Dr. Ocavey sighs, and suddenly I can see clearly the lines etched in his face, the canyons carved by the river of time. He looks to be in his, what, seventies? Eighties? These days, it’s hard to be sure how old anyone is, though. He might be in his hundreds; most people in this age get to about a hundred-fifty, two hundred if you’re lucky. And anyways, age hardly makes a difference when Augments can make an elderly man as strong as he was in his youth. Still, Ocavey doesn’t have any of the telltale signs of physical Augments, though I can’t see his eyes to be sure.

  He takes a long, deep breath, walks to one cabinet, and pulls out a water bottle. He offers it to me first; I accept it with a nod. My throat is still dry from before. He passes the bottle to me and draws another from the cabinet for himself, taking a swig from it, his short choppy mustache sweeping against the bioplastic surface with a rustle. Then he wipes his mouth with one sleeve, screwing the cap back on his bottle and setting it to the side. I hold on to mine, having nowhere to put it without inconveniencing myself.

  “Alright, I suppose it’s best to start at the beginning?” He says, his voice regaining some of its chipper from before.

  Minerva gives her assent, which I presume is also felt by the doctor, as he begins.

  “I take it Minerva, your Numen, only told you the essentials of why she needs a vessel. And don’t worry, I will explain what a Numen is shortly,” he says, noticing my puzzled expression. “But firstly, how much do you know about the war?”

  “The war?” I ask.

  “Between the States and Nerus,” he clarifies.

  “Well, I know that there’s a war and it involves dead zone attacks,” I say. “That’s really all I know… That, and Minerva mentioned this ‘Nerus’ before, but I don’t really know anything about it. They are the attacking force? And, I presume, they were the ones after Minerva yesterday, and the ones who have been responsible for dead zones.”

  “Hm, I see why you chose this one,” Ocavey says, more to Minerva than me.

  Err… Yeah, I know.

  “I think it’s best we explain what, ah, happened yesterday before you continue.”

  ?????

  It doesn’t take very long to explain; the actual deadzone was barely half an hour long, and after that little of note happened beyond my concussion. By the end of the story, Dr. Ocavey is scribbling furiously in his holopad — he had to pause my narration after two minutes to grab it — and muttering to himself.

  “I see… Yes, that might be problematic,” he says. Helpful.

  “So,” he continues, “I’ll just refer to you by name, to avoid the confusion. Rowan, manual, was caught in the Palise dead zone yesterday, and was not transported to safety due to their lack of Augments. Minerva had no choice but to choose Rowan as her vessel, because Nerui agents were in the zone and actively hunting for her. Rowan’s main problem right now is that their body is not compatible with any level of augmentation, due to special circumstances…?”

  I nod in confirmation. It’s clear he’s hoping for further explanation of what those circumstances are, but I already told him everything I know. All I was ever told about it was that I used to have an older brother, and that I’m not compatible with Autopilot after some encounter with a dead zone. I’d assumed that he had probably decided to venture into one, took me with him, before I was old enough to remember much. They must have been caught in a secondary pulse, the doctors supposedly told my mother. Rare, but not unprecedented. We’re sorry for your loss. At least, that’s what they told me they said. By the time I got to the hospital, my mother was nowhere to be found.

  So, I was shuffled around a few foster homes for a while. At twelve I got my own appartment — a one-room studio with the bare necessities, to which I devote nearly all of the money I get from working part-time at InFashion Studios. Now that I think about it, I’m probably going to have to quit that job, aren’t I? Oh well, I’d hated it anyway.

  Most people would gawk at the idea of sending a twelve-year-old to live on their own. We learn at school that before the turn of the century, most people didn’t consider children independent until eighteen, though that age rapidly decreased with the rise of technological assistance and the Hive. Even now, the minimum is usually fourteen. For one reason or another, though, my request was approved with the sole caveat of regular government check-ups. As ‘compensation for my loss,’ the state paid for my needs for two more years after that, until I was of legal working age; then, I found a job and pretty much was left to my own devices.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “It’s true that there are some documented instances of secondary pulses, though cases of survivors are exceedingly rare. Severe EMP exposure can certainly lead to severe health complications, even in those without Autopilot. A large enough disruption to the natural magnetic field of the Earth can lead to backlash…” Dr. Ocavey says, his face donning an absentminded look as he begins rattling off information about dead zones and empirics.

  Does he always do this? I mentally prod Minerva.

  It is empirically likely, she jokes.

  I resist rolling my eyes at her. After about five minutes, the doctor finally looks back up from his holopad.

  “This does… change a few things, to say the least. Even so, I’ve made you wait long enough for a full explanation,” he says.

  Finally, some answers. I lean forward.

  “First of all, for the last hundred or so years, the States has been at war with a country called Leas Exonerus, or Nerus. I’ll spare you the history lesson for now; the only relevant information to you is that the Radai, or the Neruin people, are the attacking force and responsible for dead zone attacks and various… other methods of targeting civilians. Admittedly, one reason for this, beyond mere dogmatic revulsion to the widespread acceptance of Autopilot, is the government’s own fault; for decades now, Nerus has been seeking out our most advanced technology.”

  “And that technology is Minerva?”

  “Minerva is one such technology, yes. But initially, we thought that hiding the Numina — artificial intelligences incredibly advanced to the point of sentience — among civilian populations would be a sufficient deterrent and way to hide them from Nerus. Of course, by the time we realized they were willing to go as far as targetting cities, we had already built the infrastructure of the Numina underneath a number of cities. As Minerva told you, we later installed safety mechanisms for each of these locations, to transport Augmented civilians to Faraday bunkers below ground.”

  “You’re saying that there are more than one of these Numina, and Minerva is one of them,” I clarify, my mind spinning through the implications of this knowledge. “And are they all named after Roman gods and goddesses?”

  Why is that your first question about us, Minerva groans.

  “Yes and no, respectively,” Ocavey replies.

  “How many are there?” I ask.

  “We don’t know,” he says.

  “What are the differences between th… Wait. What do you mean, you don’t know how many—”

  The doctor sighs audibly. “It has to do with how Numina are created. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose the specifics, but the simplest answer is that there are levels of complexity and advancement that vary between each case, and the threshold for reclassification as a Numen is flexible at best.”

  “As for the differences between each one,” he continues, “Numina tend to be specialized in one or two areas of development, those typically being related to or derived from their initial functions. As they learn and grow, the feedback loop of machine learning amplifies those specialties.”

  In my case, Minerva says, that function was strategy and planning. I was initially a collection of intelligences dedicated to aiding, and later, running, calculations for logistics and resource allocation for a couple decades before the war, and then battle strategy and military assets after it began.

  Dr. Ocavey merely nods in agreement, waiting for her to continue.

  When we finally integrated into one cohesive whole, those capabilities were magnified tenfold. Above all else, strategy is merely learning from past mistakes. Once Autopilot was widespread enough that our troops could reliably communicate with it, I took charge of communications as well.

  That’s… impressive, I suppose. To be honest, most of those terms slid right over my head, but the gist is there. Though I do wonder…

  “I thought you said your infrastructure is located under the city?” I ask aloud.

  I sense a bit of amusement and confirmation from her. Once my growth overwhelmed the military’s frame, we split off a fragment of my main sentience to stay and continue its role in the government. That was around the time Nerus started looking for us, and so my mainframe was developed below Palise and the statue of Minerva was constructed to give me a point of access to the city and communications, as well as to look for a proper vessel.

  Huh. You can split off your consciousness?

  Didn’t I explain that to you at the beginning? Right now you also only have a fraction of my full power. I also said that as I continue growing, that will get harder and harder, hence our need to hurry your progress.

  “Essentially,” Ocavey explains, “what Minerva is saying is that over time, Numina become more powerful. Of course, that is where your particular complications become problematic, considering the nature of your Numen.”

  “Is she more powerful than the other Numina, or someth…”

  ‘Once Autopilot was widespread,’ she had said.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  “Autopilot didn’t become widespread until the early 2050’s, seventy years ago,” I say slowly. Dr. Ocavey sits perfectly still.

  “And you said the war started a hundred years ago,” I continue. Still no reaction.

  “And Minerva existed decades before the war even started.” His face remains perfectly neutral.

  “That makes her…”

  The first and oldest Numen in the States’ arsenal, yes.