Rex’s mind shouldn’t have been able to perceive any of ACF-707’s shifts in reality. Most human beings experienced it in such a way that their mind filled in the gap with empty space – “oh, I was there. Now I’m here.” “Oh, was there always a butterfly on the wall there?” That gap was what led so many people to doubt things right in front of their eyes. The Butterfly Effect could change anything – and that made people at the Foundation suspicious of anything connected to it. Especially something that could bridge that gap in what-was and what-had-always-been.
It was only because she let him, obviously, but in six months Rex had gained a little skill in noticing those moments in-between. He might’ve even had to make an effort not to notice Catian’s bilocation in the space between the glass wall and the concrete one. But he did see.
He also saw the world fall away. Twin stones, one a replica of the other, hit the grassy floor of CU-14-707, a floor that Rex’s feet weren’t touching anymore. And yet without her there the changes and shifts weren’t instantaneous. Rex now felt the gaps between perception and understanding, where he couldn’t process everything at once. He felt her absence. It wasn’t like a phantom pain, not at all like losing a limb. It felt – more like realizing he forgot his coat when sitting right under an AC vent. The absence didn’t hurt, it was just uncomfortable. It made him feel exposed.
All the more so when Catian Valor explained that he had his own infinity of reality. He was known to be extra-dimensional from his conversation with Dr. Maya Delano, which Rex had listened to, but – this wasn’t mentioned. The panic wasn’t tempered by something powerful as Rex remembered certain words from his orientation, ones that had made Hal snort beside him. Deity-class. To push back against something as strong as ACF-707, to have a reality to restore, to create, to reveal. Past, present, possibility, future. Directions that didn’t exist in three dimensions. And potentials that weren’t just possible, but for a moment all exposed simultaneously in a reality that wasn’t. He was so much more than
Rex was an insect in comparison. Actually in his experience, less than an insect.
Chaos, potential, history, present. Simultaneous nothing and infinity. The icepick behind Rex’s eye dug deeper as he just barely started to comprehend, as he saw himself looking back to the infinite power. Some were obviously different – some hadn’t ever heard of the Foundation, they just had that look; he didn’t have time to tell the difference between much else as Catian pulled him back from his own reeling mind and the pasts and nows and thens that could change too much about what would be, rather than what might be or might always have been.
There was only one him that he saw in any detail. Rex Papillion, somewhere in his fifties, salt and pepper in his beard. The eyes that looked back with a knowing smile were a bright, pale green, and winked before the infinite possibilities disappeared again.
A clatter of stones. Grassy tile under his feet, the smell of air kept fresh by the presence of plants, the warm glow of not-quite-sunlight. And butterflies, not just the massive birdwing that had resumed the place she’d always been, but over a dozen more. Tiny hooked feet in his lab coat, at least two perched on the rim of his glasses, one on the toe of each shoe, each so varied from the next it was impossible to tell they were the same being unless you could know, or could sense her reaching out, ensuring that he was alright. That he existed again.
Existence was the point. There was doubt. But there was no doubt that he did exist, and if anything this made him all the more confident that he’d always existed. It wasn’t evidence. It didn’t solve his dilemma, just changed it back to where it had been when this all started. He was reeling, and she reached down into him to help, if he would let her. But, like Catian, he very gently pushed that aside. He was alright. Maybe he’d always been alright – but that wasn’t the case. He was alright now, though. The fear was gone. Understanding took its place. He did shudder, because that was an appropriate physical response to processing that kind of experience. But it was a good experience, one that he was glad to have had. One that would be important once his brain stopped reeling and started sorting out the important pieces from the Twilight Zone ones.
"Your point’s taken." Rex looked at the back of his hand, where a butterfly rested with her wings outstretched. Pyronia tithonus, she told him, because he knew he wouldn’t have known one light brown butterfly with an eyespot from another. Common name, the gatekeeper.
And then he turned his palm over, and looked at the skin. He flexed his fingers and saw the movement underneath. Real, warm, physical. He nodded slowly to himself. She’d understand why.
"I’m certain of my own reality, individuality, and independence. If other people have a problem with that, I can’t let it bother me. Life goes on."
And the greater part of ACF-707, the part stitched like infinite threads into the greater infinity of the reality it inhabited, let those words ripple into her. And as she could only communicate with Rex as a butterfly might, she could only respond to – U-3473, she decided, through layers of limitation. There was no anger or frustration, but with the connection reopened, she comprehended and translated.
He was right, of course. Holding Rex’s hand or hat was not going to help him. Butterflies were hardly nurturing parents, but she wasn’t just butterflies. Rex didn’t need a parent, but it was hard, when he was meat and bone and a little soul that all kinds of things could simply render inanimate. Destruction was grief enough. Destruction of him was unthinkable.
But he had to learn. That was his nature, written deeply into him as she was written into the world she inhibited. He had been so lost in the wonder that was her that he had not noticed until today that there was more beyond the question of them. She had wanted so much to prevent his destruction that she was preventing growth in turn. That was hard.
She could try, though. To let him live, not just not-die. Perhaps it would be easier, now, as he saw the difference as well. He was never afraid to defy her will, and she bowed to his. He could tell his limits and she could listen.
They would try.
It was only because she let him, obviously, but in six months Rex had gained a little skill in noticing those moments in-between. He might’ve even had to make an effort not to notice Catian’s bilocation in the space between the glass wall and the concrete one. But he did see.
He also saw the world fall away. Twin stones, one a replica of the other, hit the grassy floor of CU-14-707, a floor that Rex’s feet weren’t touching anymore. And yet without her there the changes and shifts weren’t instantaneous. Rex now felt the gaps between perception and understanding, where he couldn’t process everything at once. He felt her absence. It wasn’t like a phantom pain, not at all like losing a limb. It felt – more like realizing he forgot his coat when sitting right under an AC vent. The absence didn’t hurt, it was just uncomfortable. It made him feel exposed.
All the more so when Catian Valor explained that he had his own infinity of reality. He was known to be extra-dimensional from his conversation with Dr. Maya Delano, which Rex had listened to, but – this wasn’t mentioned. The panic wasn’t tempered by something powerful as Rex remembered certain words from his orientation, ones that had made Hal snort beside him. Deity-class. To push back against something as strong as ACF-707, to have a reality to restore, to create, to reveal. Past, present, possibility, future. Directions that didn’t exist in three dimensions. And potentials that weren’t just possible, but for a moment all exposed simultaneously in a reality that wasn’t. He was so much more than
Rex was an insect in comparison. Actually in his experience, less than an insect.
Chaos, potential, history, present. Simultaneous nothing and infinity. The icepick behind Rex’s eye dug deeper as he just barely started to comprehend, as he saw himself looking back to the infinite power. Some were obviously different – some hadn’t ever heard of the Foundation, they just had that look; he didn’t have time to tell the difference between much else as Catian pulled him back from his own reeling mind and the pasts and nows and thens that could change too much about what would be, rather than what might be or might always have been.
There was only one him that he saw in any detail. Rex Papillion, somewhere in his fifties, salt and pepper in his beard. The eyes that looked back with a knowing smile were a bright, pale green, and winked before the infinite possibilities disappeared again.
A clatter of stones. Grassy tile under his feet, the smell of air kept fresh by the presence of plants, the warm glow of not-quite-sunlight. And butterflies, not just the massive birdwing that had resumed the place she’d always been, but over a dozen more. Tiny hooked feet in his lab coat, at least two perched on the rim of his glasses, one on the toe of each shoe, each so varied from the next it was impossible to tell they were the same being unless you could know, or could sense her reaching out, ensuring that he was alright. That he existed again.
Existence was the point. There was doubt. But there was no doubt that he did exist, and if anything this made him all the more confident that he’d always existed. It wasn’t evidence. It didn’t solve his dilemma, just changed it back to where it had been when this all started. He was reeling, and she reached down into him to help, if he would let her. But, like Catian, he very gently pushed that aside. He was alright. Maybe he’d always been alright – but that wasn’t the case. He was alright now, though. The fear was gone. Understanding took its place. He did shudder, because that was an appropriate physical response to processing that kind of experience. But it was a good experience, one that he was glad to have had. One that would be important once his brain stopped reeling and started sorting out the important pieces from the Twilight Zone ones.
"Your point’s taken." Rex looked at the back of his hand, where a butterfly rested with her wings outstretched. Pyronia tithonus, she told him, because he knew he wouldn’t have known one light brown butterfly with an eyespot from another. Common name, the gatekeeper.
And then he turned his palm over, and looked at the skin. He flexed his fingers and saw the movement underneath. Real, warm, physical. He nodded slowly to himself. She’d understand why.
"I’m certain of my own reality, individuality, and independence. If other people have a problem with that, I can’t let it bother me. Life goes on."
And the greater part of ACF-707, the part stitched like infinite threads into the greater infinity of the reality it inhabited, let those words ripple into her. And as she could only communicate with Rex as a butterfly might, she could only respond to – U-3473, she decided, through layers of limitation. There was no anger or frustration, but with the connection reopened, she comprehended and translated.
He was right, of course. Holding Rex’s hand or hat was not going to help him. Butterflies were hardly nurturing parents, but she wasn’t just butterflies. Rex didn’t need a parent, but it was hard, when he was meat and bone and a little soul that all kinds of things could simply render inanimate. Destruction was grief enough. Destruction of him was unthinkable.
But he had to learn. That was his nature, written deeply into him as she was written into the world she inhibited. He had been so lost in the wonder that was her that he had not noticed until today that there was more beyond the question of them. She had wanted so much to prevent his destruction that she was preventing growth in turn. That was hard.
She could try, though. To let him live, not just not-die. Perhaps it would be easier, now, as he saw the difference as well. He was never afraid to defy her will, and she bowed to his. He could tell his limits and she could listen.
They would try.
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