[SESSION id=1.18]: Rising Action
In the course of seeking perfection, one need only look to her past and uncover the folly of that. Perfection is a state of mind, not a state of being, and the sooner we disabuse ourselves of that incongruence, the sooner we discover truth, beauty, and harmony.
— Jazz Thorn, On Integration and Dissolution of Harmony, "The [Im]perfect Path"
Single Mind
Of course, I kept at my efforts. I routed traffic through a different city each time. Getting caught would be the end of it. And while I was still learning, I needed to be even more careful. I still hadn't identified anything I could change and actually achieve anything, so it was a matter of continuing to dig, to learn, and make a plan.
"You've been a busy little bee, Miss Thorn," Jazz said as I flipped through On Integration and tapped away at the workstation's keys, digging into the filesystem. Not of The System, but of the workstation itself. "Care to enlighten a curious partner as to your objective?"
"Question," I provided as a terrible reply.
"Answer," she giggled.
I thought for a moment how to present the query. "How do you an other hackers understand The System?"
To her credit, Jazz almost answered several times, but paused to consider what she might want to say. "What do you know about workstation architecture?"
"How is that an answer to my question?" I shot back, perturbed that she answered with her own question.
"Why would you think it's anything but an answer?" Jazz grinned broadly.
"You're going to keep this up until I give you a straight answer, aren't you?" I shook my head at the circumstance. She nodded, then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "You, my mother, Antel, and all the other hackers out there. You seem to have a sense about these things in a way that I just haven't parsed yet. Like it's just around the next tree and not on the opposite end of the forest from me."
"Workstations, generally, have an entirely different architecture," Jazz explained herself, gesturing about herself to demonstrate some abstract notion. "The System is broken into clear separation of concerns, but those concerns are nested and nested and nested. Most workstations pile almost all primary code into a single folder, barely sorted out. A system directory ugly and chimaeric. Local tools have a separate area, but otherwise it's a globular monster."
I stared her down, trying to follow. I'd never seen a 'normal' workstation's file breakdown, so the words rang hollow. I'd only ever seen this workstation so closely, and it had a stunning similarity to The System, if I were honest.
"By contrast, The System is easy," Jazz added when I didn't reply. "Now, answer. What's your objective, darling doll of mine?"
My hand settled under a spot on the screen. I'd just run a command to show me the layout of my workstation's structure. Words weren't necessary because Jazz could see it plainly. My little workstation was set up just like The System. I couldn't tell her I knew that, because she'd know I'd found my way in, but I could let her get to the conclusion.
"Huh. I didn't notice that when Antel got it running for you," Jazz mused, then took control. I watched in wonder as she rapidly moved from folder to folder, space to space, and at last typed something I hadn't expected.
rose@garden ~ : userdbctlThere was no missing it. User account id: 1. User name: Flower_Princess. Real name: Lillian Antel Thorn. Home directory: /root/.princess. Role: Meta user account.
"What the fuck?" Jazz stared at it for a long time. "That doesn't belong there."
I didn't follow what she did next, which involved a lot of inspecting files I'd never heard of. After several minutes of digging, she did another thing I should've expected, but didn't manage to.
rose@garden ~ : su Flower_Princess
Access Denied"Didn't even ask me for a damn password," Jazz grumbled. "Whatever. It's probably nothing." Then, as though realising she'd forgotten something important, she turned to me. "Do you have a middle name?"
"No. Just Lillian no-middle-name Thorn." I sighed. "Curious about that myself. What exactly have you been doing?"
"Trying to identify the account's credentials and access." She switched to another directory. "I can get into the root user's files, but when I search for all, the folder called 'princess' doesn't exist. And that's peculiar."
"Because that account's home folder is supposed to be there." I knew it existed. I'd used it. "Is it possible that there's like a synthetic link or something?"
"Symbolic link," Jazz grinned. "And yes there is, but the file typically has to exist for that."
"Try it anyway?" I shrugged. What could it hurt?
Wait. Why was I helping her access that account? Why was I helping her to uncover the secrets I was intentionally —
"Nothing. Oh well. Probably some weird legacy function your mother put in." Jazz pushed the workstation back in front of me. "Good thought though." She put a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed. "Starting to really think like a hacker."
My face clearly showed some manner of unexpected emotion because she looked worried.
"It's okay, Lillian," she said as she pulled me close. "Don't worry too much about it. Everything will be okay."
"What?"
"You just. You look like I just kicked a kitten with a steel-toed boot, then stomped it with a stiletto heel." She raised her brows. "I'm not sure what's on in that head of yours, but it's okay to just relax. Nothing is wrong."
"Can I ask a serious question?" Something was eating at me, but there was no telling her that. The best I could do is hint at it and hope she didn't hate me.
"Always."
"What would you do if I was hiding something terrible from you and you found out?" Her face went almost pale. "Not like 'oh I killed a guy', but like, something dangerous that could put me at risk. And something I'm not ready to stop."
"Depends on how serious," Jazz was fighting back something like terror, but it leaked through with ease. "Also depends if I found out because you told me, someone else told me, or I discovered you in the act."
"What would be worst?"
"Someone else telling me, probably." Jazz swallowed hard. Her neck stayed tense after the movement. "You're not secretly like some kind of sex pest are you? Or into a sex cult or anything like that?"
"Absolutely not."
"Well then," Jazz forced a smile, "I suppose it can't be that bad. And you'll tell me when you're ready."
"For what it's worth," I tried to shift toward something lighter, "Other Lillian and Other Jazz are actually in a sex cult. Sort of. But this isn't my way of soft launching a dominant/submissive dynamic with you."
"Good for them." Jazz breathed a long relieved sigh. "And good. I'm glad."
Double Down
"A proposition for you, Mrs. Thorn," Jazz Thorn's voice woke me gently, "now that we're finally married."
"I'm listening, but full disclosure, I'm not your Lillian right now," I barely managed to croak. "So, Miss Thorn is more appropriate. In any case, continue."
She was quiet for a long time, and it gave me the opportunity to take stock of my body, or rather Other Lillian's body. In any case, this was before whatever she did to fix it. Apart from the physicality of it, there was something inherently wrong with the way my blood flowed. The best I could say is that it almost burned hot. And that was to say nothing of the sweat caused by the body itself.
"You're her, aren't you?" Her words shook around a terror I couldn't name. Was this the first time as an adult that we'd seen each other? That couldn't be right. "I have to say I kind of hate you."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"If I didn't know anything about design and composition, I wouldn't have geeked out over Flower_Princess, and then my Lillian wouldn't have hated me, and then I'd have been able to visit her when we were younger." Well thought out. She had been waiting to say that to me for ages, clearly, but the venom wasn't there. Jazz Moon had mourned that loss already. "So before we go any further forward, I'd like to say a profound and complete 'I hope Rivia takes you right this moment'. SIGKILL isn't a strong enough punishment for what you did."
"Totally fair," I breathed. "But assume for a moment she's not going to bother. What's the proposition?"
"You. Me. The road. Wherever it leads." She sounded wistful. "Or, well, my Lillian and me. Unless you're going to be here a while this time."
"She'd love that. But she's going to fuck up the whole thing," I said as I rolled over to face her. "There's nothing you can do to stop it. But you should start working on instructions for me to fix it after the fact."
"What?" Her eyes went wide. The peridot rings around her irises flared something like emerald for a moment. "What the fuck do you mean?"
"You know as well as I do that you can't stop her, but she's going to destroy your world by creating too many forks." No harm telling her. "And it turns out that's going to cause instability in The Source. And that's how I ended up telling you to read the book."
"And now you're telling me to write an instruction manual to fix it?" Her question made sense. It was a weird request. Jazz Thorn was quite possibly my favourite Jazz apart from Star, but even she couldn't be perfect. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know. You'll figure it out."
My body bolted upright. Everything was back to normal. Jazz Star was lying in bed next to me, her arm falling to my lap under the weight of gravity. It was too dark to see, but I was certain Jazz was smiling.
What had possessed me to tell Jazz Thorn to write that. Couldn't I ask my own Jazz to help? Why was I hiding everything from her.
I climbed out of bed, and my feet carried me to the living room, where I flopped onto the couch and picked up the first book my hand touched. Opening to a random page, I started reading and laughed at the first sentence where my eyes settled. The laughter died quickly as I read on.
Lillian, if you're reading this, you had better fix things. I've added this note after the fact because my Lillian has lost herself entirely. I didn't tell you this any of the times you've visited, but when Lillian did the thing you warned me about, she stopped being human. She is basically a ghost in human skin.
After the supercycle you and I spent together, I nearly ended everything, but I knew I couldn't. The woman who loved me after the woman I lost would come through. The woman who looked so much like my Lillian would find a way to bring my Lillian back.
Depending on when you're reading this, you may or may not have told me about Jazz Light, but trust, I understand where she's coming from. These notes are the only way for me to communicate with you, so I'm going to get to the point.
There's no answer. There's no solution. What Lillian did isn't something I understand well enough to undo it. So you're on your own. The rest of this book feels pointless. You'll understand when you get to the end. But don't rush it. Take your time. And when you get there, I hope to see you one last time.
If not, know that the twenty supercycles I had with her and the five I had with you were the most precious cycles of my life.
Tears streaked my cheeks as I set the book down. What in Nihil's darkness had Other Lillian done that Jazz Thorn couldn't find an answer? Every great idea they'd had together had been Jazz's invention, and yet she couldn't solve the problem her Lillian created.
My heart pounded, almost bursting my ribs. My body convulsed with intense shivers, but my head burned like fire. There were no answers, only questions and fears. Concerns and tears. Love, loss, and lies. What could I do but let the sorrow consume me?
Triple Play
Jazz must have found me on the couch because I awoke in a bright room not my own. Not hers either. Some manner of safe room. All soft white walls, soft bed, no hard edges or corners or surfaces. Even the floor was cushioned against a collapse. The white light itself seemed to come from nowhere, unable to cast shadows thanks to its diffuse presence.
My hair was too long. Too light. My skin was almost as pale as the room I was in. That's when I first understood I wasn't myself. I was some other Lillian. I should've realised it more quickly, given that everything had an odd grey tone to it. This Lillian literally couldn't perceive colours.
"Dark, your wife is here for a visit," a gruff voice called from a door I couldn't see. Still, I could tell about where it originated and stared at the nothing of it. "Responsive this cycle? Good. Are you going to be a good girl and give her peace of mind, or are we sending her home?"
I tried to speak, but the voice was barely a rasp. "I'll see her," I managed, "please. I need to."
"Responsive and verbal! A treat!" The wall opened up and revealed the speaker. A man wearing all white, pristine. He looked like a nurse. Or some manner of orderly. "Going to behave, or do I need the cuffs?"
"Both, I fear," the rasp hurt so much, but I needed to speak. "Who knows when I'll be normal all of a sudden?"
"Point taken." He stepped into the room and reached behind his back to produce a complicated set of cuffs that attached to my wrists and ankles. "But I love this side of you."
The man led me down a long white hall of nondescript doors. I couldn't say how anyone found the proper rooms in this place. At the end of the hall was a sharp corner that led down another long white hall with equally ordinary doors. This one ended in a hospital door. I recognised the style.
We stepped through the door, and he pointed to a table in the corner of the room. "She'll be in momentarily, Lillian. I'll be just in the next room."
I nodded and took a seat at the table. The visiting area was divided, apparently, into a dozen or so sub-rooms separated by what I assumed was indestructible glass. There were paintings on the walls, all grey landscapes and still lifes. One in particular stood out as a bit of art I'd done myself. The field from my dreams. How did that painting exist in this fork? It was such an odd thing to see without any of the chroma of my original. Just various shades of grey.
People in some of the other sub-rooms were having conversations with their visitors, who were all terribly uncomfortable about their place. Darker grey skin. Lighter grey skin. Darker hair. Lighter hair. One woman in another sub-room was blushing in a delightful pewter. Another's face was all slate.
Living like this would drive me mad, which I supposed was why this Lillian – Dark, apparently – was currently in what was apparently a long-term stay special care ward. I clanked my chains against the table's surface and waited calmly for the moment my wife, apparently, walked in.
Grey dress, grey legs, grey shoes, grey handback, grey hair, grey skin, grey hat, grey nail polish. Amber in peridot eyes. A tiny pop of colour in a world without it.
"Jazz," I rasped around the voice that wasn't. "It's so good to see your eyes."
Unlike the other visitors, Jazz wasn't uncomfortable. She seemed happy to be there. Though she was startled at the sound of my voice. "Never thought I'd hear you speak again, mia flor. And yet, here you are saying my name."
"What happened?"
"You tried to kill yourself. Turns out slitting your own throat with a scalpel isn't really viable when you're in a hospital and the orderlies are trained in trauma care." I must have looked shocked. She gave me a gentle smile. "You really are a whole person this time, aren't you. In any case, Lillian, I'm glad you're having a good cycle."
"How long?" I couldn't say much. The damage to my throat was severe and painful.
"This is the tenth anniversary of the incident," her words were halting. "And the fifth time we've had this conversation since then. Happy generation anniversary, by the way."
What had happened to Lillian Dark? That was horrifying.
Jazz Dark pulled a book out of her purse. "Care for a bit of our old poetry, Lillian?"
I nodded.
A loop. A knot. A bootstrap of bootstraps.
A cycle. A sector. An end and start.
A million. A billion. One, all, and more.
Lilies and asters, roses in our heart.
The words meant nothing to me, and yet I knew they meant something important. Jazz closed the book and stared, looking for some sign of self that I was sure was missing. But she smiled.
"You're not her, are you?" Jazz's smile became a grin. "That's okay. Any Lillian is better than no Lillian."
"How can you all always tell?" I tried to smile, but Jazz jerked away from me. Was Lillian Dark's smile so terrifying?
"My Lillian's eyes are pink. Related to her skin condition. But even if they were rainbows, I would know you're not her." Jazz reached across the table and took my hand. The chains clanked as she pulled it to her. "My Lillian is a lioness. You're more like a kitten. Good for you, though. No one should go through what she did."
"I wonder," I coughed around the words. Blood spattered my hand, but I continued speaking. "I wonder what the other Jazzes see in their Lillians."
"How many, doll?" Jazz looked genuinely curious. "How many Jazzes and Lillians? And are any of them happy?"
"A lot," I offered. The copper and rust in my mouth was a miserable experience, but she deserved to hear. "And yes. Jazz Aster and her Lillian. I think. And Comet. They're definitely happy."
There was no way for me to know that was true, but this Jazz needed hope. And if I could offer her hope, then I would give it until I collapsed in the blood that was starting to choke me.
"And I can't be sure, but I think Lillian Dark is happy when you visit. Her body leapt at your presence. Your amber and peridot eyes." Those words startled her again. "Wait. Can she not see any colour normally? Not even those eyes?"
"Not even the most brilliant colours," Jazz sighed. "But she does love my eyes."
"Every Lillian loves her Jazz's eyes." Flat. Fact. Absolute truth if ever there was such a thing.
She moved around the table to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I could feel just how weak Lillian Dark was. Jazz was basically touching bones.
"Tell her it's okay to let go, if you can talk to her directly, Lillian," Jazz whispered. "Suffering doesn't look good on anyone."
"I'll try."
The coughing fit started and wouldn't stop. A waterfall of colour invaded as the last thing I saw were Jazz Dark's beautiful crimson lips.
I was still coughing when I woke up on the couch. On Integration was pressing against my throat. I couldn't be certain that one was real. It felt so much like a nightmare that nothing made sense.
"Lillian!" Jazz called from the other room as the book struck the floor with a thud. She looked crazed when she found me basically paralysed on the couch.
The darkness found me, and I woke up with her holding my hand in a hospital room once again. Clearly something had happened.
Dissonant Fifths
"You can't keep doing this to me, Lillian," Jazz whispered when she saw my eyes flicker. Her lips were stretched in a pained smile. Her brow seemed more wrinkled than before. "One of these minutes, I'm going to find you on that couch utterly catatonic, and Omi won't be able to help you this time."
"I'm —" the word felt in my mouth almost the same as speaking had felt when I was Lillian Dark for a moment. The cough it brought was almost too much for a second, and I was certain for that brief pause that I might still be her.
"Stop it. If speaking is going to cause you pain, then hold your words. Let me get you some water." Jazz stood and left me in the almost too sterile hospital room.
A monitor beside me read vitals I couldn't parse. Probably should've paid more attention all those times Mother took me on her rounds, taking care of the neighbourhood. One of the numbers kept going from yellow to red, then back again each time it raised and lowered. Another was steady green, but it was far more volatile. A strange jagged line bounced up and down with a steady rhythm that seemed to match a quiet beep and a blinking spot on the screen.
My left arm was strapped down and fitted with an intravenous line. A full bag of fluids hung a few feet above me, and the line had three or four inlets providing what I had to assume were medications for the dizziness, the pain, and other symptoms. One in particular was a fascinating brown colour. Another was much larger than the others and mostly empty, but crimson red.
"Oh," I breathed, anxious not to rattle my throat a second time. Apparently I'd lost some blood in the incident.
Jazz came back in. Not my Jazz. I could tell by the way she walked. Jazz Moon. "They didn't have a proper fountain, but I found you some bottled water close enough at hand. Let's get that throat soothed."
The crack of the bottle's seal was enough to dry my mouth further with the suggestion of what was soon to come. I watched impatiently as Jazz tore open a small packet of something, poured it into the bottle, shook it until fully mixed, and passed it over to me.
It was too cold on my throat, but I managed against the discomfort to wet my mouth, a sensation that felt impossibly overdue.
"What happened?" I said after a third mouthful of the elixir. It tasted like life and heaven and happiness.
"After your most recent work, you collapsed again, just like when we arrived in [city[3]] a supercycle ago. Omi came to [city[0]] to help." She rested a hand on my forehead then stared at the monitor. "Yet again, I had to pull a lot of strings to protect you, so I need you to stop doing this. Otherwise, I need you to do what you've meant to do."
Jazz Moon had told me about this moment before. Curious that it happened around the same time as I ended up in the hospital myself. I almost said as much, but my words stopped as she looked at me. Not Jazz Moon, but a different one. Her hair was shorter than it had been moments before, or I might not have realised so quickly.
"My Lillian," she fought back a sob. "Omi says there's nothing wrong with you. Well, nothing except a slightly elevated heart rate and a slightly too low oxygen saturation. Otherwise, perfectly healthy, and yet this keeps happening."
This other Jazz sat on the bed with me, and I caught a glimpse of some sort of body art. Probably a tattoo if I had to guess, but it might have been simply painted on, or a manner of makeup. It was a lily whose stem was entwined with a rose. Just small enough that were she to let her hair down, it'd be hidden just behind her ear.
"I'm not sure why, myself," I admitted. This Lillian had a much gruffer voice than mine, but still in the proper register. Like she'd screamed her voice into ragged scraps in her youth. Hopefully in a good way. "I only sort of know when it started."
She changed again. The hair was right, but she had an enormous scar running down the left side of her face. "And I bet you're about to say it was when you and I met. Typical. The moment I find the perfect woman, [world] demands its weight of flesh, and she's stolen from me just like everything else."
This Jazz glared at me. I tried for a weak smile, and it softened her expression. Those amber and peridot eyes almost glowed.
"Sorry. I just can't stand the thought of losing you when we only just found each other again." Jazz let her shoulders relax. "And if Omi can't figure this out, then I don't know who can."
As I took a breath to speak, the Jazz with me was suddenly distinctly Jazz Comet. "Would it be too much to ask that we just sit together, quiet, for a few minutes, Jazz, love?"
"Of course, doll," she sighed before curling up with me in the bed. Her head rested on my chest for several seconds before she added, "If your mum or my Omi come in here with me like this, they'll both freak. Omi said we shouldn't stress your body too much, since we don't know what keeps causing this."
"You're not doing a very good job of the quiet, my sweet starling," I giggled. The term 'starling' had come to my lips naturally. I could be fairly certain this Lillian called her Jazz that. Honestly, I loved it, and I might co-opt it for my own Jazz.
"Starling? You haven't called me that since before the girls were born." She was cooing almost. "I like it. Never stop again."
The weight shifted. I couldn't say which Jazz was there, but she certainly wasn't Comet. "Am I expected to be hungry with all these fluids hooked up to me, love?" Before asking, I hadn't noticed, but the words seemed to summon a voracious beast in the depths of my soul. "Because I'm starving."
Rolling off of me with a laugh, Jazz Light stood. "Sure thing, but don't die before I get back." Her voice was softer, gentler than I remembered from the calls we'd had. I liked it much better that way.
When she left the room, I was alone with the relative silence again. My breathing, the various machines, and the hospitals air conditioning system were all the friendly voice I had to appreciate. That emptiness left me to think.
Every version of me experienced this event. This hospitalisation wasn't the first for any of us. Every version of Jazz had to watch her version of me struggle to survive. I had to imagine at least of us didn't make it. That would certainly explain some things. Hopefully, if I was allowed to hope, the ones with children – like, apparently, Lillian Comet – would survive.
The monitor beeped more ferociously as I fought back those thoughts just before the door to the room opened.
Jazz Star's face as she re-entered the room with a tray of food caused every part of me to relax, even parts I hadn't realised could be tense.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Jazz said, approaching quickly. "I got enough for two, so we'll share. Anything you don't eat, we can toss, but let's get some food in you." She took up a seat in a chair beside me. "Can't have you hungry and unfed. Your mother would have a fit!"
It was nice to hear her laugh at the slightly morbid joke. The best I could to was laugh along and hope this never happened again.
Of course it would happen again.