The Foundry | Part Two | Chapter Eighteen
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Three | Dominion
Chapter Eighteen
The simulation hall was a most welcome sight to Echo Béleaph. Never before had the interior of a spaceborne vessel felt more a home to the woman, always previously longing for planetary experiences while aboard such a craft. She’d no longer find herself burdened by such worries.
Echo found her physical form had been having no problem releasing tears throughout that experience. Her face was slick, and her blouse had been soaked through. There was also a throbbing in her skull she’d know quite well — a typical symptom of tearful surrender — along with that familiar exhaustion witnessed throughout her body.
Despite it all, she unstrapped immediately, unplugged, and rose from her hardchair, discovering a strangeness about her headspace; something wasn’t quite right. Still, she’d felt a most pressing need to move.
Upon her first step Echo had gotten sick. Overcome, she’d collapsed to her knees and let go of the little in her stomach.
She heard someone shuffling about, sniffling, but there’d not been time for her to notice it Cameron before they left. Her palms were pressed firmly to the cold steel flooring, shaking, feeling such weakness throughout all of herself.
There were more non-descript sounds of movement in the room, and Echo knew Rory would be somewhere nearby. There was only one way to join into a live, joint simulation, and that was by physical presence in this chamber.
She’d not want to see if Rory if she had the choice. Understanding as well, that no matter, she’d want Rory know she was still standing. Rising back atop her wobbling legs, light-headed and barely associated to her body, she’d begun moving forward with the little strength she had.
Her eyes were locked upon the exit as that booted foot had wedged before her own, and the shove upon her back had seen her to the floor once more.
Without a hesitation she’d attempted to rise again, knowing the source, empowered by spite, and crawling forward in her ascent, to once again feel the weight of force shove her to the ground. Rage was building inside, though Echo knew this would be a desired effect, trying to hold it back from boiling over to their pleasure.
“Remember what I told you, Daniel.” Rory had spoken over her shoulder.
“Nobody wants you here.”
There were flashes of thought borne from the landing of these words in Echo’s consciousness, a whole plethora of them. Yet, part of her knew they were goading her to react, and her mind was drawn to the administrators speaking so clearly of further violent physical interaction resulting in her expulsion.
She’d stayed there in the midst of consideration, hearing Rory’s footsteps as they’d begun to make for the corridor themself. It had been a most instantaneous and pleasing resolution Echo landed upon, for how to begin dealing with this energy thrust upon her which she would feel no choice but to ruthlessly oppose; that of disaffirming unwelcomeness. There was not a bone in her body willing to tolerate such disrespect without recompense paid.
Echo found more strength in her rising than her first attempt to stand from that hardchair.
She’d found her footing in time, before any further aggressive reactions might be decided upon by Rory. Their eyes only falling upon hers as she’d closed on them, such surprise within, seeing that she’d not back down to their intimidations.
Rory had frozen when she’d grabbed them, pulled back too little, and been shocked as Echo kissed them right on the lips.
There was much pleasure found in the way they’d been so taken of guard as to not react, and even more in knowing she hadn’t wiped her mouth clean at all after retching.
She’d been shoved backward as they repelled, and Echo was laughing at Rory, showing her teeth, finding herself decide on what would be their next punishment.
“Love you too, babe,” Echo said as she began to walk from the room.
Nobody would get away with what Rory had just done to her. She’d have strangled them right there if it was an option. Though, Echo would’ve felt bad later if she had.
Ever still, there would be blood before the next waking-cycle. At least, in the metaphorical sense, Echo had already decided that before she’d broken that barrier of the doorway, and it would prove a most dreadful thing for Rory. They weren’t going to like this one bit.
Rory messed up big-time, really extraordinarily badly, and Echo was on her way to prove that to the woman. Not in person, but they’d know.
Those lies they’d spun to Cameron, which could only be imagined at this point, we’re certainly based off truth. Echo had long been an adept at manipulating electronic software and hardware alike. Technology spoke to her, seemingly offering itself as Echo’s tool to wield.
In that entire waking-cycle which passed after the simulation, where Echo had stayed in her room, having asked Leopold to deliver her food so she might keep working. She’d wrought and enacted the first steps of her great plan of revenge.
Echo loved Rory. At least, the heart buried inside them so felt through their touch.
However, there wasn’t room in this wounded woman to allow someone to cross her in such incredibly fundamental ways. For them to have attempted to deny her right to be here at The Foundry all together, then made it so clear how they’d chosen to see her; she’d simply no way to let that go.
There wouldn’t be another political reckoning for Echo, not now or ever. She’d hold her honor from here on out to her peers and Foundry leadership alike. No one would believe her capable of this anyhow, of all people.
Yet, Rory would know. That would be enough.
Echo had done some bad things in her life. But never had she done something like this, let alone with such pre-meditation.
Exploiting The Foundry’s lack security systems had once again proven a cakewalk. She’d made sure to cover her tracks preemptively. No one would be able to track her movements on any security footage. In fact, she’d built a false time-stamp into a clip of her entering Alan’s bunkroom, and inserted it within the live recordings of his hallway’s camera which would remain live all night. Through that, she’d made herself a most solid alibi.
Moments would be found in planning and executing subterfuge which proved some fact of her purpose to Echo. She was good at that kind of thing; it brought the best and most terrifying creations from her all at once. There was nothing but joy coursing through her as she’d breached the hangar doors, all known horror of her coming action set-aside to enjoy the moment.
Such an epic space of darkness the hangar was, and entering had birthed an ominous feeling in her belly. Not only for what she was about to do, and those mysteriously shrouded corners of this cavernous hold within The Foundry she’d never seen in action, but for the hope she had to find herself here under better circumstances which now felt so impossibly far away.
Her access to the systems of the hangar was most complete, and Echo had done the work to leave no digital footprint from her scouting.
There she’d been, right where Echo expected to find her — the sight creating a newfound level of anxiety for what would soon come — Rory’s warship; Monarch.
To get inside might be challenging for a less creative sort. Yet, Echo realized that would simply be a matter of procuring access to Rory’s flight suit. It was a tightest fit, and her biggest worry now, was only that she might tear it and leave some proof of herself by those means.
With Monarch having recognized the suit’s integrated technology, its hatch slid right open as she approached.
Echo squeezed over-top the softseat in that tightest space, reaching down towards the housing for its intelligent interface. She’d brought a tool to wedge and pry it open, but found it not needed. Again, the trust of good-faith actions by all here at The Foundry had served her purposes quite well.
Before long, she was leaving the hangar. Making way for her final stop. There was a surging sadness she’d repressed, knowing that Bliss; Monarch’s intelligence now in her hands, would cease to exist in the nearest future by her doings.
It was the recycling center where she’d ended up, and the compacter therein more specifically. Echo threw Bliss’ hardcase inside most immediately upon reaching its edge, betraying the truth and gravity to what she’d done, quite pleased to find it nearly full of disposed material.
"Perfect,” she’d announced to no one but herself, pacing over to the lever she pulled to initiate the mechanisms which would crush that hardcase until it was so small, and of one with the cube it had been formed into, that there would be no hope of recovery, even before it was cast into space.
Leaving the room there’d been a wrought satisfaction within Echo. ‘That’ll do it,’ is what she’d been thinking.
Echo made way to her bunkroom, noticing the helplessness she’d experienced by being made to feel so worthless had burned away in the fury she’d just perpetrated. There was much respect for artificial intelligence within the woman, more than most, she’d not sleep lightly on what it was she’d done. It was nothing short of murder.
She was ‘not to be fucked with’, however, and her place here wouldn’t be questioned. Nothing pleased her more than the fact Rory would know that. As she’d packed a bowl of herb, Echo leaned back to enjoy the anthem she’d listened to all day once more.
