Chương 117: Epilogue 2

2104: 08: 25: 08: 05: 11 Irja walked through the familiar halls of Hudson-Howard Municipal High, getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu as she knocked on the glass door to the principal's office. As Irja entered, the man greeted her.

"Irja, good to see you again – and right on time as well! Wish I could say that about all my students." He chuckled at his own comment.

"But anyway, let me be the first to formally welcome you to Hudson-Howerd Municipal High high school – and yes, the two 'highs' are mandatory." The school principal chuckled for a second time. That part of Irja's being still in the Achronality scrutinized the memory-data concerning her past and found that yes, the principal did really just use the exact same joke he had told Sam when she came here last year. Seeing neither her nor Miss Sims join his humor, he scraped his throat.

"Anyway, allow me to introduce you two: Irja, meet Miss Jaella Sims." Like when she'd met Miss Sims as Samantha, Miss Sims shook her hand stoically, without expression.

"Pleasure to meet you, Irja. As you've likely already heard, I'll be your class mentor and history teacher." Irja nodded.

"Sam told me about you, yes." Miss Sims raised an eyebrow, a small smile on her lips.

"Only good things I hope?" Before Irja could throw her pseudo-twin under the bus, Miss Sims was already speaking again.

"A joke, of course. Your cousin has been a joy to teach and see grow as a person. I hope you two are getting along well?" First cousins through Pierce; that was what she and Sam were on paper. Aside from providing a good cover while allowing Irja to continue to live with them (after a suitably-faked, terrible traffic accident happening to her non-existent birthparents, of course), it helped explain why the android chassis Submechaniker made for her looked close to a twin to Sam's in appearance.

It had rankled Irja something fierce to ask Sam for 'permission to use her likeness' – like Sam was some kind of actress Irja wanted the imaging license of; how gauche – but Sam was quick to give in. Oh, and definitely without a stern talking-to from Kati, and Irja was a hundred percent lying when she acted out the argument to their friends.

"We're like sisters already," Irja responded and made the miniscule actuators hidden underneath her false skin twist synthetic muscle, making a smile. The motions were simultaneously manual and automatic; a script written by herself in the Achronality, forced through the personal DOOR, connecting to a finger-nail slice of pseudo-shard – or 'timegate', as the mirrors were now called – in her mechanical head, and lastly interpreted by her processors into action. Miss Sims nodded, pleased.

"Good to hear. I hope you'll be as model a student as she was during her first few months." She frowned.

"Not that I wish Sam to be like she was before. It's a better than good tradeoff for overcoming her displacement and getting her memories back."

"Indeed," the principal interrupted.

"I believe it would be fair to say everyone was happy to hear of Sam's recovery – and indeed, all the others recovered through Aionikon's breakthrough efforts." Irja's new 'masked' name, though she found it difficult to say she was a masked. She'd practically retreated from the masquerade scene since becoming Irja, all her efforts instead put into rescuing the displaced and aiding the creation of a solution to maker degradation – both of which were still ongoing, and would be for years yet.

Even now a part of her mind was occupied with the recovery effort, sending people through timegate-connected DOORs to specialized clinics in Charm, Los Angeles, Newhaven, and soon in Tiriljha and Othmanis. The latter were especially rushed as Irja had found six thousand displaced in North Africa alone. Hicham ben Yahya, a time-centric maker and minor rebel warlord in the immediate post-Malcator aftermath, was to blame for that.

The reason why it was slow going was a 'monkey with a typewriter'-type issue, where the random assortment of letters would sometimes spell something that looked meaningful, but wasn't. The Achronality was a strange, seemingly-infinite dimension made up entirely out of dataforms, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of which was pure junk, a sea of infinite garbage.

Using only the names of the temporally displaced would often result in Irja trying to push false 'data demons' through the DOORs – an ear-piercing, reality-tearing, screaming thing not at all like the person they were hoping for. Using more parameters like height, weight, hair and eye color and bits and pieces of their background – place of birth, parents, siblings etc. – worked, but searching took a long time despite Irja's ever-growing size and capabilities in the Achronality.

Sometimes though, luck was on her side and she'd hit a parameter that struck a motherlode. Like with the case with Hicham ben Yahya's victims, all of them closely interlinked by the circumstance of their displacement. All that was needed for them to be scooped up and pushed back into reality was the real-world logistic side of things materializing. As for solving maker degradation – and Mad Android Syndrome in particular – that one progressed even slower.

The Moribundancy Rate of Irja's own android body was zero despite Submechaniker's powers not actively supporting it, which indicated that yes, just as with the Machine, Irja did have the capacity to halt maker degradation. Unfortunately, it worked only for so long as Irja was connected to it, and as timegates and DOORs were difficult enough to produce as is, it wasn't a practical solution yet. And that's not even mentioning whether it was desirable to give 'Aionikon' so much control over other makers' works.

That, and the DOORs themselves were still subject to degradation, albeit at a slower rate than any of the maker devices they'd tested their solution on so far. Still, it did work in stopping degradation of the devices themselves, so the promise was there.

It was one of the reasons the depth-resistant heroic android maker Submechaniker – Guardian of the branch attached to the Pacific Naval Watch, and apparently an acquaintance of her brother Michael – had helped build her chassis in the first place, helped along by a reanimator interested in the project as well.

"Aunt Kati and Uncle Pierce were very happy, yes," Irja told the principal. The man nodded.

"I can imagine." He looked at his watch.

"But ah, look at the time. Let's proceed with setting up your tablet and school account." It was the same procedure as the time she came here as Sam. Meaning that, as Irja hardly needed the extra explanation on how it all functioned, they quickly rushed through it. At 8: 26, Irja and Miss Sims left the office.

"I apologize for the principal's comments," Miss Sims said as they walked. It wasn't exactly difficult to guess what comments she meant.

"You've heard, then?" Irja asked. Both Sam – and Irja-as-Aionikon, but Sam much more prominently – had been and still were involved in the investigations coming from the 'discovery' of the laboratory. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Near imperceptibly, the woman's walk stuttered for half a step at my bluntness.

"Yes. It was not difficult with me having access to her attendance records and what I know of her background. I hope that isn't an issue?" While Sam's name had never been mentioned in the indictment, she'd been called to testify a couple times during school hours.

Several Unified General Intelligence Service bureaucrats and members of the Internal Security Council – all people who were meant to oversee the budget and to keep an eye out for this kind of thing – had been stripped of their post, though none were jailed (as of yet). Irja shrugged.

"I don't think Sam minds you knowing as long as you don't spread it around." But aside from that, the investigations into Project PLUTO hadn't resulted in much. Project PLUTO had never been an official one, nor would it show up on the budget sheets or year plans of any part of the Unified State. And while a money trail had been found, it was a complicated affair to unravel it even with superpowers. Add to that the fact that, while well-funded, it had never been well-staffed.

In short, the project had yet to truly takeoff before it was taken down by the earthquake.

"Hm," Miss Sims hm-ed, the slight tension that had built vanishing.

"Good. And rest assured: I have no intention of telling anyone." An earthquake that, so it turned out, hadn't been the fault of Trajan Baker's return from the Achronality. Instead, it had been the Triumphant Ruaumoko 'the Land God' that had his hand in it, deliberately making it look like an issue of achronal return gone awry.

He hadn't bothered to spare any of the Treaty-breaking participants of the project, and given that Project PLUTO was mostly operated on-site due to its highly secretive nature, the investigators had yet to find a single surviving participant of the project. Only a dozen corpses total had been found, and these had been only identifiable through the list of names the Machine had stored in its code. Of the others in the list, there was no trace – both on-site or out in the world.

"I know," Irja said. Despite Sam never having bothered to hide it, Miss Sims hadn't participated in spreading the news of her achronal displacement, so she doubted she would spill 'the juice' now. Miss Sims side-eyed her suspiciously at that last comment. Perhaps it'd been a bit too glib of Irja, but eh, whatever. When they arrived at the classroom there was still half an hour before class began, meaning nobody was there.

Miss Sims opened the classroom, said, "Sit anywhere you like; last year's seating doesn't carry over," and marched to her desk to… do teacher stuff, she guessed. Irja walked over to a seat in the center of the first row by the door, the one she, her twin and their friends had all agreed upon to claim for their group. She set her bag down on the seat next to her, took out her tablet, and enjoyed what little free time she had left on the device before the school system shut it down.

Of the first four students, Irja caught two looks of surprise and frowns of not-quite-recognition and not-quite-suspicion directed her way. A third was someone who was likely 'also' new to this particular class, as she didn't recognize him and he didn't do a double take after a passing glance. The fourth student, however, was one Irja did recognize, and one who recognized her in turn. Irja took her bag off the chair, allowing space for Millie to claim it.

And claim it she did, bearing a wide Millie-style grin as she threw herself half into the chair and half into Irja's arms.

"Jaja!" Millie greeted affectionally. Being forced to catch her friend, Millie falsely swooned into her, leaning her full weight against Irja's chest. Looking down into Millie's eyes, Irja raised a singular eyebrow accusingly – an action that yes, she'd had to write a script for.

"You know I don't like that nickname," Irja reprimanded. Millie lifted a finger to Irja's forehead, touching the eyebrow and with a "Boop," and a "Pshhhew," dragged it back into place.

"Then you should've picked a different name." Annoyed, Irja very lightly kicked the leg of Millie's chair. Not enough to topple it over, but juuuust enough to startle Millie into a squawk and sent her sprawling further over Irja's lap. Irja laughed as Millie sent her a fuming look. Then out of the blue, a hand offered itself to Millie, and the both of them looked up. Millie smiled and grabbed the appendage. With a groan and a "God, it's way too early for this," Sam pulled and helped Millie back up.

Sam naturally looked different than she had before she'd merged with Sam-II. More colorful – if not drastically so – than before, more fashion-conscious and less well kempt than the standard Irja preferred herself, with blouse buttons strategically left unbuttoned and clothing stylishly… loose or something. No more ponytail tied back tightly, but a wavy one with locks of hair falling from a parting at the front. Not that Irja herself was exactly the same as Sam-II.

While she'd taken hold of most of the straight-fit clothing of the wardrobe she'd gathered in the before time – the grays and beiges and browns with the occasional light blues belonging to her now – she'd had her hair cut short into something of a parted, swept-back bob cut and gave it the shade of brown her father had rather than the black Sam and Mom shared, along with her father's orange-brown eyes. Outside of the aesthetic changes, Sam also looked tired.

Without superpowers to keep her energized, she was clearly not a morning person. It was one of the reasons why she had refused to go with Irja to class despite their mom's not-so-subtly pushing her to do so and Irja's teasing and prodding. Not that Irja truly minded; she figured it was just friendly sibling banter. It was Kati that underestimated the bond they shared.

She acted more like they were step-sisters that needed to be actively cajoled into building a relationship, not quite understanding that up until a couple of months ago, they'd literally been the same person. Understandable of course, but very unlike their dad. Pierce had just accepted that his lone daughter had undergone a sudden mitosis to become two daughters, something which he did not hesitate to embrace. It provided a nice contrast – and an extra way for him (and Sam and Irja too) to tease Kati with.

"Where do you two get the energy?" Sam said after Millie was properly seated.

"Good genetics," Millie said by way of answer.

"Maybe go to bed earlier next time?" Irja suggested innocently. Sam narrowed her eyes.

"I don't want to hear that from you." If there was one thing Sam was jealous of, it would be Irja 'inheriting' (in truth an extension of her android body and achronal mind) the no-sleep-required part of her power. Something Irja used to full effect against her twin.

"Guess I'm just built different," she said with an affected shrug. Millie and Sam rolled their eyes in response.

"Thank God I didn't inherit that part of the family humor," Sam said.

"Oh please," Amber said, having snuck up while we were occupied.

"Just last night you made three separate crow puns. Three." She took the seat behind me.

"Oh c'mon," Sam complained as she slid in next to Amber, taking the seat behind Millie.

"Saying you're stark-raving mad after… well, that stunt is hardly a pun."

"You said 'raven' and you know it," Amber accused.

"You were the one who said attempted murder," Sam countered.

"You know that wasn't a joke."

"But it was punny." Seeing Sam and Amber's interactions from the outside still felt strange to Irja. While all her friends had accepted her into the fold easily enough after she got her chassis in May, and even Amber's friends had easily absorbed her into the group, that wasn't to say there were no changes. Not that Irja didn't understand why. It couldn't have stayed the same; she and Sam were two different people no matter their similarities.

She hung out with Millie, Saga, and Jolie all the time and they didn't treat her differently – though as time went on and Sam and Irja diverged, so did some details of their specific relationships – and Irja had joined sambo lessons with Saga and Sam, so that too was mostly the same. On the other hand, the change in her relationship with Amber had been comparatively stark, which it had to be. Irja wasn't her protégé; Jester was. And while Irja was many of the things Sam was, Jester was not one of them.

The sheer number of hours Sam and Amber spent together, the activities they did and the things they held in interest; as these things developed, Sam grew incrementally closer and Irja incrementally apart from Amber. Only Naomi's had changed even more. It hadn't gone bad by any stretch of the imagination, but without the Sentinels acting as the central pillar of their relationship, hanging out had become difficult.

It was saved only by Irja's own growing interest in mechs, her now-true nature as an android, and most surprisingly of all: computer games. She'd never enjoyed playing them before – and, in truth, even now she wasn't as big of a fan of them as Naomi – but she was highly interested in their making and function. Aside from simple interest, there was the hope that it might give her ideas on how the Achronality worked, and how she herself functioned.

It was very likely to be an idle hope as most of what she saw wasn't translatable. The Achronality wasn't truly in code even if it could be understood that way, and its language wasn't anything resembling the Unified Aissatou Ekane Language. Still, the applications did give her some ideas. That said: even with all that, her relationship with Naomi had to be – and was being – rebuilt brick by brick into a wholly new friendship.

As the back and forth between Amber and Sam continued – the former increasingly exasperated; the latter's tiredness increasingly forgotten – Saga and Jolie joined them.

"A lover's spat again?" Saga said as they walked past, depositing their bags in the last two seats in our row before walking back to us.

"Don't be jealous Saga; my heart," Millie said dramatically.

"You'll always have us."

"Hey Jolie," Irja said, ignoring the other duo.

"I think I can finally perform the Lacelove progression you showed me." Unlike Sam, Irja found she had an actual ear for music. True, she cheated a bit as music was much easier to understand once it got translated into pure information through the Achronality, but… well, who cares?

"It's a ragtime; Lacelove is just the performer," Jolie corrected.

"Show me later today?" Jolie certainly didn't think it was cheating – not as long as she didn't outright build a program to play the notes mechanically, at least – and she was the one teaching her.

"Well, you have me at least," Millie said, sighing. Saga echoed it.

"I miss the good old days." She sniffed and plinked away a tear.

"Didn't take you for a Malcatorist," Irja accused.

"A Malcatorist?" Sam echoed, breaking from her and Amber's argument.

"Where?" Amber asked, eyes narrowing.

"It's those two!" Millie said, pointing at Jolie and Saga.

"Purge them!" Saga glared at her accuser.

"You traitor – you said we were in this together!"

"Get them!" Irja and Sam both said. We were interrupted by the loud ring of the bell signaling the start of the school day, Miss Sims clapping for attention for the yearly round of student introductions.