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edupunkn00b · 9 months ago

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Meus ex Machina, Chapter 9: Brothers

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

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Logan makes another discovery, even if he doesn't yet understand all the implications. But first, another peek into the past.

Little arms hooked on the playground swing’s chains, Patton sat crying outside the Humane Touch Foundling Home. It was dinner time and all the other kids were already in the dining hall. The ones allowed out of the med unit, at least. Meals were always… energetic and the caretakers had their hands full with getting everyone fed. He had a little time before he’d be missed.

Hiccupping, he scrubbed away his tears with his sleeves and fought to get himself under control.

His stomach had twisted into knots when the fifth graders had called him over after school. At first he’d been afraid they’d wanted to fight him, too. The week before, a couple of eighth graders from the middle school had jumped him, only letting up when he’d pulled an air car onto himself and hid under the chassis. He didn’t know where he’d be sent next if he got expelled for fighting again. But if he never hit back, there was nothing for them to tattle on.

So he’d learned not to hit back.

When the fifth graders instead asked him to lift up an electrobike and then a car, his excitement at being included in their games let him ignore the way the twist in his stomach never really went away.

So Patton had laughed along with the older boys. It wasn’t until they’d clambered on top of the principal’s air car and egged him on to lift it with the four of them clinging to the hood that he realized they weren’t laughing with him.

The boys’ taunts rang in his ears.

‘What a show-off!’

‘Aw, what’s the matter, Superbaby? You gonna cry?’

‘Go on, freak, go home and cry to your mommy!’ The boys laughed louder. ‘Oh, that’s right, your parents just dumped you there, didn’t they?’

‘Brad! Peter!’ A sharp adult voice rang out over the teacher’s parking lot. The boys were startled and Patton took advantage of their distraction and ran all the way to his foster home.

“Brubber sad?”

Sniffling, he looked up, then down into the eyes of his baby brother. Technically he was his foster brother, but Patton didn’t care about the distinction and neither did sweet little Lucas.

He nodded and scootched over on the swing, giving the preschooler a weak smile. “Wanna come up here, Lukie?”

The little boy grinned, scrambling up on the swing and then onto Patton’s lap. “Whoa there!” The seat tilted, swaying side to side as Patton laughed and righted them both. “There, that’s better,” he said when they steadied with Lucas curled against his chest, one hand gripping his big brother’s shirt, the other wrapped around the swing’s crackled safety chain. Pushing gently with the one foot remaining close to the ground, Patton began to swing them.

“Brubber better?” Lucas asked, big eyes looking up at him like he could see right into his head and the thoughts inside.

Still chuckling, Patton nodded. “All better,” he said, sneaker skidding in the dirt. And he was all better. Joyful, with another laugh threatening to bubble up from his lips. He still felt the sting of the older boys’ teasing, still felt the worry that by the time they all got to school the next day, everyone would know he’d cried, but the moment Lucas touched his arm, he… he just didn’t feel bad about any of it anymore. He just felt… happy. “Lukie? Did you…�� It couldn’t’ve been him. Could it? “Did you… do that?”

Lucas smiled up at him, nodding. “Brubber sad,” he repeated, this time not a question. He drew close again, rubbing his cheek against Patton’s chest like a cat. “Swing?” he asked, rocking back and forth.

“Yeah,” Patton whispered, holding tight to his baby brother. Carrot orange curls tickled his nose as he nodded. “Yeah, Lukie, I’ll swing us.”

The Prince did not join them for dinner. Instead, he remained on the roof for another hour or so before going straight to the kitchen. Patton excused himself with a small, determined smile but, after a few minutes, returned to the table alone.

Without a word, at least not one Logan could hear, The Prince strode past with a small covered dish and went to his room.

Subdued, the remaining group finished dinner quickly. After doing what he could to help V and Patton tidy up, Logan returned to the printing lab. For all that had happened, it hadn’t been long since the printer had finished, the matter jets still slightly warm from the final batch of exosuit panels.

V had cleaned up from their work and stacked the output in a tote set on a low bench.

Next to it was a ruggedized tablet similar to the one V had used. It activated as Logan picked it up, and a message appeared on the screen.

It’ll save you a step if you sketch in the CAD program. Let me know if you need help setting up. - V

The back of the tablet’s case was… soft. Well, grippy, and Logan experimentally laid it on his lap. The case seemed to meld to his stumps and he tapped at the screen, smiling at the way the tablet stayed flat and steady. He hooked the tote of finished pieces on the back of his chair then returned to his room.

Once inside, he wiggled back onto his window seat, the rapidly setting sun burning orange and red through the haze. He pulled the tablet closer and the screen lit up, revealing a menu of options.

Scanning the list, Logan grinned. Internal and external sensors, security cameras, light and climate controls, elevator tracker… Even the ordering program he glimpsed Silvertongue and V using in the meat.

Logan could access everything in HQ from this device. Well, everything he knew about, at least. He was certain there were additional layers of security only V and Silvertongue—and probably Patton—knew about, but Logan could tap through and view cameras throughout the kitchen and the med bay, the common room…

One of the common room cameras faced the wall above a mock fireplace. Given both the angle and the narrow space between the coffee table and the bumpy stone hearth, Logan had never seen higher than the mantle before.

The wall was covered in picture frames, many antiques, housing real silicone-based glass covers and faded wooden borders. Some of them looked old enough to have belonged to the museum that had once owned the original structure.

Almost—almost—without meaning to, Logan zoomed in. The pictures were of the team. There were several of Patton lifting up V or The Prince in a big bear hug, grinning as their feet left the ground. Another was of Silvertongue sitting in his usual armchair, a tablet in his lap and a serious expression on his face, The Prince looming over him, tongue sticking out and waggling his fingers.

Was Logan only imagining the quirk in Silvertongue’s lips? The Prince couldn’t have actually caught Silvertongue by surprise, could he? How precisely would one hide a prank from a guilt-seeking mindreader?

Setting aside that thought, he focused on the other frames. More than half were pictures of children. Logan recognized The Prince and The Muse’s younger selves from the visions when the Muse’s EMF dropped. When he’d dropped it. There were other children, too, children he didn’t recognize. One was an older boy with hair just like Patton’s, holding the hand of a much younger child with curls so red they looked almost orange, like an old 2D video his mother had shown him. The same little red haired boy was in another photo, clutching a blanket.

Both photos, along with a third of a boy Logan belated recognized as a very young Patton, were singed, a big black semi-circle cutting all the way to the colored start of the image. Like what one would see if you’d burnt just the edge of a stack of antique flammable paper.

Off to the side of the collection was a small photo Silvertongue lying on a couch much like the one in the common room.

Logan zoomed in further and smiled. He wasn’t alone on the couch. He lay with his head rested on the lap of another young man. And Silvertongue was young. Not a child, but Logan would guess early twenties? Maybe?

They both were. Silvertongue was dressed impossibly casually, simple slacks and a long-sleeved shirt like the ones Patton seemed to favor. His scars were much darker and, with his open collar, Logan could see they spread down his chest, as well.

The scars on his hands were dark, too, and freshly healed. His bare fingers were intertwined with the other young man’s and Silvertongue lay back, relaxed and smiling up at him as he read aloud from an antique printed book.

The other man’s orangey red curls flopped over his eyes, only a few shades darker than the tiny child in one of the other pictures. Between the hair and the book, most of his face was hidden, but his cheeks were round and tinged pink, just like Patton's.

And the little boy in the other pictures.

The lights dimmed in the common room and Patton’s tall, broad shadow passed over photographs. He and V must be close to finishing up. Logan closed out of the feed, cold prickles crawling up his spine. Surely they could know he'd been watching the common room.

Back in the main video menu, the prickles turned to ice when he found the array of external cameras, as well. Guilt gnawed at his belly. No, this must be a mistake. There’s no way I should have this kind of security access.

He hit the comm button to the kitchen. “Hey, um, V?”

“Yeah, Mac?” V answered, the clink of tools in the background. Almost eerily, Patton’s tread passed the sound pickups, completing his path back to the kitchen. “Need help with the tablet?”

“Ah, no…” Logan rubbed the case, marveling at the texture. “No, it’s—it’s great, thank you. I… I think I might have…”

The clinking stopped. V, too, was quiet, listening. Oh. This was a test. They want to know if they can trust me.

“I think I have the wrong access,” he said at last, eyes falling shut. “I can see all the security cameras.”

“Oh, good, you got in okay,” V’s voice grew more relaxed and the clack of tools against metal resumed. “The menu’s not super intuitive. But I figured you’d take to it pretty fast.”

“But… Should I…”

Patton’s voice rumbled quietly in the background and V chuckled. “You worried you hacked in? Or that our security’s that flimsy?”

“Well…” Logan’s cheeks warmed. “I thought perhaps… Perhaps it was a test of some sort, actually.”

V laughed out loud this time. “Hey, that’s a good idea, Mac. Nah,” he said, catching his breath. “If you’re on the cameras, you should be able to see them, too, y’know?”

Logan blinked, looking down at the tablet. “Well, yes, I… I see the logic. I suppose I… I’m… I’m just…”

“You’re just used to those bastards at Abracadabra,” V finished.

“Language!” Patton scolded, loud enough to be heard over the comm.

Surprised at himself, Logan laughed with V. “I think perhaps you are correct. Thank you, V.”

“Anytime, Mac.”

Minutes bled into hours as Logan explored HQ through the cameras, first the live feed. And then their recordings.

The cameras skipped large pockets of time, presumably when there was no movement in a given area. The size of their data storage was remarkable, with the feeds on some of the cameras seeming to go back months.

The zoom controls were useful, particularly for the high-definition cameras at the entrances, in the hall.

And in the basement.

When Logan found the basement camera feed, he quickly scrolled back and watched The Prince emerge from off camera only to stare at the door for a long while before entering the elevator. Logan double-checked the time stamp. It had been while he’d was talking with Patton in the med bay.

Rolling the feed back further, Logan soon found footage of V and Patton leaving The Muse’s room, the tall bear-like Powered crying as he walked with V’s arm wrapped around him. There were no sound controls, at least none that he could find, but as Logan rolled back through the long stored history of footage, he found himself grateful.

He skipped a little further back and saw himself, small and shaking as he fled to the elevator, slamming the call panel and retreating. Even now, tucked away in the soft window seat in his room, The Muse’s voice echoed through Logan’s mind,through his cells. Those panicked, anguished pleas for Silvertongue to return to him.

The next video timestamp was just over a week ago, shortly before Logan had come to HQ. Silvertongue left The Muse’s room and ripped off his helmet. Tears ran down his face and he crouched on the floor in front of The Muse’s door, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. Both hands pressed against the door, his mouth moved. But even zoomed in as far as it would go, Logan couldn’t make out what he was saying. Just that he was repeating the same words over and over.

After several minutes, Silvertongue pushed up to his feet, composed himself, then swooshed down to the elevator and disappeared. Logan didn’t need to follow Silvertongue’s path through the rest of HQ to know he was on his way to collect him from that abandoned cabin outside the University.

“I’m so sorry, Muse,” he whispered, hand hovering over the last frame of the recording.

Then he kept going.

Logan reviewed the history of the basement cameras as far back as they would go, noting the timestamps jump with each recording. No more than two weeks passed between visits, but even a few days seemed like a horrifically long time to go without seeing anyone at all. The visits were short, typically a couple of hours at most, and the usual visitors were Patton and V, sometimes only Patton.

Silvertongue rarely made the trip downstairs and entered even less often. His visits varied in duration, sometimes only a few minutes, once for over four hours. Each time he left, the Powered looked shaken, crying beneath his mask. And each time, after the door closed, he’d kneel just outside, hands pressed against the door.

And the Prince… The Prince visited even more often as Patton, but he never entered. Sometimes he sat outside The Muse’s door, curled against it with his ear pressed to the reinforced durasteel. Sometimes he paced the long hall. Each visit ended the same, with The Prince pressing his palm against the door before retreating to the elevator.

Tears stung Logan’s eyes when he'd reached the final frame of the last saved video, the silhouette of a splayed hand just barely visible through the door window.

Turning off the tablet, Logan decided that, chair or not, suit or not, he needed to go see The Muse for himself.

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