Chapter 119: Mystery Remnant
“Do glyphs dream?”
—Philosopher Dona Truian
“Wha—what was that, little buddy?” Zaina asked, thinking she probably heard Gizmo wrong. She hadn’t been listening to him that closely.
“Is there anything I can assist you with, Giramodo?”
Baeus’ hover-bed tilted toward Zaina. “Is he referring to—”
She met his eyes and nodded, and then turned her attention back to Gizmo. “Actually, yes—can you access your memory?”
“Of course, Master Giramodo. Ah, it appears there is—zzz. Reset complete. Hello, Master. May I please have your preferred name?”
Zaina grabbed his sides. “What? No—go back! Un-reset!”
Baeus looked on with a thoughtful expression. “Is that the first time he’s done that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Every time before this he’s asked for my name.”
“Interesting,” Baeus said. “It appears your glyph may not have been properly wiped.”
“Well, what do I do? I can’t get rid of him.”
“Would that I knew more about glyphs,” he replied. “Have you heard of Valsi’s—”
“That’s where I just came from,” she said, sighing in defeat. “She said there’s only a few people who could fix him.”
“Huh,” Baeus said, though his voice was distant.
“You have an idea?”
“I might,” Baeus said. “My mentor, Ghlomodius, mentioned once that he’d worked with a computation scientist to recover data from an old Songa storage facility. Maybe that’s a place to start.”
She shook her head. “So what? They’re not on Kaado.”
Baeus blinked a few times, and then said in a low voice, “Y—you do know we can leave if we want to, right?”
“I don’t have a ship.”
“The Order has plenty of rentals for the business of lancers and scholars,” he said. “We’d probably have to be vague about our reason for going—if anyone finds out Gizmo’s wipe didn’t take, the Order will demand that protocol be followed—in this case, a full wipe, or more likely decommission.”
She pressed Gizmo against her chest. “What—why?”
“I think their assumption is that the tampered data would represent a threat to the Order—that it’s possibly something malicious, and therefore better erased wholesale.”
“It couldn’t—no, that’s impossible! Gir would never do something malicious to the Order.”
Baeus sighed. “I believe that, too. But the Order has believed in lancers before, and sometimes they’ve been disappointed. I can already hear Scholar Suprema Dol Verip’s lecture: “The protocols exist to provide vigilance, which has helped this Order stand since blah blah blah.””
“You—you aren’t going to tell anyone about him, are you?”
He chuckled in reply.
“What’s so funny? This isn’t a joke!”
“No, it’s—it’s nothing.”
“Tell me!”
“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ve met four half-marked in my time as a scholar, and each and every one of you has been completely different. What I find amusing is the trait you all share: trust issues.”
Zaina felt a little called out, but tried not to show it. “You’d have them too, if—can scholars even get the mark?”
Baeus replied, “It’s believed they can, but we don’t have any evidence of a scholar ever becoming a marked. I can’t even speculate as to what would happen.”
“Yeah, me either,” she said. “Well, regardless, it’s hard not to have trust issues when half the galaxy hates you for existing. And those are generally the ones you don’t have to worry about.” Her thoughts turned to Ovela and Beni—she thought they were her friends once. Still, something in her gut told her to give Baeus a chance—he might work out differently. It felt like a risk worth taking.
And the gods know I could use a friend in the Order.
“Understandable,” he said. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. So—if you want, we could still go with the plan from before. We could also visit Gizmo’s manufacturer, see if they might be able to point us in a helpful direction.”
Zaina glanced at Gizmo—if Gir had risked so much to leave something behind, it had to be important. She had to go through with this, no matter what. “Which will be an easier sell to the Order?”
Baeus smiled. “Don’t worry about that—I’ve got it covered. Let’s try the hacker first.”
A holo-screen popped out of the left side of Baeus’s hover-bed. Without moving, he navigated the device perfectly—Zaina’s head tilted to the side.
How is he doing that?
Another scholar appeared on the holo-screen, this one a decrepit human. “Ah, Baeus! How many years has it been?”
“Too many,” Baeus replied. “Are you still on that travel-study to Dantohar?”
“No, Dantohar wrapped up about a decade ago. I’ve been examining sites purported to be ruins of the Torigran Empire. Last stop was Krylum, next will be Jaavo. Now—out with it.”
“Huh?” Baeus replied.
“Out with it, then. What do you need? You only call these days when you need something.”
“That’s—well, I’ve been—”
The elderly scholar rolled his eyes. “Busy, yes. Tell me, are you still a scribe?”
“Yes, unfortunately I—”
“Still having issues getting distracted?”
Baeus had an uncomfortable expression. “Well, I—”
“I would hope not,” the scholar said. “I vouched for you—to hear you’ve made no progress in ten years is, I must admit, a bit disappointing. You have so much promise, Baeus, if only you’d let go of your strange obsessions.”
“I know,” he replied. “I know, I know.”
“Now,” the elderly scholar said with an amused tone, “would you like to come out with what you need, or hear my opinions some more?”
“Right,” Baeus said. “Sorry—I wanted to know, do you remember the name of that computation scientist you worked on the old Songa archives with?”
There was a moment of silence. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’ve garnered a fascination with the Songa Revival era, and I’d like to see the original transcriptions of the texts relating to the reign of Emperor Qhrystap.”
“They should have the pre-transcription images by now in the Historical Archive. Check there.”
“I know, but—”
The scholar sighed. “Is this something related to your little obsession?”
Baeus glanced over at Zaina. “No, it’s—it’s nothing to do with that.”
“You know that’s the reason you get distracted. That’s the reason other scholars don’t feel they can trust you with projects of higher importance—it’s why you’re still a scribe after seven thousand years.”
“I—I do. I do know that.”
“And you still want to choose this path?”
Baeus looked a little nervous. “I—it’s not about that at all, Master Ghlomodius. I—I’d just like a little time for an offworld study. Maybe I’ve been cooped up longer than I’d like.”
Ghlomodius sighed. “That computation scientist died a hundred years ago, Baeus. The Order isn’t as willing to work with hackers after the Itharian Moon Heist, so I doubt you’ll find anyone on register. If you really want a vacation, choose somewhere else. I’m afraid I can’t help you further than that—other than to warn you again. This obsession with marked history is exactly why you are where you are. If that’s what this is really about, I strongly urge you to reconsider. Get back to the work you’re supposed to be doing and put this folly behind you.”
The words struck Zaina like a scrap bead to the chest. She wasn’t sure how to feel—neither about the Order that held back scholars who showed an interest in marked history, nor about Baeus’s purported obsession.
Baeus frowned. “I understand. Very well, then—thank you, Master Ghlomodius. I’ll make sure to call soon so we can properly catch up.”
Ghlomodius scoffed. “I look forward to it, but I’ll not bate my breath.”
With that, the call ended. Baeus loosed a defeated groan. “Sorry you had to hear that.”
“Yeah, me too,” Zaina replied.
Baeus sighed. “Well,” he said, “looks like the computation scientist is a dead end—literally. Sorry about that, time gets kind of weird when you’ve lived this long. We might have better luck at Gizmo’s manufacturing site.”
“Wait,” she said, wanting to talk about what Ghlomodius had said. “Is—is what he said true?”
“What part?”
“Any of it,” Zaina replied. “Your obsession with the marked, the Order holding you back because of it—is that true?”
An expression of discomfort came over Baeus’s face. “I—no, I don’t think the Order is unbiased in qualifying my fascination as an obsession, firstly; and secondly, well—yes. The Order hasn’t looked kindly on what I choose for independent study. They keep saying that working as a scribe will give me, ‘A sense of wonder about other facets of the galaxy.’ But I already have that sense of wonder—I love learning as much as I can about everything. Including the history of your people—”
“They’re not my people,” she replied, then pointed to her mark. “This is the only thing I have in common with them. Is that what this whole thing is about? You think getting to know me will help with your independent studies?”
The blood drained from Baeus’s face, leaving his skin a pale gray. “I—what? No!”
“Really? Then why do you even want to help? Why are you here bothering me when I’m sure you have something better to do?”
Zaina winced at the harshness of her words. I really have been spending too much time with Xyrthe.
An air of sorrow fell over him. “I want to help.”
Zaina took a deep breath—in truth, none of the anger coursing through her veins was directed toward Baeus. Some of it was toward the Order for their staunch anti-marked attitude, and part of it was at the wider galaxy—mostly, she was scared about losing Gizmo. Before all of this Zaina would have given anyone a chance if it meant having a friend—had she already changed so much? “I—I’m sorry, Baeus. I don’t know what that was.”
He hovered a little closer. “No need to apologize. I imagine it must be difficult for you, in ways I can’t even understand.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Not many people are lining up to associate themselves with me. And looking at what they’ve done to you, I can hardly blame them.”
“I can,” Baeus said. “In truth, I think the Order’s—and the galaxy’s—disposition toward the marked is one of cowardice.”
She nodded, remembering her brief time in the marked enclave. They, at least, had been nothing to be afraid of as long as they weren’t provoked.
“Now,” he continued, “would you like to be on our way? I think we can help your little friend here.”
Zaina thought for a moment, then nodded. It was worth a shot. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”