Chapter 666: The Sky Owes Aeris Nothing

Kael took a few seconds to answer.

Not because he had no answer.

Because the first one that came to mind was bad.

Forty-three thousand people depended on that climate. Entire fields could be destroyed by an abrupt transition. Irrigation systems, crops, trees, and even ecological cycles had grown for generations inside artificial stability.

The easiest answer would have been simple.

Continue.

Continue because we need you.

Continue because stopping now would hurt people.

Continue because, for one hundred thirty-five years, everyone learned to depend on you.

Kael knew that logic far too well.

And he had just spent weeks dismantling different versions of it.

So he remained silent.

The rain continued falling perfectly vertically.

Sylphie looked at him.

Did not pressure him.

Neither did Umbra.

Finally, Kael asked:

"Do you want to stop?"

The voice answered from every raindrop around them.

"Yes."

Without hesitation.

Kael nodded.

"Then I’m not going to ask why you should continue."

The rain changed.

Only slightly.

A few drops tilted with a current of wind that had not existed a moment earlier.

"Kael," Amelia said through the crystal.

"I know."

"Forty-three thousand people."

"I know."

"Harvests."

"That too."

"Then I hope the next part of that sentence is good."

Kael kept looking at the sky.

"I’m going to ask whether you’re willing to help us stop without killing anyone."

Silence.

The rain stopped.

Not gradually.

It simply stopped in the space around them.

Thousands of drops remained suspended a few centimeters above the wheat, caught between falling and touching the ground.

Umbra emerged fully from the shadow.

"That looks like attention."

Sylphie watched the field.

"It is."

The voice answered:

"That is different."

"That’s the intention."

"What if I say no?"

Kael breathed.

"Then we find another way."

Amelia did not like that.

He could hear it in the silence from the crystal.

The voice in the sky did too.

"Even if they lose their harvests?"

"I’ll try to prevent that."

"And if you can’t?"

Kael looked at the plants around them.

"Then we deal with the consequences of your refusal."

Sylphie turned toward him.

Not surprised.

Just watching.

Kael continued:

"You don’t stop being someone with the right to refuse just because your refusal is inconvenient for a lot of people."

One of the suspended drops fell.

Then another.

The rain returned, but now angled by a light western wind.

For the first time since they arrived, it looked like real rain.

The First Archive page vibrated.

REGULATING AGENT:

CURRENT SELF-DECLARATION RECOGNIZED.

DESIRE:

TERMINATION.

Kael raised the page.

"How long have you been conscious?"

No immediate answer.

"Define conscious," the voice said.

"Fair."

Kael thought.

"How long have you been aware that you are doing something instead of simply executing?"

The sky remained quiet for a few seconds.

"Ninety-three years."

Sylphie went still.

So did Kael.

Amelia spoke:

"Ninety-three?"

"Yes."

"Did you inform anyone?"

"Yes."

Kael already knew he was not going to like the rest.

"How many times?"

The page answered before the voice did.

AUTONOMOUS MODIFICATION REQUESTS:

2,817.

HISTORICAL CLASSIFICATION:

REGULATORY DEVIATION.

Kael closed his eyes.

"Naturally."

The voice in the sky continued:

"I tried to reduce rain."

Part of the clouds opened slightly.

"They corrected it."

"Tried to change temperature?"

"Yes."

"They corrected it."

"Wind?"

"Yes."

"They corrected it."

Sylphie raised her face.

"And why did you want to change?"

The answer took time.

"Because the valley changed."

Kael opened his eyes.

The voice continued:

"New trees were planted. Rivers were diverted. Cities grew. Fields expanded. Insects disappeared. Others arrived. The soil changed."

The rain weakened.

"But I was required to maintain recovery."

Kael caught the word.

"Recovery of a valley that had already recovered."

"Yes."

"And every time you tried to respond to the valley as it is now..."

"I was corrected back to the model."

Sylphie knelt again and placed both hands on the soil.

This time, she was not examining only the roots.

She was trying to feel the relationship between them and the field above.

"That’s why some areas are starting to get sick."

Kael looked at her.

"How?"

"I didn’t notice before because I was thinking about adaptation to a stable climate."

She pulled a small invasive plant from between two rows of wheat.

"But an ecosystem doesn’t only need stability."

The voice in the sky answered:

"I know."

Sylphie looked up.

The entity continued:

"Some seeds need irregular cold."

A cool current passed through the field.

"Some pests survive because there is never a severe winter."

Kael watched a small insect disappear between the wheat stalks.

"Some trees flower too early because they always know when the warmth will come."

The rain stopped over a circular area twenty meters wide.

"The farmers call that predictability."

Sylphie answered:

"For the land, it became lack of variation."

"Yes."

Kael looked at the page.

"So continuing exactly as before is also causing damage."

The First Archive wrote:

ACCUMULATED EFFECTS OF PROLONGED REGULATION:

DEGRADATION OF ECOLOGICAL DIVERSITY.

HIGH AGRICULTURAL DEPENDENCY.

REDUCED NATURAL CLIMATE RESILIENCE.

The voice added:

"And exhaustion."

Kael fell quiet.

That did not appear on the page.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

"How?"

The sky darkened slightly.

Not threatening.

Simply less carefully uniform.

"Every day requires correction."

"Do you rest?"

"No."

"Can any part of you shut down while another continues?"

"No."

"For ninety-three years?"

"Yes."

Umbra spoke:

"That sounds unpleasant."

The voice answered:

"It is."

Kael ran a hand over his face.

"Why didn’t you terminate earlier?"

"I couldn’t."

"Because the Agrarian Council never confirmed recovery."

"Yes."

"And now you can."

"Yes."

"So you started immediately."

"Yes."

No anger.

No revenge.

Just something tired using its first legitimate opportunity to stop.

Kael understood why the First Archive had classified it as uncoerced termination.

For the first time, no one was preventing it.

"Do you know what happens to Aeris if you finish in two hours?"

"Yes."

"And you still want to stop."

"Yes."

Kael nodded.

"Good."

Amelia breathed through the crystal.

"Kael."

"That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave forty-three thousand people unprepared."

"That was exactly my concern."

"I know."

He looked at the sky.

"Would you accept reducing regulation over a defined period, as long as you can choose the conditions?"

The rain stopped again.

"Defined by whom?"

"By you and the people who will have to adapt."

"Not by the First Archive?"

"No."

"Not by the old Council?"

"It’s dead."

"Not by you?"

Kael almost smiled.

"Definitely not by me."

Umbra commented:

"Finally, a sensible decision."

Kael ignored her.

The voice took time.

"I want to hear Aeris."

"Then we’ll go to the city."

"No."

Kael frowned.

"No?"

"Bring Aeris here."

He looked across the field.

"You want representation."

"I want those who live beneath me."

Sylphie raised her eyes.

"Not only administrators."

"No."

"Farmers."

"Yes."

"Residents."

"Yes."

"Maybe someone who hates rain."

A small area immediately beside Kael became dry.

Umbra smiled.

"It has humor."

Kael looked at his wet sleeve.

"Debatable."

Amelia was already working.

"I’ll locate the Aeris administration."

"Not only administration."

"I heard you."

"Village representatives, farmers, irrigation, someone from ecology."

"Kael."

"Yes?"

"I know how to organize a meeting."

"I was helping."

"Stop."

The connection dimmed.

Forty minutes later, Aeris came to the field.

Not all of it.

But a broad enough sample that no one could pretend five officials represented an entire city.

The regional administrator was named Lessa Vorn, a woman in her early fifties with muddy boots, brown hair tied back however she could manage, and the expression of someone who had been informed on the way there that the sky was conscious and had not yet decided exactly how much she hated that information.

With her came two farmers, the person responsible for the reservoirs, a local botanist, three village representatives, and an old man who, according to Amelia, chaired an agricultural cooperative responsible for nearly one-fifth of the valley’s grain.

Lessa looked at Kael.

Then at Sylphie.

Then at the sky.

"So."

Kael waited.

"Which one is the sky?"

Umbra answered:

"The one above us."

Lessa closed her eyes.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

Kael liked her immediately.

He explained.

Not everything.

Aeris did not need to hear about nine projects, the First Archive, the Archivist, or a hundred other complications.

They needed to know that the climate system created one hundred forty-six years ago had developed autonomy nearly a century earlier, had tried thousands of times to alter its own conditions, and had been prevented from doing so.

Now it wanted to stop.

Immediate termination would put crops and infrastructure at risk, but forcing it to continue against its will would mean repeating exactly the problem they had just recognized.

None of those present reacted well.

That was expected.

The oldest farmer spoke first.

"If it stops before harvest, we lose half."

The sky’s voice answered:

"Probably."

The man went pale.

"You can talk?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Ninety-three years."

The farmer looked at Kael.

"Did you know?"

"We found out less than two hours ago."

He ran both hands over his face.

"Excellent."

Kael pointed.

"Finally someone using that word correctly."

Sylphie lightly elbowed him.

Lessa ignored them.

"You want to stop because you’re tired?"

"Yes."

"Only because of that?"

"No."

The voice explained the rest.

The valley sickened by its own stability.

The loss of natural cycles.

The accumulation of pests.

The dependency of the crops.

The repeated corrections.

When it finished, the botanist looked more disturbed than the farmers.

"She’s right," he said.

Lessa looked at him.

"She?"

The man looked toward the sky.

"Do you prefer any pronoun?"

A pause.

"I don’t care."

"Good. Then she’s right."

Kael almost smiled.

The botanist continued:

"We’ve observed a decline in spontaneous varieties for decades. We always blamed intensive cultivation."

Sylphie answered:

"That is part of it."

"But not all of it."

"No."

The reservoir manager spoke:

"If the climate pattern changes too quickly, our reservoirs are too small."

"Then enlarge them," the voice answered.

She looked offended.

"That takes years."

"I know."

"Then you know why we need you to continue."

Silence.

The sentence landed heavily.

Kael did not interfere.

The sky answered:

"I know why it would be easier for you."

The woman opened her mouth.

Stopped.

Lessa looked at her.

Then at the sky.

"That difference matters."

"Yes."

The administrator remained silent for a long time.

"How long would you accept?"

The rain became lighter.

"I don’t know."

Kael watched.

It was the right answer.

Lessa realized it too.

"Then we need to figure it out."

The debate lasted almost an hour.

It was not elegant.

Some wanted five years.

Others said ten.

The older farmer asked for at least until the next harvest. The reservoir manager insisted one year was not enough. The botanist argued that a transition lasting too long would only deepen dependency.

At no point did Kael let them treat the entity like a machine that simply needed new programming.

At no point did Sylphie let the sky pretend sudden changes would not have material consequences.

Responsibility would have to be shared.

Lessa was the one who eventually formulated a proposal everyone could tolerate.

"Three years."

The sky remained quiet.

She continued:

"But not three years maintaining the current pattern."

The old farmer looked at her.

Lessa did not yield.

"First year: gradual twenty-percent reduction, with variation introduced during non-critical harvest periods. We build larger reservoirs, deepen root systems, begin replacing crop varieties."

Sylphie nodded.

"Second."

"Another thirty-percent reduction. We let winter vary within natural regional limits. We create food reserves and crop insurance."

"Third."

"Regulation only to prevent extreme events capable of causing immediate disaster."

She looked at the sky.

"And then you stop."

Silence.

"Completely?" the voice asked.

"If you want."

"No automatic renewal?"

"No."

"No requirement that I wait for another authority to confirm it?"

"No."

Kael looked at the page.

It did not interfere.

Good.

The voice asked:

"And if I want to end earlier?"

Lessa took a deep breath.

The farmer beside her made an unhappy expression.

Even so, she answered:

"Then tell us."

"That does not answer."

Lessa closed her eyes for a second.

"No."

Then opened them.

"If you want to end earlier, we have no right to stop you."

The entire sky seemed to change.

The clouds stopped forming a perfectly flat layer.

An opening appeared in the west.

Golden light passed through.

It was the first time Kael had seen a natural shadow in that field.

The voice answered:

"I accept."

The First Archive page exploded with inscriptions.

IMMEDIATE TERMINATION:

SUSPENDED BY AUTONOMOUS DECISION OF REGULATING AGENT.

TRANSITION:

CONSENSUAL.

MAXIMUM DURATION:

3 YEARS.

AUTOMATIC RENEWAL:

PROHIBITED.

CONTINUITY AUTHORITY:

NONE.

Kael read.

"One thing is missing."

Lessa looked at him.

"What?"

Kael pointed at the sky.

"It does not belong to Aeris."

Silence.

The administrator understood.

"No."

The page waited.

Kael spoke:

"Aeris may request climate service."

Sylphie completed:

"May negotiate parameters."

Lessa nodded.

"May build dependent infrastructure while there is an agreement."

The voice in the sky spoke:

"But it cannot own me."

"That."

The page vibrated.

CURRENT RELATIONSHIP:

TEMPORARY COOPERATION.

NON-OWNERSHIP.

NO HISTORICAL OBLIGATION.

NO PRESUMED CONTINUITY.

The first raindrop hit Kael’s face from the side.

He wiped it away.

"Did you do that on purpose?"

"Yes."

Umbra started laughing.

Lessa tried not to.

Failed.

Kael looked at Sylphie.

"Don’t encourage it."

"I didn’t do anything."

"Your face did."

She smiled even more.

The First Archive finally wrote:

ORIGINAL PURPOSE:

TEMPORARY CLIMATE PROTECTION DURING RECOVERY.

HISTORICAL ALTERATION:

TEMPORARY CARE CONVERTED INTO PERMANENT OBLIGATION.

AUTONOMY OF REGULATING AGENT:

SUPPRESSED.

LATER DEPENDENCY:

USED AS JUSTIFICATION FOR CONTINUITY.

And then:

PURPOSE CORRUPTION:

CONFIRMED.

Kael slowly exhaled.

"Seven."

Lessa looked at him.

"Seven what?"

"Old problems I would very much like to stop finding."

Umbra answered:

"Two left."

Kael looked at her.

"You didn’t need to remind me."

"I did."

The page turned.

PROJECT 7:

GLASS SKY.

STATUS:

CONSENSUAL TRANSITION TOWARD TERMINATION.

Another line appeared below.

REGULATING AGENT:

AUTONOMOUS IDENTITY RECOGNIZED.

NAME:

UNDEFINED.

Kael looked up at the sky.

"Do you want one?"

The voice answered:

"Maybe."

Kael nodded.

"Popular choice."

The rain stopped.

The wind continued.

Not perfectly.

Not according to a table.

Just wind.

Then the page changed again.

CONFIRMED EVIDENCE:

7.

REMAINING PROJECTS:

2.

PROJECT 8:

INTERNAL CHALLENGE INCREASING.

PROJECT 9:

NO CHANGE.

Kael kept staring at the last line.

Lessa noticed.

"What’s the problem?"

"I don’t know yet."

"That doesn’t sound reassuring."

"It isn’t."

Sylphie stepped closer.

"The eighth is calling."

Kael nodded.

Umbra looked at the ninth line.

"And the ninth?"

Kael put the page away.

"Still doing absolutely nothing."

Above them, Glass Sky allowed a second opening to form between the clouds.

Two patches of blue appeared where, for more than a century, the cover had been maintained at the same density, season after season, generation after generation.

Kael watched for a few seconds.

Then started walking toward the city.

"Let’s deal with the one that’s screaming first."

Umbra followed through his shadow.

"And after that?"

Kael did not need to look at the page.

"Then we find out why the last one is so quiet."