Technica showed me around her underground lair and I felt strangely at home. A lot of the design-choices, if you could call them that, were extremely similar to the way I had built my own workshop in the bunker above New Brunsburg. There was a suite of four rooms clearly devoted to different engineering-pursuits and equipped with everything you needed to create technical marvels of mayhem. As we walked, I felt myself move back to the driver’s seat, so to speak, and Galatea slowly slid back to the watching position in our shared mental space.

After those four rooms, she showed me to a strange door. The door had no visible hinges, no lock-mechanism that I could detect, nothing that made me look at it like it was a door, other than the fact that Technica stopped in front of it, like she had in front of all the other doors. She pushed her hand against the metal and the door slip upwards, revealing a second, normal door behind it. That door was marked with some strange, glowing symbols that made me queasy when I looked at them and Galatea complained about what she perceived as a headache when she tried to resolve them.

“Could you give me a drop of blood?” Technica asked, making me blink in confusion. Why blood, did she want to do some strange DNA-test? If so, she was out of luck, the only DNA we shared was safely stored in my…

I blanked for a second and pushed Galatea to the front, who did not understand the reason for a drop of blood either, but was willing to provide it. My mind on the other hand had just realised that part of the fact I had taken solace in had been ripped away. There had been the solution to delve deeper into bio-engineering and trust myself that I would manage to turn a stemcell into an ovum. I had been reasonably sure that it would not be impossible, given my past overall successes. I had failed when it came to finding a biological solution to quickly heal myself without giving myself cancer, but I had convinced myself that I had simply taken an easier path.

But my thoughts about my DNA and the fact that I was no longer sharing it with Technica, also reminded me of something I had considered back than. I had been very unsure if the changes I made to myself would be viable in a fetus and taken the prudent course to leave my own ovaries, and especially the ova within, alone. Now, the ovaries had been crushed and the ova had been flushed out as biological waste. There were no more unmodified cells within my body, nothing of the original Alexandria King remained.

The thought-process only took seconds, just enough time for Galatea to prick our skin with a small knife Technica had produced and hand it, carrying a drop of blood, back to her. She took it, placed it against one of the strange symbols and spoke in a clear voice that she allowed the one who shared the blood to enter the sanctum. Those were her words and Galatea and I were even more confused. I was still trying to get to grips with the even further changed reality and stayed in the back of our mind, while Galatea slowly followed Technica after the door had opened.

“Step over that, please.” Technica asked, gesturing to a circle on the ground, directly after the door. Galatea stepped over it and looked around the room we were now in. It was a strange mix of office and bedroom, there was a cot in a corner, a comfortable chair, a coffee-machine but also a huge desk with multiple computer-screens on it.

But what drew my eyes was a picture-frame, lying on the desk, knocked over. My interest sent me into the front, chasing away all thoughts about the future with thoughts of the past.

The picture showed a woman, maybe five to ten years older than I was, in a hospital bed with an infant in her arms. The woman looked so much like me, it was uncanny. Now, the same woman stood next to me, with a sad smile on her face. I was captivated by the picture, next to the bed my mother was lying in, was a man that I clearly recognised as my father, even if he had never, not a single time in my life, look so happy, so carefree, smiling a genuine smile as he looked down at my mother and what had to be me. On the other side of the bed, a young boy, judging by the look, my brother Samuel, tried to climb on the bed. He had to be eight at the time and he looked rather cute and happy.

The picture drove tears to my eyes, unbidden tears. I had resolved myself not to think about the fact that Technica had left us, I had resolved myself not to think about her as my mother.

“That was how I knew it was you, when I saw the video. You changed your looks, but we still look very much alike. And your eyes had always that depth, even as an infant, they just drew you in, capturing you in their depth.” Technica said quietly behind me and I choked back a sob.

Looking closer, I could see my eyes in the baby-picture, they had not changed in all those years.

I felt the emotions choke me, cutting off my breath, and did the only thing I could, I fled. Not physically, I was too weak to run, but mentally. Again, I pushed Galatea at the front and hid in our shared, mental space, hugging the thread of awareness she kept there close, sobbing my mental eyes out.

Technica must have realised that something was going on, when Galatea suddenly straightened and started to look at other pictures.

“Didn’t you say that having a connection to you could be dangerous? So, why are all these pictures here?” Galatea asked, still using my voice.

When Galatea turned, I saw that Technica was looking at us with a frown.

“This is one of the safest rooms on the planet. I constructed the technical barriers myself, Fey placed the wards against what she calls magic and Fyodor secured it against any form of telepathic intrusion. Nothing gets in here, unless they are superior to three of the council of five, in their own, chosen fields. And nothing gets out, unless it walks through the door. No scrying, no spying, no nothing. Not even prophecies work on either of us, while we are in here.” Technica explained.

“But, say, you never told me how you managed to survive. You wanted to be my apprentice by your own merit, now, please tell me how you achieved the feat that gained my approval.” She asked and for the first time, I saw the councillor, one of the most powerful Powered on the planet.

Feeling Galatea’s discomfort with the situation, I retook control, shielding my daughter from the piercing gaze.

“Nanites. I was researching nanites in the micron-range and had a breakthrough a couple of weeks ago. I managed to reconstruct parts of me, using them.” I explained, without going into details.

“I saw you fall unconscious at the end of the video you showed. You would have to have prepared the nanites with exactly the instructions to fix the damage or you would have to have a complete program, with a set before-state, to fix the damage, but then you would be completely fixed, not such an incomplete job as you have done. Would you please explain?” Her frown deepend. After a half-second discussion with Galatea, exchanging thoughts as fast as we formed them, I nodded.

“You are a grandmother.” I started, using the words to achieve an effect. And an effect I did achieve. Technica’s mouth fell open and if I had taken a picture that moment, I could have sold it to a dictionary, so they could put it next to the word confusion. Galatea told me in our shared space that she had saved the image, if we ever needed blackmail-material. I could feel it was a joke, something I desperately needed, some levity.

“Wha…? Ho…? WHAT?!” she finally burst out and I started laughing, something very strange as it was not only transmitted by my speakers but also a wheezing, whistling noise from my mouth.

“Your granddaughter is a wonderful being, she is now a little over five years old.” I started, but was interrupted.

“YOU GOT YOURSELF KNOCKED UP WHEN YOU WERE THIRTEEN?!” she exclaimed.

“What do you expect, abusive father, absent mother, I am pretty sure there are statistics to what that leads.” I managed to say that with a strange face. My mind was strangely light, maybe I was going into shock. Technica made strange noises, gulping like a fish out of water.

“No, I never got pregnant. And thanks to Clark, I never will be, at least not with my own child. My daughter, your granddaughter is not the product of sweaty, grunting copulation with some disgusting guy. She is my pure Athena, if you will. Metis outsmarted Zeus, got away from him and from her own forehead, burst Athena. Even if I call her Galatea. She is an artificial intelligence and I think she would like to meet you.”

With those words, I let myself drift back into myself, surrendering to the strange lightness.