Shades Of Forever

I cast a bemused stare around the room. It makes sense that Great Grandpa Axe would take in MacWillie and Huckens, my parents' room has been empty for over a decade and a half, it just didn't occur to me that's what would actually happen. Huckens twists atop the bed, half-formed whimpers accompanying his thrashing form, and I tuck the blanket back up to his chin. He settles into a quiet breathing rhythm, hands folded beneath his cheek. I leave him to his rest and walk over to the ornately carved armoire opposite the foot of the bed, a collection of faded mementos visible in its open upper half.

Most are poorly drawn abstractions, impossible to understand without context. I recognize them as finger paintings I made as a little one, trying to capture the grandeur of the sky with more enthusiasm than skill. Others are tidy schematics of various organs and skeletal structures, or scribbled notes on the veracity of an ancient text. My Doctor father and Memoriam mother, echoes of their lives captured on impermanent ink and paper, the only real evidence I have they were real.

I run a finger over them fondly. I've had my entire life to process my parents' deaths, and while I wish they were still here, their absence is a constant I'm used to. A door creaks behind me, and I turn to see MacWillie emerging from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her body, barely long enough to cover the things needing covering, a second coiled around her head.

"Now that," she exhales gratefully, "was something I didn't know I needed. A sonic wash does the trick, but nothing's better than hot water." She looks down at Huckens and her lips quirk. "The lad's still sleeping?"

"Great Grandpa Axe said Broom and Stove put him straight to bed, and he hasn't moved since."

MacWillie sniffs, then undoes the towel around her hair, feeling at the black locks.

"Looks like he needs more toughening up. I don't suppose you'd be having anything resembling a moisturizer?"

"Crabroach butter," I reply, flicking my gaze back towards the bathroom. "If Great Grandpa told them what to get for the bathroom, it's white wax in a blue box."

MacWillie walks back into the bathroom, then re-emerges with a small azure container. She opens it, takes a small sniff, then raises an eyebrow at me.

"Hair or body?"

I shrug.

"I use it for both."

She sniffs it again, then works a small dollop into her hands, warming it up. She sits on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair, slowly at first, then at a more measured pace.

"...I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this is better than anything I'd have a right to be expecting."

I lean back against the armoire, arms folded across my chest.

"What do you want me to say, MacWillie? It's crabroach butter. It's what I've been using for moisturizer my entire life. What should I compare it to?"

She scoops out another dollop, working it between her hands again, then starts applying it to her legs with a soft sigh of pleasure.

"You could make a fortune with this on the Galactic Market. I've splurged on generic NuSkin before, but this could seduce a corpo veepee."

"What's a 'veepee?'"

"Vice President. They're the corpo's field generals. If one of them shows up, you know the shit's about to impact the impellor. Ain't one of them below level seventy and they're paired with an integration matrix that does not fuck around."

I watch Chief Engineer MacWillie rub the crabroach butter into her skin with obvious pleasure, wondering how I should respond.

"...I'm glad you like it."

"Like it?" MacWille cackles, hands moving up to focus on her broad shoulders, "-this is the most pampered I've been since-"

Her eyes focus inward, and then she seems to shrink in on herself, a titan collapsing back to mortal form.

"MacWillie?" I ask, stepping towards her. "What's wrong?"

She gazes at me bleakly.

"Nothing you can change, young Sky. The cycler found an access protocol. I can tap into your trees for energy, work them like engines."

"...isn't that supposed to make us happy? Since we can hide the village?"

She doesn't respond, blank stare fixated past my shoulder.

...Sky. Ask her what level she is.

I relay Box's request, and MacWillie refocuses on me, huddling in on herself even further. She looks like a young girl trying not to cry.

"...ninety nine, now." She sniffs, scrubbing at her face. "Managed to avoid it for twelve years, and five hours with a never-god damned tree bumps me up."

"I don't understand."

She's one level away from one hundred, Sky. Explains how she was able to take out the Entity. When she hits it, her mind is going to break. That's why everyone's looking for us, remember?

"Can't we do something?" I pace back and forth, the room not big enough to contain my frustration. "What if MacWillie stops working on the trees?"

"Aye, that'd do it, young Sky," MacWillie agrees softly, hands balling at her sides, "but if I stop now then your village isn't safe. The lad doesn't know enough yet to rig up an infonet receiver, let alone adapt the incognito field, and there isn't time to teach him."

A pang hits my gut. I've known MacWillie and Huckens for less than a day but in some way it feels like we've known each other far longer. I guess battling for each other's lives skips past a lot of initial relationship steps.

"...what if you didn't? Maybe there's another way?"

"Don't be daft," MacWillie snorts, glaring at me. "There's no time, and furthermore, I gave my word. We all meet the never-god eventually, young Sky."

I try to focus on anything other than MacWillie's blithe acceptance of death. She's older than me, yes, but she's nowhere near as old as Great Grandpa.

"...you keep referencing this 'never-god.' What is it? Why do you think you'll meet it, after..."

I can't finish the sentence, but MacWillie just snorts again.

"Aye, the never-god? Piece of shit deity too lazy to take care of us, that's what that shriveled old bitch is. We'll find her one of these days, you mark my words, and then there'll be a reckoning."

"...you're as bad as Box. I didn't understand any of that."

MacWillie finishes rubbing in the crabroach butter and steps away from the bed, looking around for something.

"You seen my clothes, young Sky?"

I point at a pile of earth-colored garments sitting on top of the old rocking chair near the window.

"Hopefully there's something in there that fits? Great Grandpa probably had them grab some of father's old clothes."

MacWillie picks up a baggy shirt, red geometric designs worked in halfway down the sleeves to the wrist, and holds it to her chest. I would be swimming in it, but it looks like a child's outfit against her. She shrugs, then takes her towel off and slides the top over her head, hanging it on the back of the chair. My eyes are drawn to her body in shock.

Almost every square inch is covered in some sort of scar, most faded to white, several fresh and raw, thick welts of red and purple. Thre's no rhyme or reason to the markings, thin slices layered across thick patches that look like burn wounds.

"The never-god, young Sky," her voice is muffled as she struggles to get the shirt over her shoulders, "is the god that never existed. You understand the concept of infinities, of what reality is?" Her head pops out of the shirt's neck, nearly splitting the collar, and she works it down the rest of the way past her waist, sleeves straining around her muscles. I nod, wide-eyed, still trying to process the sheer amount of damage her body's painted with. She grabs the biggest pair of pants from the pile she can find and starts trying to fit her legs through them.

"Good. Well, the reasoning goes, if we live in a nested set of infinities, which we do, then a god can never exist in our reality because one of those infinities contains a version of us that found a way to tear the bastard down and surpass it, and if that exists, then it's no god at all. Hence, never-god." She finally manages to get one leg through and begins working on the other. "So, if we want to find god, we have to look elsewhere. Somewhere we can't comprehend."

"...what's a 'god?'"

She kicks her leg through the second opening with a laugh.

"Aye, now there's a proper attitude to have. Sadly, t'wasn't how I was raised, nor were the rest of my people. We think there's a god to be found in reality, something that can explain it all, something that exists past what we can imagine, and we've been searching for her a long time."

"Why?"

"To get some answers about why, if we live in an infinity of infinities, this particular one is so fucked. And we don't plan on asking nicely." She tries moving around and grimaces. "I feel like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. What happened to my old clothes?"

I shrug.

"The Crafters are probably trying to figure out what they're made of, and how to fix them. What happened to your body?"

"You don't work in the engines as long as I have, young Sky, without tasting reality's tickle. Fixing an engine malfunction involves more than banging on some pipes." Her gaze goes distant. "Asides, it won't matter much soon enough. Just hope I can teach the lad enough before I go."

"What..."

I don't know how to finish the thought, how to process what MacWillie is saying, but she seems to understand what I'm asking.

"What'll happen when I hit the end of the road? Well, if we were back in the corpos, they'd convert my body into an engine. We engineers level fast, if we survive, working as closely with reality as we do, and there's always more ships needing building. Not quite as quick as combat variants," she points at me, "but quick enough. Someone like me? I'd likely end up in a battle moon, or a dreadnaught. Plenty of tricks I've learned over the years to make an engine run smooth, and my integrator will have access to all of them."

My eyes widen, thinking back to how MacWillie overloaded the cruiser's engines to banish the Entity.

"All those engines... were people?"

She smiles crookedly.

"No. They used to be people. Whatever's left when reality takes its due isn't anything you'd call 'people' anymore. They can be controlled, guided, but there's nothing left upstairs. Trust me. I've looked for my mates in there, and despite the tales I spin for the lad, I never found them."

On the bed, Huckens stirs noisily before settling back into sleep. MacWillie and I look at each other, then quietly leave the room, turning off the lights and closing the door. Outside in the hallway, she places a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't you worry about me, young Sky. On my word as a MacWillie. I'll do what needs doing for as long as I can."

My eyes sting, and I wrap my arms around her waist, barely managing to clasp them together behind, my cheek buried into her lower chest.

"Aye, you're just as daft as the lad," she says fondly, ruffling my hair. "Now come, let me get some rest. It'll be a long day tomorrow helping you scavenge those receiver parts. Where am I laying my head tonight?"

I let her go and lead her to my room, hoping the bed will be big enough for her to fit. Great Grandpa built it expecting me to grow as tall as he used to be, but I've never come close to filling it out. Making sure she knows where the light switch is, I pause at the doorway.

"Good night, MacWillie. Thank you."

"Get some sleep, Sky."

I close the door with a soft click, and lean my head back against the frame in the hallway. I'll grab some blankets and sleep on the cushioned sofa near the heater. After I let my thoughts settle.

"Box?"

Yes, Sky? I love listening to your terribly reasoned ideas.

"We're going to find a way to save her. I promise."

...you should get some sleep, Sky.

It takes a while to find me.