Archive of Our Own

While Tilda maintained eye contact and her composure barely rippled, there was a ripple. Just a moment of hesitation, the slightest narrowing of the eyes. Something about that response had rubbed her the wrong way. But the next moment she was chuckling softly, if humorlessly. “Ah… a lover, then?”

This set Aloy completely off balance, but the moment of confusion only fueled her annoyance. “What? He’s… have you ever even had a friend? Am I only allowed to care if a lover lives or dies?”

The Zenith woman also rose to her full height, eyes locked on Aloy’s, expression inscrutable. Then she allowed a smile to slip through her cool, smooth exterior. “I must… apologize, Aloy,” she began. “It has been quite a long time since death was a concern for me, and I didn’t account for the fact that you would still be very preoccupied with it. I... hoped to save introductions as a little treat after we chatted, but now realize that was insensitive. Please, come with me.”

And then she was gliding away, toward the stairs Aloy had ascended minutes before. Her delicate footsteps were closely trailed by the urgent stomping of Aloy’s boots. They passed back through the art vault, Tilda throwing a lingering glance over her shoulder at the Vermeer and its counterpart, and continued into the bunker.

Aloy had, of course, inspected all possible routes when she left her recovery room, and found most of these doors to be locked. In fact, nearly all of them had seemed completely dead with no working status indicators. And yet, when Tilda stopped in front of one and raised her hand, it obediently slid open. All of Aloy’s self-control was required not to shove her aside as she maintained her sedate pace through the door.

The room was dimly lit, much like the one in which she had awakened. This bunk, however, was bridged by a delicate-looking white and gold tube that sparkled with holographic readouts. From underneath protruded a pair of bloodied leather boots. Tilda stepped toward the opposite wall, allowing Aloy a clear path to the bedside. As she drew near enough to see over the strange piece of equipment, his ashen face finally came into view.

“Varl,” Aloy gasped reflexively.

He looked absolutely terrible; for a moment panic flared within her that this was just his body, that he was dead after all. She leaned close, her fingers darting to his throat, and for a few infinite moments, she waited. Then… she found it. His pulse was weak, but it was there. A puff of breath from his lopsidedly agape mouth barely stirred her hair.

He was, in fact, alive.

Her vision blurred and she sagged against the side of the bed. Something inside was crumbling alarmingly under the sheer weight of her relief, and her own breath started to come out in ragged sobs.

Then Aloy felt Tilda’s hand in the center of her back, sliding smoothly over to rest on one shoulder. She went rigid, suddenly aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Tilda, for her part, immediately noticed the reaction and pulled back. “Apologies, I realize it’s... difficult. Compared to what you’re used to, our medical tech must seem somewhat miraculous. Even so, the field nanites barely kept enough blood in him until I could get this trauma unit set up. I think I can keep the scarring to a minimum though, given enough time.”

Aloy kept her face averted as she desperately blinked to clear her eyes. “Your tech… is this going to make him an immortal too?”

“Of course not,” Tilda replied, a tinge of amusement in her voice. “That requires much more specialized equipment, and I’d obviously never start treatments without anyone’s consent. Infinite time can be a blessing, but it’s also a burden. A decision that must be made with a clear and intelligent mind.”

Aloy thought she detected a hint of significance in that last sentence, as if there was a joke for which she was out of the loop, but she decided not to prod at it. Instead she squinted through sodden eyelashes under the arch of the “trauma unit,” striving for a glimpse of the otherwise mortal wound that her friend had received.

Varl’s hide jerkin had been removed, and Aloy fleetingly wondered whether Tilda had dirtied her hands with it herself, or if the nanites had simply eaten it off. Where the stab wound ought to have been was a broad, smooth patch of… gold? Aloy blinked hard a few more times, making sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. In the low light she could just make out the luster of the material, trailing off into strange geometric patterns where the edges met skin. An image flashed into her mind - the odd pools of spilled gold she had found in the aftermath of skirmishes with the Specter machines. Similar tech, possibly more nanites… but designed to fix people, perhaps?

“Are you familiar with nanites?” Tilda asked, breaking the silence once again.

“I… I know they’re little robots that can do tasks, like a swarm of bees,” Aloy said. “Though I don’t know anything deeper than that.”

Tilda laughed, and this time there was genuine mirth in the sound. “To be honest, my technical knowledge doesn’t go very deep either. All I know is the many ways they can be used, and with that… well, endless possibilities open up.”

Aloy was getting tired of these vague statements, which kept raising more questions than they answered. She wiped her eyes hurriedly on her sleeve before drawing herself up and turning back to the Zenith, squaring her shoulders. “So. How long before he’s healed enough to move?”

“When he’s ready.” Tilda, meanwhile, was getting tired of Aloy cutting through the conversation she was trying to weave, always driving back to less interesting issues that were already well under control. It reminded her a little of... well.  “We’ll have a reasonable prediction in a few hours, I think - once the nanites have finished surveying the full extent of the damage and testing the host’s natural healing rate. Now, will you please come back up to breakfast? I’ll probably have to brew some fresh tea as it is.”

Brows furrowed, Aloy looked back at her unconscious companion. When she had awakened less than an hour before, Aloy was convinced that she’d been torn away from one of her closest friends, left to bleed out on the floor of Cauldron GEMINI. Now that she had him back in her sight, utterly helpless, she was even more hesitant to turn her back. Maybe the tiny spark of life that had been preserved would go out, if it wasn’t carefully watched.

Her more practical side knew that would serve no real purpose. For better or worse, Varl’s fate now rested entirely with Tilda and her Zenith tech. And though the woman had thus far maintained a perfectly calm and affable demeanor, Aloy’s instincts were on high alert, hissing danger warnings. Too many questions, not enough answers. The only viable option was continued, careful observation of this new player on the board.

“Fine,” Aloy relented. “I’ll take that breakfast. Let’s chat.”