fugue_agarma

Fugue

9:32 AM.

Synthetic Fortunes LLC claimed it’d go flawlessly.

“The hell have you been?” said Agarma when Claire entered.

“…Attempting to escape a local minimum, sir.”

“Is it something I need to know?”

“No.”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” He stood up from kneeling. “You’re good to go, Martin.” A professor nodded, a blue light faded from his face, and he walked out.

“Sir,” said Claire. “Does the future you see make you happy?”

“You’re silly.”

Claire said nothing.

“There are beings greater than us who write our paths, Claire. We can choose to resist and die, like Quincy, or we can follow and live. ‘Happiness’ isn’t a factor.”

Claire said nothing.

Agarma said nothing.

Agarma sighed. “Speak when you’re ready.”

Claire said nothing.

“Claire.”

“I won’t live in a world where what you want doesn’t matter, sir.”

Agarma was stunned. Not by the sentiment, but at her boldness in expressing it.

“If you don’t want to marry Anisa, or you don’t want to kill Samantha, then don’t do it. If you don’t want to rule Brune, don’t do it. I’m here for you, sir. You’re smart. You don’t have to accept anything as certain. Please don’t, sir. Please don’t neglect yourself for a greater good.”

Agarma sighed, again. “We’ll discuss this after the execution. Callister has guaranteed its success. It will give us a clean base to work from.”

Claire said nothing.

“Acknowledge?” said Agarma.

“A-Acknowledged, sir. Time is 9:35, AM.”

He didn’t really want to marry Anisa. She was cute, sure, but so was everyone else. She was smart enough and ruthless, sure, but…