Zyon

Zyon awoke softly amid the scattered harem and was careful not to move, as this would no doubt cause a chain reaction of consciousness that he simply couldn’t handle with what he was beginning to realize was a mythic hangover. He opened a single eye, peering through the domed skylight of the temple ceiling, through the paraterraform dome that was the ceiling of the Kerwan crater, and subsequently through the half-completed sphere of radiation shielded glass which was artificially tidally locked with the sun and would one day make Ceres into the first shell world in the solar system. The combination of these various lenses diffused the light almost as though it were passing through stained glass. 

 

Zyon had never actually seen stained glass, but AR being what it was these days, that didn’t mean much. He blinked once and brought up a series of messages, engagements and news that filled the cavernous space, each item vying for his attention in some way. A dozen life sized projections of girls he didn’t seem to recognize waved excitedly at him. He blinked at one who stepped forward and spoke her message, which, according to the timestamp above her head, had been recorded early the previous evening. He only pretended to listen to her invitation as he scrolled through various other bits of data that nagged at him through. It occurred to him that he didn’t know who he was pretending for, since he was the only one who could experience his personal feed. This thought amused him greatly, but only for about 4 seconds until he dismissed it in favor of Priest Kiellish’s newest treaties on pushing consciousness into the physical form, entitled, “The Spirit of the Body: A Practical Guide.” He skimmed this through a method that was part natural retention, part downloading and, finding it rather droll, banished it from sight. 

 

“Good morning,” said the girl to his right. She said it coyly as if they shared some intimate secret, instead of being a complete stranger who was simply near him at the center of a knot of naked humans. Zyon quickly raised his free hand to press a finger to his lips and then silently mouthed, “You’ll wake them!”

 

The girl grinned conspiratorially and gestured to the redhead on his chest. “Need help?” She mouthed.

 

Zyon nodded enthusiastically. The two of them gently rolled the redhead onto a pillow. He wriggled his feet out from underneath a couple, both dressed as lions and covered in syrup. His mag boots were… he surveyed the room. No telling where his mag boots were in this mess. The girl stood up and helped him to his feet. This was more decorum than aid, as the gravity on Ceres was 3% of Earths. Without mag boots, his body rose a few inches from the ground and she held him to the floor as he padded back down. 

 

He wanted to put this carnage behind him and get rid of this damn headache. He looked back at the girl who was attempting a sort of half bow. “Look,” he said in a half whisper, “do you want breakfast?”

 

She smiled warmly and nodded.

 

“Ok, well let’s get the hell out of here before this lot wakes up and eats us for breakfast.”

 

He jumped hard and ascended 30 feet to the gilded ceiling, until he caught one of the rafters. He swung himself atop it and, using hands as counter pressure on the rafter above, began to walk towards a long, ovular window that he kept unlocked for just such occasions. The girl followed several meters behind, silent as the dawn. 

 

Zyon opted for a local café specializing in “Cerean Traditional” cuisine, the only difference being that it was edible, he thought. He had donned a holographic disguise which replaced his lengthy brown dreadlocks with short cropped red hair, like the sleeping girl had had, and changed his long Romanesque nose and trapezoidal eyes into a saved preset so that no one could recognize him save for close friends and colleagues. He had been sure to leave family out of that group.  

 

“So, how’d you enjoy the, erm, gathering last night,” he asked the girl.

 

“I liked it,” she said and stifled a giggle. 

 

“Did we, um…?” Zyon lifted a single hand, palm face up.

 

“Mhm,” she said and grinned widely. 

 

“Oh, good,” he said, turning his hand to massage his temple. “Glad we got the chance. It was a bit of a crap shoot in there.”

 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” She asked.

 

“Yea,” Zyon said honestly. And with some thought added, “You know it’s important to honor our history and all that. Times were tough for the original colony and for a while there they really needed to, you know, crank out some babies. Repopulation was a state mandate after several major disasters, did you know that?”

 

The girl shook her head, still smiling.

 

“Well it was. People turned to faith and the state turned to faith too I suppose. Or at least, those in control of the narrative of faith. Religion has always been subject to change,” he winked. “And anyways…”

 

“You are God’s true Messiah,” the girl interrupted. Her eyes were still locked with his.

 

“Pardon?” Zyon said.

 

“You are God’s true Messiah,” repeated the girl. “The one who will bring forth seed from the sea and form life upon the rock that was dead.”

 

“Ah, yea you’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” said Zyon, backing out of his seat.

 

She grabbed his hand and pulled him back, which was deceptively forceful in low g. “We follow you into the void. We drink the truth of nature from your lips…” her words had a way of speeding up and tumbling over themselves. “The great answer to the Annukashi is…” 

 

“Alright, breakfast is over,” said Zyon flatly. He reached under the table and jammed the lock button on the girl’s mag boot, then twisted free and shot barefoot out of the café, spinning into a neat pirouette before engaging active camouflage mode on his disguise. 

 

He stayed to watch the girl from one of the private balconies across the galley from the café. She appeared to be praying in the traditional form, with the backs of both hands against her forehead. He enhanced the view from the standard human perspective of 50mm to 400mm; closer to how an owl sees. She was still smiling. A smirk of disbelief formed on Zyon’s invisible face. He’d had some weird morning after’s, but this one was up there.

 

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