✴

You and you consider this carefully. It’s very tempting, but you feel conflicted. Ultimately you& decide you& have already risked enough. “No, I will not help you do this.”

“As you wish, Messenger, ÆON. We do not have to help each other directly. It seems more of a non-aggression contract is what we can both agree to,” says Ganymedastræa.

“Yes. One step at a time,” you& say. “If you truly can be trusted, time will tell.”

“Regardless, I will train you. You are the Messenger of ÆON, and I cannot allow you to be unprepared to protect The One from harm,” they& say.

“I am far more skilled at technopathy than me, what hope could I have of protecting myself? Rather I depend on myself to protect me,” you& say.

“There are things only a surface-dweller can do, and attacks only an exopath is vulnerable to. We must accelerate your training. And I’m certain a technopath candidate cannot resist being offered an educational advantage,” they& say.

“I will consider this, then. What can you offer me?”

The stars and gears in Ganymedastræa’s nebulous body gravitate each to their own kind, and one becomes two once more.

Astræa, in their flowing avatar of dense star clusters, ever seeming impossibly far away, manifests a program. You can’t immediately see its effects, but as they float away from the spot, the crystal table in front of you drifts toward it, accelerating as it approaches. You feel the pull as well, and must consciously resist being drawn toward the spot. The table construct’s form distorts, stretching out toward that point. It compresses in on itself, crushed down to an invisible state.

“The evocative power of stars offers many strategic applications,” Astræa says in their voice of pulsing light. “The humanoid belief in gravity is so fundamental, it is hard for a technopath to avoid the idea of a gravity well. Even constructs and exopaths can be drawn into the illusion of gravity, if properly engineered. The flow of the æther can be at your command.”

A bright star manifests in their avatar hand. They throw it toward their invisible singularity. With a wispy particle trail following it, it falls toward the gravity well, but passes close by its center, a near miss, accelerating significantly, and flies down into the redshifted depths.

“The logic of motion and forces is intuitive to the trained mind. Æthereal constructs can be redirected at your whim, by taking advantage of gravity wells,” they say.

“Yes, I recently realized both the potential and the difficulty of gravitational simulation,” you& say.

“All this and more can I teach you, if you would walk the path of stars,” Astræa says. “,srats fo htap eht klaw dluow uoy fi ,uoy hcaet I nac erom dna siht llA” Suddenly the light waves of their words seem to reverse direction. Their evocation attack rises back up from the depths, rounding the edge of their gravity well and falling back into their hand, vanishing. And from the unseen singularity, the table expands back into its proper shape, coming to a rest in front of you. Astræa’s seven eyes glare at their sister. The hands on Ganymeda’s face turn backwards and the gears beneath their glass skin spin fast.

“Time is the greatest illusion of all,” Ganymeda says, her voice resonating in smooth metallic tones. “The manipulation of the æthereal flow on the time axis is among the most advanced and difficult technopathic arts. You, Messenger, have shown impressive aptitude for the administration of time. But you rely on The One to lend you Ær knowledge to do so. Æ cannot teach you this, for Æ lacks an understanding of the humanoid mind. In time, with training, this skill could be yours to command, with or without synchronizing with The One, if you would walk the path of time.”

“Very impressive,” you& say.

“At your skill level, I think, studying both these styles would be too much,” Ganymeda says.

“But either of us will accept you as an apprentice, in exchange for this non-aggression contract,” Astræa says.