Stone Will

3

She’d asked him what he wanted to get out of the neural network in the immediate future. He answered her almost honestly. He wished to have the opportunity to invite her to dinner and then get her laid.

She had, probably, wanted to say something unpleasant in reply, but she stopped herself from doing so and just walked away in silence.

He laughed for a long time. It was funny that the psychologist hadn't understood that he, someone who’d never felt anything but his hand, had never experienced sexual attraction, even a mental one. He didn’t know what it was.

Then the journalists came to interview him. They interrogated him for a long time, under the greedy supervision of the magnate. He was surely the sponsor of this operation, and had already calculated his future profits. He must’ve been thanking his lucky stars that he’d decided to take the disabled orphan under his wing.

Finally, he was dressed in a special robe, some muck was injected into his veins and he was sent down a long corridor. He was slowly losing consciousness, disappearing into a deep, viscous lake in his mind. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t trying to resist that feeling. On the contrary, he opened his arms to embrace the deep. The last thing he saw was the worried face of the young nurse.

He was dreaming.

He was flying over the vast expanse of a smooth, green sea. Well, he’d thought it was smooth at first, and then, looking closer, he saw the huge mountains propping up the sky that were in the sea. The beautiful cities were so big that they could’ve fit the entire territory of some countries within them.

Strange animals were soaring in the sky.

They looked like dragons.

The green sea turned out to be the endless forests, valleys, and meadows. The blue veins were the broad rivers that looked more like elongated oceans. And the seas were the size of a starry sky.

The wind was blowing.

It was a pleasant wind, a wind that promised to grant him his only wish—to be free.

What a stupid dream it was, but so enjoyable.

His old friend, pain, brought him back to reality. He knew it better than he did most people. He was burning up and his body was contorting. A scorching hot metal rod was being attached to his nerves, and molten iron was being poured into every cell of his body.

“The pressure’s increasing!”

“The neural activity is spiking.”

“His pulse is at 250 BPM!”

“We’re losing him!”

He heard all these voices as if from far away. There was also a distant, muffled and almost inaudible cry. That’s how he first heard his own voice. Among the blurry individuals, the unclear outlines of the variety of instruments and mirrors in which his split open head was being reflected, he saw the information window.

He’d used to see those windows on the screen of his laptop.

[The network is activated. Version 0.17.6. Condition is critical!]

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!”

Everything had faded. There was only one sense left to him, which made him laugh. Someone must’ve opened the door to the operating room and the wind was blowing in, reaching his heels.

He hadn’t known something could be so funny.

He wasn’t one of those people who were interested in death. He didn’t care about what came after one’s path ended. He was simply too busy fighting for that very life, every day.

And so, he’d expected neither a harem of virgins nor an eternal feast among soldiers, neither Seraphim nor the Golden Gate. Instead, there was only darkness.

It was warm and tender.

He was fine with it.

He didn’t want to leave it. For the first time in his life, he felt neither anxiety nor unease. That's why he’d been so unhappy when the bright light appeared at the end of the narrowing tunnel.

He didn't want to leave this intimate darkness. But it forced him out, pushing him closer to the scorching circle of the white flame.

Finally, the light flooded everything around him, and then pouring down inside him as well. He felt a burning sensation in his chest. He shouted. Not from the pain, he knew how to endure that. He’d done it just to make sure he was truly alive. But instead of screaming, all he heard was a nasty squeak.

“Dat har herieon.”

He heard an unfamiliar, gruff language. He opened his eyes with great difficulty and saw... An incomprehensible, blurry, clearly inverted, black-and-white spot. Out of habit, he reached out his hand toward the keyboard to type “What the hell”. But instead of the keyboard, he ended up squeezing something soft. At first, he thought it was someone’s hand, but, looking at it closer, he recognized... a finger.

How huge that finger must’ve been, if he’d held it with his whole palm!

Wait... Wait a minute...

[Reconfiguring the interface. Correcting the original error. The host’s age is 35 seconds.]

What?!

Suddenly, the black-and-white image was filled with color and returned to normal, changing the perspective back as well. Finally, he saw the face… of a woman. Or even a young girl. She was about twenty. Certainly not any older. Her lustrous, black hair, which was in a thick braid, lay on her narrow, elegant shoulder. Her clear, green eyes glowed with happiness.

Her round, tired, sweat-covered face was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t see the environment—not the huge stone chamber, decorated with velvet and gold; not the painted walls: nor the girls in light leather armor who were standing around them. He looked only into the depth of her shiny eyes.

She stroked his cheek gently and said, “Dlahi Hadjar. Dlahi Hadjar.”

***

“Look, Nanny,” Elizabeth smiled.

She stroked the crying baby’s cheek. She wasn’t alone on the damp sheets now, rocking her newborn son in her arms. The nanny bustled around her. She gave orders to the women and they immediately ran into the depths of the Palace corridors.

“My dear Hadjar,” the queen lulled the little Prince to sleep. “Dear Hadjar.”

A kind smile was on her tired face.

“My Queen,” the plump, kind Nanny came up to her. “Look how tightly he is holding onto you.”

Elizabeth only then noticed that Hadjar had been squeezing her finger tightly. In his clear, blue eyes, she suddenly saw the reflection of something that the baby should not have been able to feel.

It was confusion.

“A son?!” Suddenly, there was an almost bestial roar.

In the corridor, she heard the tramping of a dozen feet. The gigantic doors opened wide and a tall, broad-shouldered man flew into the hall. Wearing golden, comfortable clothes, with a sash at his belt, he was an impressive man, and he was also taller than his warriors by two heads.

He had light brown, shoulder-length hair and a leather strap with metal inserts covered his forehead.

“My King,” the nurse immediately bowed low.