The Foundry | Part One | Chapter Eleven
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part One | Thrice Bled Heart
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Three | Dominion
Chapter Eleven
Cameron had been hard to reach lately. They were pulling back from Echo and she could tell. She’d not blame them one bit with all that happened. Echo was only hoping they’d not lose faith in her as their chosen, and she was doing her best to give them the space they needed while leaving an open door.
There’d been much time spent alone after Ashe’s departure. When Echo would make her way into the dining hall, and find some group of her classmates to engage, she’d often notice a tangible distain coming her way. Word had clearly gotten around.
The boundary she’d planned to emplace between herself and Alan was firm. Yet, in her loneliness she’d been reaching out. Echo found it ironic that Alan himself was the one upholding the distance, unaware exactly why, assuming it had more to do with Priscilla than her newfound reputation.
She’d known he wouldn’t care about that. It’s one of the biggest things she loved about Alan. Nobody else she’d been involved with romantically had ever seen all of Echo — including those darkest manifestations of furiousness, when she’d try standing up for herself in the worst ways possible — then still been interested, never failing to forgive her for anything she might do.
He knew what it was like to make terrible mistakes because you’d been hurt in the past.
There were messages shared between them, but he’d go particularly quiet when Echo knew Pricilla was off in-system on Foundry business, herself such a part of those recruitment assignments Rory had been spearheading. Echo thought him afraid of what they might do in her absence.
Still, Alan had been almost a complete non-factor when she’d really needed a friend. That wasn’t new either. His less desirable shades often painted compositions where it appeared he’d not care much about her when it didn’t benefit himself. There was clearly some damage control going on with Priscilla, and Echo suspected a very conscious effort to resuppress his feelings they’d drawn up together that night.
This is how it had been with them, over and over, she knew the game by now. At first it had broken her down every time he’d pull away. Now, she’d know better than to expect anything less from the boy. One day he’d figure it out — or not — she wouldn’t be waiting around to find out either way.
Leopold had been the only one to see her, and not even in the capacity of friendship they’d recently shared. There had been work to do.
Echo was determined to carve a place for herself within the highest echelons of The Foundry’s legacy. It wasn’t what she’d come here for — initially seeking the excitement and joyful experience of discovery, the challenge of knowing all she was capable of — until Echo discovered something in herself. She was most capable of creating moments of form in simulation which wrought transcendental excellence that had every right to see her become legend.
She’d only need to escape her reputation, take her rightful place as pilot, and ‘prove the damn thing’; as she was putting it.
Nobody had seen most of what she was up to, except Leopold. There were those few sessions she’d been able to get Cameron or Alan to watch-back, and was pleased to witness their excitement, but the scrub she’d run on the database had shown someone else was tapping into the feeds as well.
She liked this data. Although, the only thing it actually made her aware of, was who she’d wanted that to be. And Echo found herself wishing for it very badly. So much, she was getting a bit obsessive about showing off — just in case Rory did happen to be the one checking in.
There’d been a run made of most glorious simulations which were, perhaps, destined to become the very best of their kind. Echo had done it all straight through in a week, like some possessed mad-woman, and she was still going; two a day now — sometimes three.
This kind of focus had been known to bring the worst out of Echo in the past, turning to unhealthy obsession. Her history here, stained by dishonor, was full of examples which would seem to teach her to slow down, perhaps, go a little less hard, or take a break now and then.
Yet, it was finding beauty of movement and form in simulation which had itself become her breaks.
Loosing herself in the velocities of a warship, becoming more than human, seeking and finding moments so perfect they’d change the woman by their very experience — not leaving the mind a second to wonder why or how it was working, or even what it was all doing to her; trusting her instincts alone — it was what Echo Béleaph had been born to do, and she could tell.
The meal before her was a whole-grain pilaf and some basic lean fish protein, but Echo wouldn’t remember that. She wouldn’t be eating a bite.
There’d been some time which had passed since she’d sat down and saw them.
She wouldn’t know what happened at all in retrospect, except for some important details she was doing her best to process in the moment. Echo hadn’t moved once. Her arms were extended and flexed quite tightly above the table, she was still leaning forward as if mid-sitting motion, and her shoulders were tightly held around her neck.
Echo had been blinking a lot, it was the crux of the movement going on in her body for this longest stretch, almost as if she’d been trying to wake up from a bad dream. However, there was too much going on before her eyes to peel them away.
People were looking at her, and there were a few moments she’d even noticed that. D'Artagnan came up and put a hand on her shoulder, he was one of the few boys in the class who she’d found some level of comradery with.
“Are you doing okay, Echo?” He’d asked.
She’d answered right on the heel of that last syllable, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
After he’d gone, she settled back into her chair a bit. There was a try at eating, which really amounted to a glance down at her food. It hadn’t been long before she was back to staring.
Something she saw then ripped her heart in half, burned it, stomped on it — a matter of body language. Cameron had leaned over and placed her hand on Rory’s knee as they’d laughed together. Their meals had been finished since the moment she’d seen them. They weren’t going anywhere, and the two of them seemed to be hitting it off extraordinarily well. If they hadn’t already known each other.
Rory never looked once. Although, they did grin awfully big when Cameron finally turned to see Echo watching on. She’d played it off as best she could with an awkward little smile and a wave, pretending like she could breathe and wasn’t having a panic attack.
Cameron looked sad about it, but not that much. There was more behind it — something Echo hadn’t seen in her before.
She saw them typing it into their personal terminal before she’d felt her own vibrate in reception. Her hands were still shaking as she’d pulled it out of her coat pocket to look.
The message simply read, “We’re just friends.”
