There was a knock on the chamber. Her assistant had let someone in.

"Oh star," said the knocker, a blob past her glass. "Eight asked me for Apollyon first. Eight wants to die and for the project to end."

It was difficult to associate adjectives and a written waveform with a voice, but best she could tell, the golem claimed he was her and Eight's superior, Sir Johnathan Penrose. An irritating figure, one to talk and talk and talk without saying anything. The golem's notes claimed "Johnathan claims his Word is Word."

"I told him I couldn't, it's not my responsibility, that it's your's, Elephant. He got angry, then said he'd talk to you. I said I'd order a contract drafted to satisfy him. He objected, said it wasn't necessary.

"Regardless, I won't allow Apollyon. We are doing good.

"I met a man in town, Elephant. Alexander Stone. Said we saved his father from disease with pools, and his uncle from work with automata. Said they were so set in their ways, they'd gladly kill themselves in service of their work. Alexander said it was a godsend you and Eight came."

"Eight, too, is set in his ways. Regardless of what one holds in their head, they can't manage everything. I told him, stop controlling five hundred pools, and six hundred golems, and all the other automata. He said no, without him, many would die. Curious his first instinct was to end it all than to pull back. Perhaps a consequence of the infinite Light in his head.

"I tangent. He's correct, without him, many would die. But his life is more important than their's. They aren't sovereign.

"He is a brick, Elephant, formed and fired. You are clay. Clay in a ball."

He took a deep breath, apparently waiting for a response. He got none.

"I experienced twofold anachronium last night. You have my respect for surviving twenty-seven."

Elephant coughed. "I didn't. I am dead."

For a few seconds, all she could hear was her heart.

Johnathan pulled the lid open, smiling. "No. You are alive."

She pushed herself from the ground. "I am that also."

His expression soured. "Until you die and this world is proven another anachronistic illusion, you are to treat this as reality. You and Eight are relied upon by hundreds. Decorum, star. Chew on it."

She said nothing. He talked too much.