, anyway. She forgot how eye-roll inducing the formalities could get. “There’s fine,” she says, gesturing with her pen. Silence nods, puts it down.
She doesn’t leave.
“Is there something else?” Saria asks when a sizably awkward amount of seconds have passed. In finally some form of familiar gesture, Silence reaches up and scratches her cheek.
“Since I’m here, I wanted to see how you were doing,” she says. “An advisor should take the time to make sure the person who they’re advising is in good health, correct?”
Saria’s tempted to point out that Silence has the clearance to look at her medical records, but figures that’s too pointedly obtuse, even for her. “I appreciate it,” she says instead.
“…and, as your advisor,” Silence steeples her fingers, glances to the side, “it’s… a position that one might say goes both ways, correct? There’s always something to be learned from your peers, after all, and-”
“If you want to ask me something, there’s no need to dance around the topic.” Saria shakes her head. “I’d like to think we’re long past forcing formalities like that, at this point.”
“Ah… yes, you’re right.” Silence smiles genuinely. “As a respected colleague- and as a friend- I’d like for your advice on the matter.”
Yet another stack of papers joins the already overflowing mess on Saria’s desk. It’s laughably thick, held together by straining paperclips and multiple staples. The cover page alone is drowning in Silence’s chicken-scratch, the kind of handwriting she adapts when she’s desperate to get her thoughts out.
“The working title is the ‘Trimounts Joint Declaration on Scientific Ethics’,” she says once Saria starts squinting just to make out the print. “On the nose, but I figured being as straightforward as possible for this is best.”
Saria flips through. Silence has been thorough, which is not surprising, taking the time to cite obscure edge cases even on this first pass. She would not expect anything different.
“You don’t need to read through it all now, of course, but your opinion and feedback would be highly appreciated. Your endorsement even moreso, if that isn’t too much trouble. We’re trying to-”
“You’re being too hasty.” Saria hands the stack back.
Silence’s patient smile wavers. That’s not good, Saria has to remind the jump of calm in her stomach.
“Excuse me?” She isn’t taking it.
“You’ve barely got your foot in the door, and everyone’s busy being in awe of what Rhine Lab has done for the future.” She shakes the stack in prompting. “Not to mention this can’t predict the future. Who’s to say what new fields will be invented within the next month? The next year?” She shakes her head. “This benefits from waiting.”
Silence frowns. “That’s all the more reason for these rules to be established as quickly as possible,” she gestures. “With them in place, we can prevent tragedies before they occur.”
Saria shakes her head. “You asked for my opinion, and that’s what it is. You may take it or leave it, but you won’t find me budging on the matter.”
“...I see.” Silence bites her lip for nothing more than a fraction of a second. “May I ask why?”
“I’ve just said-”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I find that a rather flimsy excuse for the person who all but abandoned their post as Defense for a good few years on similar grounds.” Silence tilts her head. “If there’s concern in my capabilities, or some sort of doubt in my thoroughness on the matter…” A small nod. “Please, I ask that you at least give it a once over.”
“...” Saria lowers the stack slightly. “I don’t doubt that you’ve put the time and research into this, but my point still stands. I’d prefer if you respected that.”
Silence opens her mouth, closes it. “You’re surprisingly stubborn,” she says quietly.
“I try to stand my ground where I can.”
“‘Stand your ground’? What are you afraid of?” Silence says. “That this’ll trample over Kristen’s legacy? Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”
Saria pinches her nose. “It’s not about- listen. What Kristen did, in her own words, was create a ‘starting point’. To be frank, I’m not sure any of us fully understand what that means. If we don’t give it time to breathe…”
She trails off. “What?” Silence stares. “If we- if I don’t, then what?”
Clear frustration and annoyance seeps into her expression. Saria does not pity the task of trying to deal with herself.
Silence fails to smother the scoff that comes from the back of her throat. “I swear, if you’d stop worshipping her for one second–”
“I do not worship her.”
Saria doesn’t know when she stood up, but she certainly has. Her hands are gripping the sides of the desk, tight and knuckle-white. Silence’s gaze meets hers.
Her eyes haven’t changed since she’s entered the room. For all her emotional outbursts, Silence only meets her with the same dry apathy she found in Kristen’s face on the worst of days- no, there’s something more sickly than that, there.
“Whatever you say,” she says, and her voice is rid of sarcasm and tiredness both as she takes her leave. Saria is left with her Declaration still in hand.
-
Muelsyse has never been predictable, but at the very least, she was fairly easy to find in the past. Saria would find herself idly wondering about asking her for some review or other and, as if on cue, Muelsyse would come waltzing in with her trademark sweet smile gracing her features.
So it’s annoying when, time and time again, Saria finds herself running two steps behind her.
“Ecological? Oh, she’s off to get lunch.”
“You just missed her, I think she was headed to check in with Structural?”
“She’s probably in her Vivarium. You know how she is."
It takes four tries of this for it to occur to Saria that she’s probably avoiding her intentionally.
It’s annoying, but not a setback. In a purely logistical sense, Saria has no need to see Muelsyse. She cannot justify her presence with a call to her office, nor any papers that need review.
When she does catch sight of her by chance in the hallway, then, she takes the opportunity with both hands.
“Muelsyse,” she says, and the woman spins around so quickly that Saria wonders if she got whiplash.
“D-Director!” Muelsyse exclaims, covering half her face with a clipboard. Saria clears the space between them in two long strides. “Wh-what a wonderful surprise! How’re you?”
“I’m recovering fine.” Saria extends her unbroken arm to demonstrate. “Thankfully. And you?”
“Recovering? What’s there for me to recover from!” Muelsyse laughs awkwardly.
If Saria hadn’t been suspicious beforehand, she was now. “Muelsyse, if there’s something wrong-”
“There’s nothing wrong!” Her voice rises two octaves. “Just, haha, getting used to, ah. You know!” Her gaze rakes up and down Saria’s figure. “Having Control be you instead of Kristen, wow! Talk about big changes!”
Saria stiffens at the sudden mention of Kristen for all of half a second before she forces her shoulders to relax. She shakes her head. “It is a big change, yes,” she notes. “If… you find it within your schedule’s availability, I think taking the time to touch base between Control and Ecological would be for the best. I can make tea.” It’s a gesture so sentimental that she feels desperate.
“...” Muelsyse’s eyes dart to the side. “Uhm, do you hear that? ‘Ring, ring’! Aw, man! A phone call! Guess I’ve got to go.” She smiles half-guiltily. “Sorry!”
“Wait, Muelsyse-”
She melts to a puddle in front of Saria’s face, skidding away. Saria sighs, and just a few moments later, the floor has been dried.
-
“Strange coming from me,” says Clooney, tapping out the burnt end of his cigarette on the railing. “but I’m tempted to say you care too much about Rhine Lab.”
He had slid back into his position with a certainty that, if Saria didn’t find him so irritable, she’d almost respect. Funny thing, these Director seats. You’d think every stray researcher out there would be snapping at the bit to fill them, but not a single person with half of Clooney’s qualifications had so much as made a peep about applying for two months. Real annoying, that was.
“I’m surprised you care at all,” she says. Behind them, locked inside glass doors, investors file in for a meeting. Fitzroy is prepping them with the same sort of theatrics Kristen had been capable of, flourished words and placating smiles. “You don’t need to pretend that Rhine Lab is your end all be all. In fact, it’s far more reassuring if you admit the relationship is transactional and light.”
“Transactional!” He guffaws in that practiced suit way that Saria’s only had the head to put up with, not to mimic. “Light?! Director, Rhine Lab is far more to me than some token that I can trade around.”
“Replaceable, then.”
He tuts. “Let me put it to you this way, to make it easier.” His cigarette acts as a finger, wafting smoke up her nose. “If you believe nothing else about me, believe this: the advancement of humanity is my obsession.”
Saria believes that he believes that. When said in comparison to Kristen’s ambition, however, it feels so underwhelmingly laughable that she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Sure.”
“And Kristen Wright, damnedly arrogant woman, has firmly cemented Rhine Lab as a name that’ll be thrown about like folklore for millenia.” Clooney cracks his neck. “In Energy, I’ll forever be hands on enough. Given the time to publish just my currently working theorems, I’d still earn myself a permanent footnote in every undergrad’s required reading. The work I can do with Rhine Lab- as Rhine Lab… I’ve believed in this company since I heard of it.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “The projects I want to lead can be done nowhere else.”
“You want to be the continuum.” Saria clicks her tongue. “Hm. You could phrase it less noble-like.”
Clooney shrugs. “For keeping it afloat, and to help it thrive, I’ll get my dues eventually. I’d prefer not to be known as her follow-through, but, hey.” He gestures. “I at least have a face intact for photos.”
The flippantness of the comment throws her more than she expected it to. She wants, badly, to put him in his place, to run through the list of checks and lack of guarantees that Kristen is anything more than absent. Not dead.
But even to her own thoughts, that sounds desperate.
“Director?”
She’s spaced out. “You sound bitter. I hope you’re not planning on bringing this tone into the meeting room.”
“Hah. Don’t worry about that,” he winks at her, takes a drag. The vapors fade out from his nose and sputter into a gloomy grey sky. “Damn. You know I still wanted her seat, right?”
That doesn’t surprise her in the slightest, but his admission of it does. She raises an eyebrow. “Quite a thing to admit to the one who replaced her.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “I don’t think you’ll be letting the only thing she’s left behind die anytime soon. So I’m not worried.”
-
“Saria, look!”
It’s times like these that Saria has to remind herself that, once upon a time, she’d wondered if she would ever hear Ifrit’s voice again.
She’s visiting Rhodes Island. Somehow, her visits are easier than they had been beforehand despite the weight that came from Control’s responsibilities.
It helped that Silence was all too eager - and capable - to cover her bases. It makes Saria uncomfortable, and she resolves to do her damnedest to make sure she doesn’t have to.
“You go and see Ifrit,” Silence says words that Saria never thought would come out of her mouth, not in this lifetime. “She’s under your custody now, after all.”
That’s yet another abnormality that has thrown Saria off. Her contact is the first one scrawled under ‘in case of emergencies’ on Ifrit’s legal documents, not Silence’s, not Joyce’s. It’s hard to fathom, honestly. The reason for it escapes her, brings out that pit of dread in her stomach.
She chalks it up to politeness, and tries not to abuse the privilege too much.
“Hey, pay attention when people are talkin’ to you!” Ifrit’s face fills her vision, and she blinks. “It’s rude not to, right? You’ve said so yourself!”
“Right enough,” Saria folds her arms and shakes her head. “Apologies, Ifrit. What do you want to show me?”
“Oh! Er.” With the sudden attention, Ifrit seems almost bashful. “I just, uh. There’s this pin that I won, and I thought it was cool, so…”
As she speaks, her fingers uncurl to reveal a small metallic pin, meant for the lapel. The Rhine Lab logo is engraved into it, its loops swooping further than usual to give the piece more artistic flair.
“I thought you might want it!” Ifrit finally gets the words out. Saria has half a dozen in her upper desk drawer alone.
“Thank you, Ifrit.” Saria takes it with calloused fingers. Under Ifrit’s expectant eye, she fastens it onto her shirt. “How do I look?”
“Dashing!” Ifrit gives her a thumbs up and a wide grin. “As expected of a gift from a genius like me! You know, this newer operator, Goldenglow? She’s really anxious, but she’s got a really good head for fashion, and so she’s been helping me with-”
It strikes Saria then that to Ifrit, the weight of this interaction is lost. She does not doubt that it is any less meaningful to Ifrit than it is to herself, but the girl does not agonize over the stiffness in Saria’s fingers, the load on her shoulders.
“Ifrit.”
Ifrit startles slightly at Saria’s tone. “Uh, yeah?”
She struggles to find the words, but goes with, “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I know, right?!” Ifrit’s eyes light up and she grabs Saria’s hands. “I know you’ve been to Rhodes before, but I need to make sure you know Rhodes, okay? Like, help ya figure out when to beat the lines for meals and stuff, and the best place to see the sunrise, and–”
-
She didn’t want to take over Kristen’s role. Anyone who actually knew Saria could tell you that.
“Resignation in the case of ‘unnatural death’? No,” Jara shakes her head. “She put in her two weeks.”
And she had, set to resign all of a day after Galleria had launched. On paper, the transfer wasn’t any sort of mess. Simply a legal matter that needed to be sorted out sooner rather than later.
“And she requested me?”
“Hm? Yes– well,” Jara shrugs. “Not so much a request as an assumption. If you’re not up to it, we can certainly find someone else. Trimounts is full of bright minds.”
Her tone doesn’t need to carry any of her usual sing-song lilt for Saria to know she’s mocking her, just a bit. No one can be Kristen - especially not to Jara - but the one who took her hand firmly enough to start this whole damned company was a close enough second for the public to calm.
She doesn’t mind it that much, not when the ball first starts rolling. It feels more akin to things she did in college rather than the hands-on support she found herself dolling out for the past decade. In a way, the paperwork is comforting. It busies her mind and slows her body. Bureaucratic troubles tend to be easier to deal with when the opposition is already fighting an uphill battle to the freshly-legendary Rhine Lab.
But it’s boring. Her knuckles get cramps and she can’t rely on smoke breaks to keep her mind sharp, not when the scent could linger. Particularly long sessions leave her with headaches that follow her well into the next morning.
She leans back in her chair, rolls her neck to look out the window.
In Trimounts, the skyline is made of only buildings as far as the eye can see. They scrape into the air, pudgy fingers that serve as ample complaint for light pollution every year. She lets her gaze track upwards, past them.
Tiredly, she thinks that Kristen could have done better.
Then, she continues on.
-
Of course she missed college.
They were naive, then, but they’d felt like the only ones who hadn’t been. In fairness, once you were in the process of writing papers a good handful of your professors were referencing, it was hard not to feel even a little bit self-assured.
Saria doesn’t know why she remembers it now, the night she’d been going over final year course electives. A good majority of them were self-studies, excuses to get work done on university equipment and credit. Most classes on the catalog were ones she’d taken or, frankly, were uninterested in.
She scrolls through the listings for the upteenth time, pausing on a title she’d glossed over beforehand. Internal Flows and Propulsion Concepts in Aircraft Engines. She didn’t have all the prerequisites, but she’s certain she could keep up without much trouble. And, besides. Would any teacher actually reject her from their course on such a flimsy argument?
It fits into her timeslots, too, by some small miracle. She shrugs, goes to add it.
“I didn’t know you had an interest in that sort of thing,” Kristen says over her shoulder. “If you really wanted to know so badly, you could’ve just asked.”
Saria tilts her head back. “A private lesson from Ms. Wright herself. What a privilege.”
“But of course,” she says. She drops a textbook onto Saria’s pile of laundry, sits next to her on the edge of the bed. “Trust me, I was ready to teach these topics before I left high school.”
“Mm. I don’t doubt that.” Saria smiles, drags her cursor across the screen. “Regardless, I don’t want to take up any of your time–”
She pauses. Kristen has placed her hand over her own, firmly.
“Really, I insist,” she says. “Take another self-study.”
Because it’s Kristen, Saria does just that.
-
She does feel bad, honestly. About how much she ends up saying ‘no’ to Ifrit.
All her reasons are perfectly valid: that she needs to finish this review first, that this meeting only fits this one time slot so she needs to cancel.
“Oh, okay!” Ifrit is clearly trying her damnedest to keep the cheer in her voice up from the other side of the phone. She’s failing. “Next time for sure, then!”
And Saria does mean it, when she agrees. She nods into the receiver and promises yes, next time she’ll find the time.
She looks at the blank, black screen of the phone when the call is over. She dreads these calls, because it’s a shameful reminder that her priorities are changing.
-
There’s no funeral for Kristen. There was no way of telling if she was dead or alive, technically, at least not for now. Besides, holding a funeral for a freshly dubbed savior felt too dour. Instead, they have a retirement party.
Muelsyse organizes it, a frivolous thing that Saria only signs off on for morale. That, and the fact that Muelsyse can’t very well avoid her at a party she’s hosting herself.
Saria expects it to take a while, to spend more time exchanging pleasantries and drinks with boring colleagues before she had the chance to corner Muelsyse. Fortunately for her - though rather un fortunately for her evening attire - she finds herself assaulted with a hug from the behind mid-conversation.
“E-Ecological!” exclaims the wet-eared researcher she’d been talking to. “Ah, ah- it’s, well, hello!”
“Hi hi!” Muelsyse waves at them from around Saria’s waist. She can feel the moisture seeping through her pants. “You don’t mind if I steal Saria away, do you? I’ve just missed her sooo much!”
Through hurried words and sweet excuses, Muelsyse manages to squirrel Saria away to herself. “Muelsyse,” Saria says, “you look well.”
“I am well!” She clasps her hands together, swaying lightly from side to side. “Saria’s here! How could I not be completely overjoyed?”
“...right.” There isn’t a trace of the anxiety that had plagued Muelsyse during their last encounter. Saria decides to be merciful and not comment on it.
“And, hey hey!” Muelsyse gives her an elbow nudge that Saria can barely feel. “I’ve gotta say, you’ve been doin’ a reaaal good job, getting things all straightened out after everything! Taking it all in stride…” She sniffs. “That’s our Saria! Oh, and seeing you work hand-in-hand with that Silence girl… it’s nothing short of nostalgic!”
“Nostalgic?”
“Yeah! Like, it reminds me of the good ol’ days.” Muelsyse interlaces her fingers, letting them lock at the knuckles. “Honestly, it gets my heart a-flutter! You and a strong, capable lady, step-in-step as you strive for a bright new future! It’s almost romantic, don’t you think?”
Saria almost answers seriously before realizing she’s teasing her. “It’s fortunate that we work well together,” she settles on instead.
“‘Work well together’…” Muelsyse muses, tapping her chin. “Hm! That’s not how a little birdie phrased it to me.”
Ah. “You know, you’d benefit from saying things straight out instead of dancing around the subject all of the time.”
“I’m such a fan, though!”
For all her attempts to try and see Muelsyse again, Saria finds her patience wearing thin. She begins to turn away. “Whatever.”
“Hey, wait a second-!”
Saria glances back. “Hey hey,” Muelsyse says again, her chin now atop Saria’s shoulder, “can I ask you a favor?”
“It depends.”
“Mm.” Saria can’t see her face from this angle, but she knows she’s smiling. “Be nice to Silence. Sign her Decla– oofie!”
Saria shrugs her shoulder roughly, causing the shorter woman to go comically pinwheeling away. “Ehh, you didn’t let me finish!”
“It was obvious.”
“Meanie.” Muelsyse’s cheeks puff out.
“So I’ve been called before,” Saria sighs through her teeth. “If you have something actually meaningful to say to me, I’m all ears. But if not, I’d prefer if we kept to niceties.”
“This is meaningful!” Muelsyse swerves in front of Saria, her hands splayed to the side. “How can you look at this sorta thing and think it’s not meaningful? Really, I thought you’d be the one going around convincing people about this.” She rolls her eyes. “Like, even our dear Justin Jr. signed it!”
“Huh,” says Saria. “Really?”
Muelsyse nods.
“Can’t say I expected that.”
“Right?!” Muelsyse tilts her head. “So why won’t you?”
Why doesn’t she? She could give the same spiel she gave to Silence, about how it’s far too much far too soon, and she would probably still mean it.
Such words, however, are far too contradictory to the person named ‘Saria’ who fled Rhine Lab, and Muelsyse certainly knows it.
She settles on, “I’m thinking about it.”
-
During the first winter after Kristen’s gone, the heater in Saria’s apartment breaks.
The one she has in Trimounts, that is. She had gotten it before the ink on Rhine Lab’s legal papers were dry, and hadn’t taken the time to sell it once she’d resigned as Director of Defense. It turned out for the best, given how it costs an arm and a leg to get your own place this close to work, now.
When she had first returned, the dust was thick enough that even after hiring a cleaning service, she found herself sneezing for weeks. So it doesn’t surprise her that the heating system had failed, but it doesn’t make the cold any easier to deal with.
She buys humidifiers and space heaters when it turns out that the next time someone can be scheduled to come see it is in another month. The stupid thing about these rich person apartments, though, is that the ceilings were always too high. The warmth never kept for long, and after some guilt on wasting electricity (she’d gotten to the section in Silence’s Declaration on personal responsibility in larger scale ethics, unfortunately) Saria decided to just wait it out.
What this results in is nights drowning in blankets that she kicks off in her sleep, smothered by their fabric but easily woken without their warmth. It’s a frustrating situation that usually means she’s spending time at her desk, instead.
Kristen had most of her affairs in order. She had been- she is nothing if not thorough, making sure every i had been dotted, that every reliance was still in place. Of course, this made it all the more infuriating that she had not just accounted for but assumed Saria’s hand in cleaning up matters.
The note in her office had only been the first of these.
The latest is a suggestion to summarize an assortment of research papers to make them more digestible for politicians, ‘Like you used to’. Saria goes through the task with a weary hand.
When Rhine Lab had first been founded, it was easier than they had both expected. Academic accolades had gotten them so far, and the Wright name had pulled them into that starting point. All it took to get the LLC finalized was a fine sum of money and pretty words to the investors that supplied it.
Saria considered herself skilled in many aspects, but playing along with saccharinely sweet politicians was not among her arsenal. Kristen had said as much when negotiations with a particularly greed-soaked politician had gone sour, laughing despite herself as Saria had stormed out of the room.
“No, no, I agree wholeheartedly with you,” she had gotten out through peals of stifled laughter, “it’s just- Saria, do you realize how red you get, when you’re upset?”
That had been when she had been younger, quicker to anger. Now, the only time she can remember getting actually, truly angry and not just snappish was when she had confronted Kristen, both times.
She blinks. She’s snapped the pen she’s been holding, and the ink dribbles over her fingers onto the page. That’s what she gets for going physical. She reaches for a new paper.
It almost feels the same. Every single place she turns, and Kristen’s had her fingerprints all over it, yet she herself is nowhere to be seen. The only difference, now, is that instead of being behind the scenes, she’s far, far above them.
Her phone buzzes. She checks it- it’s a text from Ifrit, prefaced with one of those ‘pleading’ emotes. ‘are you gonna swing by soon?’
‘I’ll try’, she texts back.
-
Jara’s resignation is not the least bit surprising to her. If anything, Saria's surprised that she stuck around for a few weeks. Then again, she understands wanting to make sure that everything had shaken out fine. Preserving your kid’s legacy and all.
“But if there’s anything else you need, you can call me,” she says with a smile. Saria’s never been a fan of her habit of wearing sunglasses, indoors or otherwise. It made it feel as though Jara was talking at her rather than to her, a trend she was all too familiar with in this industry. “I’m just a hop, skip, and phone call away.”
Saria has a feeling there’ll be more to it than that, but she inclines her head anyway. “Your help over the years has been appreciated,” she said. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Rhine Lab.”
“Mm.” Jara tilts her glasses down, then back up. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. We were sure that it’d be left in good hands.”
We.
There’s the taste of bile in the back of Saria’s throat. Some small part of her, bitter and unfair and selfish, was jealous. Knowing the specificities of Kristen’s plan meant that Jara had all the time to grieve, bargain, and prepare before Kristen was gone. Saria had to make do with hot and empty air.
(That doesn’t change the fact, she has to remind herself, that Kristen remained gone for them both.)
Jara makes as if to leave, then pauses. “Oh, is that Silence’s pet project?”
The Declaration sits on Saria’s desk. “This? Yes.” She picks it up wearily. “She passed it on to me to look over it.”
“And? What do you think?”
“I-” Saria finds her words. “I haven’t had the chance to go through it, yet.”
“Pity.” Jara taps the folder with one manicured finger and then draws back. “I recommend getting to it sooner rather than later. She was very thorough.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
Jara waves over her shoulder and closes the door to Control’s office.
-
Practically, the workload isn’t much more than it has been the past few years. She traded out physical blows for paperwork, but that was about it.
Which makes it all the more confusing as to why she’s so damn tired all of the time.
She gets in her six hours most nights, has her cups of coffee and only works overtime when necessary. Age can only account for so much of the discrepancy between now and when she’d done this last, for the new sluggishness she finds pulling her hands back during even the most basic of tasks. It’s frustrating at best, humiliating at worst.
“Director,” Fitzroy whispers in her ear after a particularly dreadful meeting, “if you need the break, just let me know, alright? Better that than you nodding off.”
“I’m fine,” she says gruffly, smothering a yawn. Then, “they weren’t upset, were they?”
“No, I don’t think they even noticed, but-”
“Then there’s no problem,” she cuts him off. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Get this over with. That seems to be the mantra spinning through her head most days. Through every insufferable handshake, every soulless project review, every placated military man. A mantra of finishing it up, marching through it, the end. And then, of course, onto the next thing to slog through.
The thing about all that, however, was that it implied an ‘other side’. A result at the end of this endless slew of tasks or, at the very least, a reprieve. A break to let her catch her breath, maybe get a smoke while she was at it, too. Trouble is, she couldn’t quite figure out what that looked like.
If only Kristen was-
She catches herself thinking the thought consciously for the first time when she’s mid-review some legal request from the military. She’s a day and a half out from her next trip to Rhodes, mere hours away from the meeting that she actually needs to discuss this with. Silence’ll be there, a talking stick between her and some commander that she’s already forgotten the name of.
I need to remember that, she chastises herself. Get a grip.
And she does try, which for Saria, actually means something. She splashes her face with cold water, brews another cup of coffee, extinguishes her smoke on the backside of her hand and then relights it. She goes through all the little tricks in her book to get herself in order, tricks that she’d fallen into habit in with Kristen-
Dammit.
Saria does what she hasn’t let herself do since college, and takes a nap.
-
She got shot in the shoulder and fell through the sky all within the same span of twelve or so hours. Even for someone like her, she can only hold off on going to the hospital for so long before it becomes an actual palpable issue.
Silence drags her there, past whatever receptionists haven’t run out to gape at the sky and over linoleum tiles. Saria drifts in and out of consciousness the entire time.
When she finally comes to for more than a handful of minutes, her right arm is in a sling and bandages fog half her vision. Silence has fallen asleep on her legs, a pile of brown feathers and fluff.
Saria’s very, very tired, she realizes. She has a pounding headache and every inch of her skin is covered in pins and needles. The events of the day slowly seep in, like rainwater through rocks, and she has to pinch her nose to prevent herself from musing on them too hard.
“Oh, you’re up.”
Silence rubs her eye with a wince, pushing herself off the bed. Saria’s gaze follows her. “My first night with contacts, and I slept with them on, haha…” She laughs. “What a stupid mistake.”
Saria doesn’t say anything, instead taking a long and slow sweep over the room. The gentle chatter of medical staff floats in from the hallway. In the corner of the room, a television crackles mutely. It shows the sky.
“You shouldn’t have to be here long,” says Silence. “That is, if you’re in a rush to leave. By some small miracle, you’ve essentially escaped with nothing but scratches. Oh, and a fractured arm, of course,” she motions at the sling, “but that’s been taken care of.”
Saria lifts the arm as much as the sling will allow, flexing her fingers experimentally. It sparks a small bit of soreness that shoots through to her shoulder, but it is otherwise without issue. She inclines her head, and Silence takes that as prompting to continue.
“Ifrit visited while you were asleep. She’s fine, also, thankfully.” She exhales another tepid laugh. “Really, I’m surprised you didn’t end up waking up with the ruckus she made. She pulled out some of your monitor wires while hugging you, nearly gave one of the nurse’s a heart attack when it said you flatlined. Which,” another shaky exhale, “would be bad, right now.”
It would be bad, she reminds herself as her molasses brain sifts through itself. It would be bad, because–
Kristen’s gone.
The thought hits her more like the slow, intense build-up of an iron-weld burn than it does a truck, searing its way deeper and deeper till her vision blurs. Dammit. She blinks quickly. No time for that.
“Saria,” says Silence, and now there’s a hint of concern in her voice, “if… it’s alright of me to ask, can you talk?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, and her voice sounds as if she’s smoked three packs a day for the past decade. “I’ve been through worse.”
-
Saria wakes up to a flurry of fervent knocks on her door.
Her head hurts, which isn’t a surprise; it seems to be in a perpetual state of aching nowadays. And it’s a state that only intensifies as she squints down through the glare of her phone’s screen, ignoring the notifications rolling in. It’s half-past noon. She hasn’t slept in like this since college.
She’d fallen asleep on her couch, by some miracle. The chill in her apartment certainly had only been getting worse instead of better, these past few days.
“Saria, c’mon!” Muelsyse’s voice wafts through the door cracks, the same kind of lilting high pitch she hits when she’s besides herself with anxiety. “You’re in there, riiight? You better open up, or else I’m gonna be charged with some nasty breaking and entering–”
“There’s no need for that,” Saria says, shouldering open the door tiredly.
“Oh!” gasps Muelsyse. The space under her eyes is red, and Saria realizes that for once, it is not one of her clones, but Muelsyse herself. “Well that was easy.”
“There are better ways to get a hold of me, you know.”
“Are there? I tried those, I think!”
Saria’s phone buzzes. She glances at the screen once more. The notifications she had ignored beforehand seem to be a plethora of missed calls and text messages. “Hm. That’s on me, then.”
“It is!” Muelsyse’s cheeks puff. “Jeez, do you know how worried we all were? You haven’t missed things like this sinc–”
“Wait a second,” Saria raises a hand. “Sorry, ‘we’?”
“Yeah, Iffy and I!” Muelsyse nods. “Trying out the ‘absent parent’ role again, are you? That’s not as sexy a look as it used to be, if I’m being honest!”
Saria decides not to go down that rabbit hole. “And why is Ifrit concerned?”
“Well, you were supposed to swing by Rhodes last night, right?” Muelsyse tilts her head. “Of course she’s going to be stressed out when you don’t show up, and the last time anyone heard from you was eighteen hours ago!”
Eighteen hours. She hadn’t just slept in; she’d slept for an entire day and then some. The thought of how much work she needs to make up makes her weary just standing there, and she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Saria?”
“Sorry,” she mumbles, “just- give me a minute.”
Muelsyse curls her way into her vision, head bobbing. “I’m not one to critique appearance, but you’re certainly looking like you’re missing out on beauty sleep.”
“I don’t care what I look like,” Saria snaps. Muelsyse’s breath catches, and Saria doesn’t let the silence rest before breaking it with, “Sorry. I didn’t- sorry.”
“No! No no no, it’s kind of… uhm, nice? Hearing you angry again,” she laughs, gently ushering Saria back into her own apartment as her clone closes the door behind them. Saria lets herself be guided, and it’s yet another testament to just how tired she is that she does so without protest. “Snap at me all you want, if it makes you feel better!”
“It doesn’t,” says Saria as Muelsyse sits her down on the couch before sliding on over to the kitchen counter. Her clone covers her in a freshly-dampened blanket before melting into the floor. Saria shakes it off. “Though, I’m feeling fine regardless. This really isn’t necessary-”
She startles as Muelsyse slams the mug she’d been brewing onto the coffee table. Steaming milk splashes out of it. “Hey, Saria? Can you shut up for a sec?”
Saria looks up at Muelsyse, down. Nods.
“Good!” She chirps, pulling the blanket back over Saria and handing her the mug. “First step of getting over yourself is stopping aaaall of that silly denial talk, ‘kay?”
“I’m not-” Saria starts, then cuts herself with a bite of her lip when Muelsyse gives her a dry look.
“You know, things would probably be going muuuch better for you if you were easier on the stress lines,” Muelsyse singsongs. “You’re putting a bit too much on your shoulders, methinks.”
“Can you blame me?” Saria finds herself biting out bitterly. Muelsyse opens her mouth, but Saria steamrolls through her. “I’m barely two steps out of the hospital before it’s back to cleanup. Everyone vying for some piece of what’s left of her, for what she left behind. Nothing’s changed: she’s still leaving dredges for the rest of us to wade through. All this buzzing and expectations and for what?” She gestures vaguely. “Just to move nicely and neatly without her. Easy for her to deal with,” she snorts. “She doesn’t have to look at any of this, she never has and now she especially doesn’t, now that she’s found herself a nice coffin a few thousand meters into orbit. She-”
Muelsyse is silent as Saria lets out a shaky breath. The vitriol leaves her quickly. She feels yet another headache coming on, because she doesn’t have enough of those these days. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean that.” Muelsyse squeezes her hands.
“You don’t need to apologize for this, either,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t super nice of Kr… of the former Control to-”
“You can just say her name,” Saria says. “It’s not a bad word.”
“...right.” Muelsyse hesitates, tilts her head. “Can I suggest something?”
“You ‘can’ do whatever you want.”
Muelsyse rolls her eyes, but there’s no intention behind it. “You should rely on Silence more.”
Saria frowns. “I’m making ample use of her as my advisor.”
“Ah. I meant more like,” Muelsyse gives a wavering shrug, “relegating some of Control’s duties onto her.”
“She’s busy-”
“And you’re falling apart.”
It’s less a revelation and more a wack against her head, a dull reminder to face the music. She grimaces. “...does it look that bad?”
Muelsyse hesitates, nods. Saria sighs out a laugh. “Feels ironic hearing that from you now.”
“From me?” Muelsyse points an innocent finger at her face.
“You could barely look at me for weeks after-” Saria pauses. “Once I took over as Director.”
“Mm.” Muelsyse glances to the side. “I- Well. I wasn’t exactly living out my finest moments for a while, either.”
“I wish you had talked to me,” Saria admits.
“I know,” Muelsyse sighs through gritted teeth. “I just- uhm. When I saw you, then it made the space feel all the more obvious. Does that make sense?”
It does. Even now, Saria feels odd without Kristen’s hovering. She nods slowly.
“Aw, jeez.” Muelsyse’s breath hitches in an odd way. “I think we really miss her.”
It’s surely deafeningly obvious to someone peering in from the outside: the sudden removal of a decade old friendship with no satisfying conclusion is sure to leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth. But Saria doesn’t think she could have come up with that phrase herself. Miss her.
“I’d say so,” she agrees.
Muelsyse reaches. For a moment, Saria stiffens, unsure of her intention. Then Muelsyse’s hand creeps over to her shoulder, her face glances away, and Saria leans in.
The embrace does not linger. They are both too awkward for that, too stiff in the shoulders and unused to intimacy without a healthy sheen of irony or desperation over the top. They cannot get everything they need to out of this, out of squeezing each other so tight that Saria’s breath stutters (because that’s the only reason why it would), but-
They get something.
Muelsyse’s hands pull at the back of Saria’s shirt, fists tight and balled up. It chokes her in the collar, but there isn’t much that would make her move, right now.
“It wasn’t worth it,” Muelsyse mutters into the fabric. “Every night, I look at the sky and think- it’s not that pretty.”
“Yeah,” Saria responds hoarsely. “It’s not.”
Because she’s done the same. Stared at the two moons, the most obvious testament anyone has made as proof to their existence, and thought that they were too round, too odd in color. Not perfect enough for the cost it took to see it.
And then, just like that, it’s over. Muelsyse pulls away and, like there so often is whenever she touches Saria, she leaves a wet spot on her shoulder.
“You got any tissues?” Muelsyse mumbles. Saria provides a box from the couch side table, and Muelsyse mutters shaky thanks.
A few heartbeats pass, and when Muelsyse looks back up at her, she’s dressed herself in a smile.
“I-if it makes you feel better,” with a shaky voice, Muelsyse continues the prior conversation as if nothing had happened, wiping away at her tear-stained face with the palm of her hand. “I think it’d be for more than just your own benefit.”
“Pardon?”
“The more responsibilities Silence manages to take on, the more credit she’ll receive,” Muelsyse nods to herself, “and the easier it’ll be to get the Declaration passed.”
The Declaration. It always seemed to come back to that document. “You’re in stronger support of it than I thought you would be,” Saria notes.
“Well, I’ve gotta be!” Muelsyse’s cheeks puff. “I need to make up for all of the slack you’re leaving her with! Which, by the way- disappointed in you.” She shakes a finger. “I’m already surprised that you don’t want to sign it, but not even reading it? Come on, Saria.”
“Mm. I,” Saria lets her tongue rest on the roof of her mouth for a moment, “actually… ended up reading it, in the end.”
“Huh? Really?!” Muelsyse’s eyes sparkle. “Great, then! So you’ll give it your stamp of approval?”
“I…”
It’s good. It’s really good, surpassing even Saria’s stringent expectations, which makes it all the more annoying that she finds herself grasping for excuses to delay it. There are real, actionable consequences to it not being put through, Saria knows that. If anything, she should be spearheading the efforts for this.
And yet.
“...you do want the Declaration to succeed, right?” Muelsyse says. “I know you’re being weird about it, but the Saria I know would be all for this.” She pats her hand. “The Saria I know fought tooth and nail for less.”
She’s right. but-
“It doesn’t feel… correct,” Saria says. “If it goes ahead, then…”
“It’s a stamp on the fact that she’s gone, right?” Muelsyse says. “It’s a direct action-and-result consequence.
“I felt the same way,” Muelsyse admits. “I still do, honestly. Claaassic Kristen,” she laughs lightly. “Creating a whole mess of things, and we just gotta deal with it now.”
“...mm.”
“If it’s too painful,” Muelsyse says, “you don’t need to stand at the front, for this. Your signature is enough; you can pass it on to Silence and let her take care of it. I don’t think she’d blame you.”
Saria lets her gaze focus on the corner of her coffee table. “That… feels as if I’m cheating.”
“Why?” Muelsyse snorts slightly. “Because it’s not as cookie cutter as Kristen would have had it? That’s okay, you know.”
Saria remains silent.
“Tell you what,” Muelsyse says. “You sign the Declaration, take it to Silence tomorrow, and if you do, I’ll whip up some of my famous vegan cookies!” She flexes an arm. “You can take some to Iffy! I’m sure she’d love them.”
Saria doubts that. “Sounds like a plan,” she agrees.
Muelsyse smiles, pauses. “…oh my gosh.”
“What?”
“I’ve totally left Iffy hanging!” She drags her hands down her face in dramatized despair as one of her clones grabs her phone and begins to compose a text message. “The poor soul! I told her I’d let her know the second I found you, and look at the time! It’s been a good handful of seconds, I’ll tell you that!”
-
She doesn’t intend to face Silence when she hands off the Declaration. To be honest, it’s for her own sake. It is much easier to keep up a polite mask of corporate decency over email, after all, but the problem with physical documents is that. Well, they were physical.
It’s too much of a bother to mail them, so she walks the floor down to Silence’s lab. It’s dark, and when she scans her keycard and steps inside, the motion sensors turn on the lights.
Silence has yet to grow into the space. There are none of the plants that she had found in Silence’s dorm on the ship, and there are still few enough papers that they can be kept in orderly little stacks. Curiosity gets the better of her, and she peers at the one closest to her. There’s a comically big red ‘CLASSIFIED’ stamp on the front - some military files, then.
“Oh. Director.”
Saria turns and there’s Silence, dressed in a lab coat and eyebags. “Didn’t expect to see you at this hour,” she says, placing a cup of freshly brewed coffee onto a table. Her gaze is absent of any hostility, only tiredness. “Did you need something from me?”
Saria hesitates, then holds out the folder. Silence stares at it in confusion before her gaze slowly dawns with understanding. “Is that-”
“Your Declaration,” Saria says, her voice unexpectedly thick. She swallows. “I looked over it, gave some pointers that I hope are helpful. Overall, though, very strong work.” She nods as Silence takes the stack back. “You should be proud.”
Silence’s gaze swivels between the manila folder in her hands to Saria and back again. “I… you actually ended up reading it?”
“Naturally. It was a direct request from my advisor, and I value your opinion.”
Silence is already flipping through, eyes skimming the pages with uniform speed. “Oh, my. You were certainly thorough.”
“I try to be,” Saria clears her throat. “Well, then. I’ll be taking my leave-”
Silence grabs her wrist. Despite herself, Saria tenses under her grip.
“Can we… talk?”
“We talk nearly every day.” It’s true, sort of. There are very few meetings she attends that Silence isn’t also present for, even if she ends up sneaking in late while practically shedding papers out of her hands. Silence looks at her dryly, and Saria swallows. “Yes, we can talk.”
She thinks she’s fairly certain of Silence’s next words. Some awkward attempt at comfort, maybe, or a slap on the wrist for neglecting the Declaration for so long. Certainly not:
“Why are you avoiding Ifrit, still?”
“Avoiding?” Saria’s brow furrows. “I’m not- excuse me?”
“You completely flaked on your meeting with her this month,” Silence frowns. “I understand that you’re busy, but you neglected to even let her know ahead of time?” She shakes her head. “That’s unacceptable, even for you.”
Saria has the sense to feel guilty about that, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “That… yes, I made a mistake. But I’m not avoiding her by any means, it just.” She pauses, then, rather weakly, “slipped through the cracks.”
“Then you should make her a higher priority!” Silence says fiercely. “She didn’t beg after you for years just to be ignored when finally given the chance. Really,” she huffs, “how come you’re not on top of this?”
If she wasn’t so taken aback, Saria would be hanging her head like some scolded child. Instead, she forces out, “You… want me to visit Ifrit more?”
Silence glances to the side. “I signed you on as Ifrit’s guardian specifically because I wanted the two of you to spend more time together,” she says. “Isn’t that sort of conclusion fairly obvious? At the very least, I’m pretty clearly not trying to keep you apart.”
Not anymore. That’s the unspoken, confusing part. “If that’s what my trusted advisor wants, then I’ll-”
“I’m not saying this as your advisor,” Silence pinches her brow. “I’m saying this as someone who cares about Ifrit, and someone who cares about you.”
Saria remains quiet.
“But,” Silence sighs, “you’re very focused on living up to her expectations of you, now, right?”
“That’s-” Saria hesitates. “That’s not what I want to do.”
“Well,” Silence says patiently, tiredly, “what do you want?”
She hardly registers her own words before she gets them out. “I want to return to Rhodes.”
Silence looks up. The small fluff to her feathers betrays… some sort of emotion, Saria’s not sure which. “Oh?”
Saria’s lips press into a thin line. Then, “...yes. Given Rhodes Island’s involvement in all of this, as well as the resources they’ve made available, it makes sense that the time is taken to maintain good relations and clear communications. While I understand that some individuals who have ties to Rhine Lab remain there, having someone in an executive position is ideal.”
“Mm.” Silence smiles at Saria’s elaborateness. “Not just visits, but being effectively stationed there?”
Saria nods.
Silence rubs her chin. “In that case, I’d be taking on most of your duties, no?” she points out. “At least, temporarily.
“If it’s too much, then I shouldn’t,” Saria says. “I realize that it’s a gross neglect of my role to simply shrug things off to you. Particularly with all the extra work that will come forth upon pushing for the Declaration, that’s-”
“Saria,” Silence cuts her off gently, kindly. “It’s okay. You can go.”
Unexpectedly, Saria finds herself feeling weak with relief. “...are you sure?”
Silence nods.
-
She’s not leaving forever, or even for particularly long. So there isn’t that much to pack.
Mostly the necessities: her keycard, a change of clothes, her laptop, Kristen’s laptop. Enough to ensure that she can do her job while she’s away. What little of it remained, at least.
As she has beforehand, she takes a car and leaves before 5 to avoid the worst of the traffic. Before Kristen’s launch, the sun only managed to seep through the sky just as the clock turned 6. Now, it already dances on Saria’s face.
It shares the sky with the two moons, now cresting nicely over the horizon. As Saria leaves the city and enters marshy, dusty fields, they accompany her till they fade completely from view.
It is about a four hour drive one way from Trimounts to where Rhodes Island’s landship is stationed now. The miles trickle by without note. When the landship finally comes into view, its massive form dominates the horizon. Saria slows the car as she approaches.
“SARIA!”
It’s so faint that she’s sure she’s imagined it. That, and, well- it’s unreasonable to expect that she actually heard anything from this distance, right?
She looks out the car’s windshield. This close, she can start to make out the specific bumps and ridges that make up the landship’s silhouette. The corners that make out the latest shipment, the antenna that serve to aid in communication.
The tiny figure that is Ifrit, waving wildly. Her enthusiasm is unmistakable, even from here.