The Foundry | Part Two | Chapter Fifteen
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Three | Dominion
Chapter Fifteen
Echo had woken up the morning after Darkside with a lot to parse energetically.
There was so much joy and passion created the night before, Alan and Echo had even come back to her own bunkroom and gotten very, extremely busy throughout the night; quite loud too. She’d been a little tipsy, and she hadn’t cared at all.
It wasn’t a malicious decision, but it was a consciously neglectful one.
There was no part of Echo which believed Rory and Cameron would be in her room across the way. She figured that was all a thing she’d worked up in her mind — they probably spent all their time in Rory’s cabin, and she’d bet Cameron was alone most nights — she knew how things worked with Rory.
With the ecstatic heights she’d reached, both in the club and within her bed, along with those most healing moments of being validated for her feminine worth in ways she’d not before experienced, in front of the very kinds of people whose denial had hurt her most, Echo was soaring by the coursing winds of her heart.
She was mostly braindead, though — hungover, tired, but not mad about it one bit — she’d sometimes find herself thriving in this state of mind, as long as those sleepless nights didn’t ever string together. It was then things would turn for the worst regarding Echo’s decision-making prowess. This morning, however, that definitely wouldn’t be the case.
Another esoteric notion was felt within and around her upon waking. Something strange. As if another’s conscious energy had intermingled with her own while sleeping, some newfound entanglement to discover.
Alan was sleeping on the floor. He’d do that when they’d both get too messed up, and he’d not hydrate, then she’d drape herself over him in the night until he’d overheat. He would just escape to the floor, and she’d discover him there in the morning, in the most awkward positions. Echo had gone to lay beside Alan for a while, bringing a pillow for him and one for herself. She’d take every chance she got to hold that boy’s precious heart.
Echo padded into the bathroom afterwards, bare feet upon its slick, charcoal-tinted, gloss-finished tiling. She had taken a moment to see herself in the mirror, that smile she wore, and how athletic her form was getting now keeping up with Alan again athletically. She’d also seen how old she was getting.
There were people here decades younger than Echo.
The way she wore it would change every day, ups and downs, but on these days without much sleep she’d see her age the most. Those bags under her eyes got bigger, the crow’s feet bursting into wrinkles upon her face appeared so much deeper when she’d smile, and the ever-aging complexion of her skin would be most apparent.
Water was everything. It always had been for Echo. Standing in rest beneath the shower head would be her most sacred place in The Foundry. She’d lose herself, drifting through elongated stretches of time.
It’d always been like that for Echo, even as a child. Her family had made fun of her for it; taking such long showers. Assuming it was something of a purely sexually exploratory nature, yet, only sometimes being right about that. There’d just been something about it.
There was a dream for the future which Echo held as long as she’d been an initiate, and one she retained. To see that greatest ocean, standing upon one of those three perfect islands. Nothing would make her feel more at peace then to spend time upon Atreya, with just some private place to relax, in the presence of its sea and storms.
It was perhaps a stretch — with her station, age, and origin — the fact that any Foundry member who’d found their way from outside the system of Boreál would have much trouble earning passage planetside, not to mention the difficulty finding a room to board.
Drying off under the heat fan, rubbing palm oils into her skin, she’d felt it again; that weirdest sense of co-mingling. She’d believe it meant something strange was on the horizon. After getting back into the bed and taking a moment watching Alan sleep — smoking some of the herb they’d shared the night before — Echo decided she’d hop onto her desk terminal.
She still had quite a bit left open from her last study session. There were always things to do — music to discover, journals to write, simulation schedules to revise, old runs to rewatch, and The Gauntlet to begin preparing for — so, she’d do what felt right in every moment and not let the breadth of it all weigh her down.
The next thing she’d done was open her mail, and Echo’s heart almost stopped.
There was no heading to that message, its subject line completely blank, yet, with the icon which would notify of an attachment. Echo couldn’t believe who it was from — not at all. She stared at that name longer than she’d remember. Forever, it seemed, she’d sought for this message, begged for it, and prayed for it.
Rory finally reached out.
With all which happened the night before at Darkside flooding in, Echo felt saddened. She’d thought of how it wasn’t at all the way she wanted things to go, how none of this had been. Worry was inside her for Rory in that moment, and not herself, wondering if she’d hurt them worse than she ever thought possible.
Rory was the strongest woman she knew. Especially in terms of holding her own energy. She was a rock who wouldn’t give another what she’d believe was the burden of her traumas. Rory carried everything herself.
To reach out on the heel of these events, immediately after something so unpleasant, felt like an admission Echo wouldn’t believe Rory could ever make. That just wasn’t them. They’d not gift her any sense of having taken something from them, or allow her to infer she’d held a single bit of power over their feelings.
However, she found the message had no words within it. Only a video, which wouldn’t have any either. At least, none spoken to Echo.
‘This makes more sense’, she’d thought. That was more like the Rory she knew.
She’d watched it. Somehow knowing exactly what it would be before starting the file, yet realizing she’d never stop wondering about it if she’d not, failing to give Rory credit for how affecting the footage could be.
Still, Echo found herself glad to have watched it. There was one thing in particular which felt very off to her. Rory had looked at the camera multiple times, often smirking, or elaborating her pleasure — very choice moments — yet, Cameron hadn’t looked once. It didn’t even seem like she knew they were recording at all.
More than she’d been sick, Echo felt bad for Rory. They were a whole decade younger, and no matter how many ways she looked up to them, how much incredible power that woman wielded, the most amazing things she’d do, there was still a lot of growing up ahead of her.
She felt really particularly terrible for Cameron. Even if they’d consented to its recording, which Echo was seriously doubting, she’d not know this video was sent. There was no doubt in Echo’s mind about that, and it was the saddest part of all.
Prayers were made then. She’d prayed as she had many times before for some healing resolution, even for the possibility of a renewed friendship with Rory. There was truly nothing they could do to kill that hope, and her love for them.
She prayed for Cameron most though. That she might have the same with her — reconciliation, companionship. Mostly however, that they would, somehow — even if it seemed really impossible — be shielded from what she was about to do.
Echo prayed really hard about that, before using a backdoor into anonymous servers in the local phase-net, submitting the file into a directory for The Foundry’s internal storage network, as well as a blacklist pornography site, adorning it with tags which would bring attention to most quickly in both locations. Initiates fucking on video was a rarest thing for the public to see, or to be sitting conspicuously atop of The Foundry’s internal datastack.
When she’d finished there had been one final prayer made; for herself. That Rory wouldn’t literally murder her in the nearest future, and somehow, whatever this aggression of her own would draw from them, might also one day bring them peace beside each other again.
