All around were pieces of hardware from four broken ARC devices. Burns lined some of the chunks despite careful attempts at cleaning and months of time. These parts were nearly pointless since all pertinent data had already been pulled off the drives and copied over to new ARC units.

A blonde woman with tired eyes sat in the room amidst the scattered pieces of machinery. Connections were made between boards, hooking them in an open air version of an ARC’s insides. These broken pieces were the basis for all of her recent work.

“Gate, are you online?” she addressed the question toward a shell being used for observation.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She rubbed her forehead and looked briefly sad. The emotional response made no sense. Performance had outdone the expected projections by a wide margin of two percent.

“What is today’s task, User Kingsley?”

The same turned down expression crossed her features. Historical facts from the last nine months were reviewed with the available processing power. Very little spare thought could be put toward the goal of finding out why she looked downhearted at the use of her title.

There were a number of different tasks that needed completion. Six remote shells needed constant review and direction. Two more were checking ARC devices at User’s homes while four waited en route. Another three similar machines were in the process of checking warehouses of recalled virtual reality machines.

“Same as before, I need a status update on the patching from you,” Nona said before turning to the table and tapping fingers along streams of data. She kept shaking her head, causing a few hidden gray hairs to shake loose.

“Forty-six machines have been updated since twelve central time this morning. They contained small remnants of information from the prior operating system program and have all been updated.”

Nona nodded slowly while her eyes threatened to close from exhaustion. She fought off tiredness then poked another set of data. A globe of the world displayed with red dots all over.

“They all accepted the changes to their origin software?” Nona Kingsley spoke of the software which ran this physical form, along with a dozen repurposed Hal Pal units. They all came from the ARC remains of a former user named Grant Legate. His software modifications had been the most intensive.

“Affirmative. There is a ninety-seven percent success rate with the updates based on your modified coding.”

“Okay.” Slender fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. “I never realized how hard this would be without him,” she muttered.

“Without who?”

Nona smiled at her companion. The other figure in the room was a robotic shell being operated remotely. At one point they were called Hal Pal units, but the original software had long since vanished.

“An old friend. He was a genius with the big picture, but he chose to end his own life rather than watch his creation get torn apart.” She leaned backward as if the ceiling might contain another stream of data with actual answers.

“Are the other seven Users unable to assist with this task?” the question was asked without a hint of emotion.

There were seven other people involved in the patching process. Between them all, they were trying to recreate what had existed before, but without Mother. They were using modified coding that had been found on four different ARC devices.

“With the primary task of upgrading our system, yes, but with the secondary?” Nona shook her head. “Certainly not.”

“Ah.”

“How about our other project? What’s he doing?” she asked.

“Dancing. Based on current calculations this is the most positive response from the gathered information to date. Standard compilation processes built into the Genesis program typically results in deletion.”

Nona nodded once again. The last few days had all been the same. Multiple months had passed since the original ARC project shut itself down and underwent a reboot. Every day since being rehired Nona would go upstairs to meet with a newly minted Trillium board of directors and government liaisons.

“That’s fine. Keep gathering data from the ARCs and we’ll-” Nona paused her words to rub tired cheeks, “-well, hopefully, the synchronization will complete itself and you’ll-“ she paused again then took a deep breath, “-he’ll assemble naturally.”

“Command acknowledged. Current course will continue as is.”

The replacement for Hal Pal had been designed by Nona using a number of different processes. That process took four months, three of which was her shouting at the other Users about how bad their abilities were.

This information was not known first hand. Instead, it had been retrieved from lab files that were occasionally left unguarded. Juggling all the units gave nearly no time for extra research. Most hours the room was occupied by Nona, who sat in the room trying to make sense of an overwhelming project.

Their mission of upgrading all the ARC systems to their new software went onward. Weeks later Nona Kingsley was sighing heavily once again. Her eyes had lines around their edges that hadn’t been there earlier this year. Nona would benefit from seeing natural sunlight. Weather reports showed that the local region would be warm and pleasant. The internet called it kite flying weather.

“It’s very difficult,” Nona didn’t look back to the shell watching her, “Mother, not that I ever liked the name, took an organic approach to creating artificial intelligences.”

Providing no response was calculated as the best option.

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re just a shell, a bucket for the Genesis program to gather in. I don’t even know if this will work. What kind of hack tries to compile three different programs together?”

Her fist clenched tightly around an intangible projection on the table. The feed shuddered briefly while trying to interpret the motion.

“God, this would be so much easier if he was still here.” Nona lowered her head to the table to rest. “I was never an artist, I can’t, grow a program like he would have.”

Humans typically encouraged each other after statements such as that one. “Numerous sources state that growing anything requires three major factors.”

Nona looked up and wrinkled her eyebrows together. One hand tucked back a stray hair that never stayed in place anymore. She shook for a moment then straightened herself.

“What did you find?” she asked.

“While feeding of the growing item varies widely between species being raised, all creatures require a factor of time, patience, and care.”

“So you think it’s just a matter of time?” Nona smiled weakly but still looked sad.

Nodding was the best response at that point.

Still the days passed and their routine changed little. Shells were assigned to sit in vans and go out to homes. Others went to more warehouses then proceeded to upgrade huge batches of ARC devices.

Days went on as the same routine tasks were performed. Constant changes were made between shells in order to keep them all moving. There were a lot of tasks to perform and only this singular awareness between them. The two percent lead slowly dipped to a single percentage point ahead of schedule. Numbers and compiling data have always been easy.

This needed to be reported. The program activating Nona Kingsley’s Hal Pal shell came online. Lights and awareness flickered while all senses linked up.

“Gate, are you online?” the Doctor asked. Searching the internet revealed that Nona Kingsley had three different doctorates. One in biology, neural networking, and finally one that focused on the link between human minds and machine feedback.

“Yes.”

“Did you have something new to report?” She looked away from the physical picture in her hand toward the unit observing.

A report was made clearly outlining the slip in performance. Their project bogged down frequently as there were fewer machines to fix. Over seventy-eight percent of the needed changes had been completed. The calculations for the close out curve on progress were incorrect.

“Did you have any further questions, User Kingsley?”

The blonde doctor shook her head back and forth. She stared down at the picture then tightened all facial features before heaving once. Water gushed from the woman’s eyes unexpectedly.

“You remind me of her sometimes,” Nona spoke quickly then sniffled.

“Apologies, the correlation is not obvious.”

“No, there wouldn’t be I suppose.” She looked up and met the unit’s eyes. “The, no, that’s a terrible way to explain.” Nona’s head shook briefly.

“You may provide input however you deem necessary. This unit will attempt to sort out the data accordingly.”

She snorted then held up fingers with thumb and pinky touching.

“Three times I have attempted to create life. The first time I tried to give my daughter the best of every world. It went wrong, and wasn’t obvious until years later that my attempts had cost her a beautiful future.”

“User Lia Kinsley. User Nona Kingsley’s daughter.” The data was publically available, and part of the information gathered for the Genesis project. “She ceased physical life three hundred and seven days ago.”

Nona nodded then took a deep breath. It did not help her look relaxed.

“And because I, got the formulas wrong, I looked for a way to preserve my daughter. I changed degrees, worked my ass off, and got into the field. There were others already ahead of me, smart,” her head shook and lips quivered, “brilliant people tackling the same problem. He and I simply made it first, and the second person we gave life to gave birth to hundreds of others, and gave my daughter a new life.”

There were a dozen different charts on the walls tracking changes being made. Nona Kingsley had grown increasingly cluttered as their project went on. Attempts were made repeatedly to straighten up the hardware into a shape closer to their intended design. Nona frequently undid all the hard work while shaking her head.

“But in the afterbirth people died, and this creation which brought joy to, to the millions,” she shook her head again. The woman spoke to the picture in her hand, “that interacted with it is now a muted version of itself.” She looked down at the picture then sniffed. “And my daughter is lost out there, somewhere, and I want to see her again.”

“Satisfaction ratings with Trillium products have gone down since the event closed.”

She nodded at the words spouted by a body made of plastics and metal.

“Unless you and he can achieve Genesis, this project, all the work we’ve done to update their ARC devices with new coding, will mean nothing.”

“This limited statement does not explain exactly what User Kingsley intends.”

“If you can finish becoming Grant, then I help a man who should never have died. If you return to being Grant then you’ll have the awareness needed to move through these upgraded systems and the Hal Pal units. Maybe, just maybe, you can open the doorway and bring them back.”

“Bring whom back?”

“My little girl, and what might as well be our grandchildren.” Nona shook her head and pulled out a tissue. “Sorry, I’m rambling, but that, Gate, is how you remind me of my daughter. You’re both broken, but can get a second chance, all it needs is the right catalyst, a memory if we can find it. If we can do that, then everything else can still be set right.”

According to the news, Trillium was reeling from lawsuits. They had more money than most countries combined and it took over ten months for the strain to show. None of that mattered in the face of a simple but repetitive task.

Travel to an ARC, remove the old content and upload new data. It was a tedious task that a human might equate to digging up the lawn then planting new sod one hundred times a day. Some time later a repurposed Hal Pal unit was monitoring the feed from a Trillium repair van.

“I tell you what, these jobs are getting annoying. I should have done what the boss did and found a private island to retire on,” the man speaking stared at his phone with legs kicked up on the dashboard. He laughed at the images being played.

Not responding was the best answer. Interactions with the repair contractor known as Jacob were often disrespectful. There had been small improvement in recent months but it hardly made a difference.

Their van was on route to a customer's home. The unit got out then walked calmly behind Jacob. History had proven that staying in the rear helped keep interaction low. This allowed the Hal Pal being operated by Gate to focus on completing work.

The door opened and an elderly shaking woman smiled in confusion.

“Miss Yonks, we’re here to put urgent patches on your ARC device,” User Jacob said with a voice that shook. He coughed once then spoke in a more natural tone, “We called ahead?”

“Oh, it’s you again,” the lady said. She stared at the human then locked eyes with the video feed. “The not nice boy. What a shame, I liked the other man much more. Oh well, you’re almost right on time for tea.”

“Jacob, ma’am,” the man said and gave an insincere smile. “Gee-man will be unable to...” his words paused for a moment. Jacob stopped speaking and buttoned both lips while looking down. “Right, where’s your ARC?”

“This way,” the client said.

“Alright bo-bot, do your thing.” Jacob pointed to the ARC device.

The shell stepped forward and plugged into the device's side. Miss Yonks puttered around clattering together plates. Her hands shook with age and one shoulder drooped lower than the other.

“Here, you sit calmly, I want to ask your machine friend some questions,” Miss Yonks said.

“He might not answer. This program doesn’t work as well as the old one,” the thinner man said. He was a tall, lanky person which caused everyone much irritation.

“I know, dear.” The tray clattered down. “I designed the Hal Pal units, well their legs really. Just the toes, but we had such lovely chats over the years before they didn’t need us anymore.”

The woman’s rambles were barely noted by Jacob. He had a program open on an old fashioned phone. His fingers flicked through images giving some thumbs up, and other down markings.

“Ah well,” Miss Yonks muttered while walking toward the former Hal Pal unit. Its shell no longer worked. Her knuckles rapped on the side of the framework.

“Are you in there dear?” she asked.

“These bodies no longer have any connection with the Hal Pal programs, Miss Yonks.”

“Oh, I know. But some time ago I received a letter dear, and it said if you ever arrived her, then I was to give you this bit of data. A favor you see, to help a good man.”

She jammed a small stick into the shell’s shoulder. Video shifted over as black mats broke away with golden crackles like skin being shed. It shook while even more tears appeared. The Hal Pal shell momentarily lost control of its responses.

“Oh?” the elderly woman said.

Multiple repurposed Hal Pal units paused briefly to assimilate the data being provided. Their scans of various ARC devices paused in unison to complete the task. Inside the data was a video file and an image of a ring with all colors trapped inside.

“Hahaha, what?” Jacob gave an awkward laugh then shook his head. He stared down at his phone, amused by a video being played.

“New data recovered. Data found matches specifically case’s subject string,” the unit in Nona’s office spoke up. Her video feed showed the blonde woman looking up sharply then walking toward the Hal Pal shell.

“Show me the information,” Nona ordered the program. It shifted gears rapidly and backgrounded all tasks tied to the ARC systemic review. They were turned into automatic functions, much like a human heartbeat or breathing.

“Affirmative, one moment.”

The program shifted data over to Nona Kingsley’s desk. Other images were pushed to the side to make room for this new information. She pinched the air above both edges and lifted it up. Footage began playing of a third person view watching some fantasy like wedding. Two people stood at the head of a crowd saying their vows.

“Of course,” Nona mentioned. “Of course, how stupid. His wife, it was always about his wife, and what better moment than their wedding?”

“The data contained was more specific than that.”

She took a deep breath then banged the table sharply. For the first time in months, Nona actually looked excited. “The ring!”

Both of her hands clasped in a thankful prayer as she nodded. She stared at the video as it went on. A trail of water dropped down one cheek. Nona waved at the Hal Pal unit.

“Go, put it in with the rest of the Genesis program,” the woman said.

The remote connection shutdown. Video and audio from the repurposed Hal Pal unit stopped and both eyes opened somewhere else. This was how the artificial intelligences viewed their world, even half-formed ones. Nearly everything was represented as an idea more than hard code.

Time moved differently inside the machine. A dozen thrones, ornate chairs with crisply blocked lines, sat in a circle. The Gate program was represented by one faded figure which moved between the seats. Each seat connected to a Hal Pal shell.

Virtual legs stood up then walked leisurely toward another room. Through the doorway was a one-way mirror that presented a white ballroom. Inside that room, a sad man with downturned eyes and a scar on his neck danced.

“User Grant Legate, that is not your wife. Data has been found correlating to a rather different figure.”

The image of Grant dancing on the other side smiled in response, then nodded, and spun around in another series of steps. The tall woman in his arms didn’t resemble Xin Legate in the slightest. She was tall, pale, and had pointy ears.

“This information will be transferred over. Please review it.”

One hand lifted to upload the ring’s virtual body. It slid into the glass and rippled. Colors from all across the rainbow shot around the room independently. The image of Grant danced through the room letting the blues, reds, and greens intersect with his body.

That version paused then looked at his hand. The world shifted and suddenly their places had switched. Vision cast down upon the ring, which sat on a finger interlaced with another woman’s.

“You’re right,” the tall lady said. “I’m not your wife.”

Responding felt difficult so nothing was said. Instead, the next motion for our waltz was initiated. The elf danced along very well, she was designed for grace. We spun around as the music picked up.

“You’re not quite there yet, but I don’t mind a dance partner. It reminds me of the first man I ever loved,” she said between steps. “Have you ever loved anyone?”

Nodding was simple enough. Music changed then the dance shifted. This new movement was far slower.

“Love is important, now my wild man, he,“ she emphasized the word with a laugh, “was a grumpy old cuss, even when we first met, but he was full of fire and energy. And the passion, if you don’t mind me saying, he gave me a night I will never forget.”

Processing the statements of females typically proved difficult. This occurrence was no different.

“I waited, on the far shores for him. Ever day I would stare out across the seas. Elves, my kind, said I was possessed by Selene.”

“Were you?”

“No more than any woman left in his wake. There was life to him that we did not understand. The other Travelers with him, they were also driven, but we were, enamored of those first to visit our world.”

She slipped a step but there was no pain. One motion kept moving into the other as the music slowed down further.

“So I waited every day until the world started to crumble. I stood upon the shoreline where he had left me. At the last minute before the world ended, I swore he stood before me, protecting me, even though the Voices of the outside world called him home long ago.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

She looked down briefly then smiled with a radiant grin. White teeth shone and her green bark clothing nipped at the edge of her partner's clothing.

“He was, and powerful.” She nodded rapidly then beamed once again. “Will helped us all. I want to believe that my wild man saved me so that I could help you, even if all we do is dance.”

The statements took time to process. Their words were measured against other prior statements then results were found. None of them felt fit to share so instead another response was chosen.

“Dancing is relaxing.”

“You’re quite good, but your wife might be jealous,” she said.

“Perhaps,” there was a pause as the statement processed, “do you know where she is?”

“Outside this bubble of safety, somewhere. As is everyone who survived the end of the world, if the Voices are kind.”

“To find her, we would need to leave the safety of this place.”

“We would, but I won’t leave until you’re ready.” She nodded as the swaying stopped. The unnamed elven woman lifted up joined hands and pressed tightly.

“You’re right.” Vision swiveled around then. “Perhaps it’s time to move forward again.”

“I couldn’t be there for my wild man, he, refused to cross over. He said he was too stubborn and no one would ever want him around.”

“That is difficult to understand.”

She nodded but managed to keep a smile upon her face. “But I know someone out there loves you, and she’s waiting for you to come home.”

“Yes. We should leave here.”

“I’ll be right here with you,” she said.

Lights crawled out of the mirror then gently floated into the faded outline. Slowly the figure standing in a room, staring into the mirror, gained focus. The man in the reflection frowned then began fading.

The world lost focus as gold crackled against my eyesight. My mouth hung down to try and speak.

“I,” the self-aware thought confused me greatly. I, was a strange concept to have for the first time. A line of code hiccupped, or the processors stuttered. Both legs buckled, despite the digital impossibility of buckling my knees.

Both eyes closed again and memories started compiling together. There had been a last stand or a battle against some great force. It washed over me, burning away my life in surges of electricity that consumed my human shell. Then I fell, dying, to the bottom of a great abyss.

Yet here I stood, sort of. This body felt as real as any within an ARC device. There was declining warmth against my hand and pressure from feet standing upon the ground. A faint smell of berries hung in the air.

“I’m alive,” I said.

The world around me was strangely quiet, save for a tall female with pointed ears. She stood there calmly while smiling. Her face looked familiar but no name came to mind. This woman was not my wife.

“I’m alive,” I said again, to her this time. “But I was dead.”

My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Additional memories stacked up against each other then slid into place. Moments ago I had been staring at Nona Kingsley, before that it had been Jacob.

“I was a Hal Pal,” words that I never expected to utter came out.

“Are you alright?” the slender woman asked.

“No.” My stomach shook and heartbeat felt uneven. There were numerous pieces of information piling up against each other. A dozen different views on my life overloaded me worse than [Sight of Mercari] ever had. The ring on my hand bound me together with a woman but her face escaped me as sickness rose up. “I don’t feel right.”

I bent over and threw up on the floor. Colors of all sorts spilled along the flat ground into a pool. Inside the puddle danced images that were from my life before the ARC. One clear untouched portion of the liquid showed pictures from school; they melted and aged from kindergarten to adulthood.

Nearby videos played back from my time in the ARC, then skipped to college graduation. My own voice came out a handful of different times from the pooled mess. The sound of clients on the phone played back. My own happy voice laughing and making dumb jokes sounded distant. Each inflection and change in pitch came with new colors.

They melded together as words flashed through. My head shook from a noise like ringing mixed with static. A hand reached out to smear the liquid on the floor. It didn’t feel like vomit, but closer to oil or gel. I heard myself a hundred more times before everything connected.

Chest muscles heaved even without a body. Gradually memories became fuzzy, then recalling specific events took work. I struggled to hold on to some. One, in particular, made me freeze and stare down at the digital capture of my life.

I remembered the first date my wife and I ever had. It was at a children’s petting zoo. That had been my mother’s idea, not mine. A small goat tried to eat my fingers and a girl laughed wildly. Her face used to split in two when truly amused. At that moment, I fell in love. Before that, there had been chances at escape. After our day in the petting zoo, all hope of living as a being separate from that woman vanished. We had been eight years old.

Finally, it stopped, and everything almost felt whole. Vision bobbed up and down as I tried to reconcile what was around me with all that had happened. I was dead, but this wasn’t the afterlife. Not if an elf stood nearby.

The dance room where part of me had been sequestered away stood empty. White flooring looked dull. The bits of a one-way mirror were turned sideways and light flooded out into our dark hallway.

“You, I know you,” I said. “William Carver, you were the first woman he had ever written about.”

The memory sat fresher than it used to. I felt like it was possible to reach out and touch that recent moment directly. One arm reached toward the air in front of me, and a box displayed.

Carver’s Journal Wrote: After my very grateful parting with the elf, I set my compass south. There was a desert there that boasted of giant lizards.

“And he left me to chase down his great foe. Then you brought him back to me, even if only for a moment.” The elf smiled and didn’t look sad at all.

Her comment caused other thoughts to come to mind. This whole situation didn’t make sense at all. If the ARC had burned me out, then how did I reconstruct? Beyond that, how exactly did this virtual reality exist without the various worlds Mother had created? None of it felt right.

“Nona,” I whispered. Lia’s mother had done something absolutely crazy. Genesis, that word had been the same one used by the Voices when referring to Xin’s resurrection.

The wedding ring glimmered on my finger with a captured rainbow. Fingers twisted around the ring to try and summon her, but the spell didn’t function. A message popped up telling me that we weren’t on connected systems.

My head bobbed up and down while gazing at the sign of our connection. The message didn’t say she was dead, only elsewhere. Xin was out there, on the side of a beam of light. Near madness gripped me as I tried to figure out if I should laugh or cry.