The Foundry | Part Two | Chapter Sixteen
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Three | Dominion
Chapter Sixteen
Inexplicable notions were roaming unmoored through Echo’s mind, ungraspable mirrors of some unknown reality, as if an ethereal substance was laced into the air as she’d made her way towards the simulation hall.
She’d dreamt of strangest things — a planet quite like her home world, its variation of forest and ocean, desert and tundra — terrible visions of destruction, death, and war.
It felt quite real, and part of Echo had trouble not believing there was some truth out there in the cosmos it spoke of. Perhaps she’d never know, but it seemed very much outside of herself and this life she was living, believing it someplace quite different from the Boreál system throughout the length of her dream.
Days had passed since she’d done it. The video was scrubbed from The Foundry’s internal network by the end of that first waking-cycle. Yet, she’d known from rumblings about in the later hours, as Alan had escorted her on their first trip back to get a late meal; someone had found it. People were talking about it.
Rory made quite the spectacle of things. That reputation would surely follow her, as would the whole affair for Cameron.
Echo had been worrying a lot about her. She couldn’t care less what Rory thought of it all, they’d sent it, and that was a really awful thing to do; she’d deserved to know that back through reaction. Cameron didn’t though, not one bit — that part made her feel sick, as did the images still rattling around in her head.
If Cameron were to leave the way Ashe had, it wouldn’t be something she’d bear well. Echo knew she needed to fix that, somehow, someway. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to make a healing possible with them. Cameron was a really good person, and this was not her mess.
No matter what perceptions existed amongst them all, there had been exactly two responsible for all of this, and in a most equal fashion by the end. Echo would find every human conflict would prove much the same.
The way she held forgiveness for Rory would be a wavering thing, especially as she’d walk forward in constant reminder of those harshest truths. How little Rory’s actions made her seem to care, when nothing had ever been more precious to Echo than knowing her as a friend.
It would spin her ‘round always to feel so foolish in pining towards Rory, but she’d not have any choice in the matter.
Often Echo tried to cast them out of her heart altogether. Find some means to just finally let Rory do her thing, and be at peace with how she’d never stop missing them, or feeling grief for the way it ended. Yet, releasing hope at last to give herself some grace on that front, from the perpetual disappointment. That’s clearly what Rory wanted from her.
When Echo tried, after leaving The Foundry, things had gotten especially dark. Somehow, the idea of knowing Rory again proved a lynchpin to her spirit’s willingness for fighting forward in life. Without that hope she’d not find means to take the next right step, or she’d lose herself to lies which would corrupt her into anger, then she’d give up.
It was some grace of personal forgiveness repeatedly bestowed to Rory, on Echo’s own behalf, which brought them back to that hope again and again. It had shown her here, to The Foundry, to pursue her own dream, and to do it for herself. It was the prayer she would one day stand beside Rory again in peace which had brought the will out of her to chase her purpose again, remaking her still into who she’d always been meant to be. No matter how stupid that intention may have seemed to anyone, it worked to make her whole again. At least, as whole as she could get.
Despite the swings within Echo. How angry she’d feel. It just didn’t matter at all when things got real and she was back to herself, when the lies from her mind got quiet and the anger from her grief stepped aside. Then she’d just miss Rory the most and find her most familiar well of tears overfilling.
The feeling drummed up in those moments was the saddest one Echo Béleaph would ever know, and it had never once changed.
Passing the viaduct which split off in opposite directions, one way heading towards the dining hall, and the other to the administrator’s offices, she’d passed Chloe; a senior who’d previously made it clear of her distaste for Echo. They’d smiled at they passed, and it left the feeling of a stone in her gut.
Something was wrong.
She’d been hyper-aware moving through the passage, due to this discrepancy of expected normality, and noticed others doing their best not to look at her as well. There was a part of Echo worried she’d awoken with some malfunction having taken place inside her brain now crafting a newfound level of paranoia. That was, until she’d walked into the simulation hall to find it nearly empty. A most strange thing to find at this hour. Perhaps, there was just something going on she didn’t know about elsewhere.
Cameron was in the back of the room, glowering, doing their best to ignore her. It was strange to see her here.
Echo had reached out recently, multiple times, explaining how sorry she was things had gone this way, neglecting to mention the video or her part in it altogether. Even with Alan, she’d always regret blowing that chance with them — it had been such a sweet start — the way they’d met and come to know each other had felt so romantic to Echo. It was just a shame, totally her fault, and she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
After getting demolished so completely by Rory in front of her class, then diving shamefully into traumatic over-reaction, there was too much anger within Echo. It twisted her while she’d held it all inside, and in that moment at Darkside there were only thoughts of vengeful retribution toward Rory. She wouldn’t have ever intended to do that to Cameron. To have then perpetuated shame onto her a she had; it felt too much. There was a large part of Echo still entirely smitten with the woman and her character.
Never had Echo seen the simulation hall like this, first-thing into a waking-cycle. It was usually packed. As she’d thought about booting herself in, she’d seen something odd.
Ekara Oaksmith; simulation designer extraordinaire, and technical administrator of The Foundry, was in the office where Leopold would normally sit. Confusion was borne within Echo to see her, before realizing there was probably some new wargame which they’d all be playing soon.
She couldn’t care to ponder it too long. Echo was on a rotation, and today was for ‘Queen of the Hill’, which would not be a simulation she’d pass up for any new fancy toy. At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself as she’d fastened in, attaching the sensory cable to that near-microscopic insertion port usually hidden beneath her bracelets, and waited for the neuro-link cap to find that comfortable resting pressure atop her skull.
Echo really hadn’t figured it out at all.
