“I’m not sure, to be honest. No one’s been in here since I’ve woken up, but it’s not as though I could see much from inside the well.”
Lindon stoppered a vial and grabbed the rusty ball. “You’re a memory construct, aren’t you?”
“You’re carrying me. What’s happening? This is a rush! But maybe slow it down.”
Lindon took him to a shelf where a half-crushed wooden box waited. “Do you know what sort of construct this was?”
“It stored visual records from the rest of the facility. Most of these did, actually.”
Lindon extended his spiritual perception through the box. It felt like Dross, so this should work. “Do you think you could read these fragments?” When he’d inspected the room before, none of the constructs had been intact enough for him to use. Maybe Dross could get something out of them.
“I’m not, ah…well, you’re putting me on the spot, aren’t you? I could give it a try, but I don’t perform well under pressure.”
There was one intact circle on the remaining half of the wood, and Lindon scratched it with his thumb. Instantly, a ribbon of half-formed images drifted up through the box in a cloud, dissipating into the air.
“Wait, we’re starting? Put me over it, quick! Quick!”
When Lindon held Dross over the smoke-like memories, the construct made a gasping sound. Instead of blowing apart, the images drifted into the cracks in the construct shell.
Lindon pressed his eye against one of the cracks, fascinated. As the images soaked into the purple light that made up Dross, they merged into him. New lines formed in the purple cloud, and new lights sparkled inside the construct.
“Mmmmmm ah, that goes down smooth.”
“Does it feel like you’re eating it?” Many constructs of similar function could merge with one another, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what it might feel like for the construct.
“Didn’t have too many memories left in that one, actually, so there was nothing too special about it. It’s like when humans share blood.”
“Humans don’t share blood.”
“They should. Anyway, I now have access to some facility history records. After Ghostwater was sealed away, some Heralds came and looted the place. They had a few sips from the well, but it didn’t matter to them. They’re Heralds, aren’t they? Probably don’t ever sleep anyway. Oh, I see it now! One of them is picking me up! Hello, me!”
He was silent for a moment, then added, “Well, that’s a bit disappointing, isn’t it? He tossed me into the well. Ouch. Rejection. Never feels good. I wasn’t me back then, but even so: painful.”
“When did you wake up?”
“Take me over to the one that looks like a...shelled pinching beast.” Lindon carried Dross over to the crab-shaped construct he’d set aside before, and once again Dross inhaled the remainder of the construct.
Again, Lindon watched Dross’ internal mechanisms grow more complex as he breathed in the dream madra.
His mother would have given five years of her life to see this.
“...fifty-six years,” Dross said quietly. “That’s how long I’ve been stuck in that well alone. Wow. Best I can tell, I’ve only been myself for the last five or so. That’s the oldest memory I have.”
Lindon looked over the shelves upon shelves of other memory constructs. “These all have information about Ghostwater?”
“Sure they did, once. This habitat was the headquarters of a project meant to design and improve memory constructs to accomplish the grand work. Never succeeded. Turns out, when they put a memory construct into your head, you just end up with a better memory.”
“I’m going to want to hear more about the ‘grand work,’ Lindon said, staring up at the shelves. “But first, do you have room for more?”
“I think I could grow to like you,” Dross said. “You know, eventually.”
Half an hour later, as they hiked back up the hallway toward Orthos, Dross sighed. “Well, that was disappointing.”
Lindon carried a full rack of twenty-four filled vials in one hand, and a bucket half-full of glowing purple water in the other. He’d found the bucket in one of the abandoned maintenance closets, and the handle was even scripted so that he could carry it in his Remnant hand without having to focus madra to the fingers.
“I mean, I knew I could hold more information, but I have staggered even myself. I feel like I could swallow another whole room full of information. Did you know that a thunder eagle was a bird? Birds fly through the air, not through the water, I don’t know if you were aware. This is a fascinating area of study. Why don’t you fly?”
Dross’ rusted metal ball was tucked into the waist of his robes, while Little Blue sat on his shell. She kept peering down through the cracks, staring at Dross’ construct form, though he didn’t seem to enjoy it.
“Oh, she’s...she’s looking in here again. That’s embarrassing. Could you...I mean, if you don’t mind, could you please stick to yourself? Yes, thank you. No privacy here, I tell you.”
“You were telling me about the grand work,” Lindon prompted, as the ground started to slope upwards.
“The grand work is the whole purpose of Ghostwater, isn’t it? Northstrider built this whole pocket world to find a way to enhance his mind. You know, sharpen it up. He had all the power he could handle, so he figured the way forward was to improve his use of that power. Fight smarter, not harder, as they say. There were three branches of research down here. This was where the Soulsmiths tried to develop an advanced memory construct that could take over some of his mental processes. Total failure. Their memory constructs never grew to be anything more.”
“That room was still full of constructs,” Lindon said. He could only imagine what treasures had filled this place before; if only this facility hadn’t been looted, it might have been packed to the brim with Soulsmith research materials.
“Yes, well, after the first few Heralds left, they took everything valuable with them. All the advanced memory constructs, as well as the tools and techniques for making them. After that, they decided that this pocket world was still a good place to train their disciples, so every ten years they send some Truegolds in here for training. I learned all this from those security constructs, by the way. They saw more than I would have believed. And while I was stuck in a well! The world is unfair.”
When he reached Orthos, Lindon knelt and placed everything on the ground next to the wooden chest. Reaching behind him, he pulled out the Eye of the Deep, which was still slowly leaking essence from the crack in the gem.
“Aaaaahhh,” Dross said, “now that’s a vessel. Pretty to look at, and only one crack! Luxury. Hey you! You in there! Do you even know what a life you have?”
The Eye, of course, didn’t respond.
“This is the key to Ghostwater, but it’s losing cohesion. If you will agree, I could link you to this construct. It should help repair damage to the Eye, give you a better vessel, and expand your capabilities.” Lindon hefted the gem in his hand. “Personally, I’d love to see what a self-aware construct could do with greater powers.”
Dross made a thoughtful humming sound. “That’s a taller hurdle than just drinking in more information, you know. I’d need to be bound to the gem just like the original construct. Once I am, though, I don’t see why I couldn’t show you around. Give you the tour. I’d love to see the whole place myself, to be honest. But you’d need to find a Soulsmith to perform the operation.”
Lindon reached into his wooden chest and pulled out the tightly packed bundle of leather. He untied it, unrolling it on the ground. Soulsmith tools hung in pouches and from loops.