Amps are anatomists, botanists, and bioengineers. They are experts in the preservation and reuse of semi-autonomous Entity body components, known as artefacts. Three hundred and twelve combat-ready artefacts have been documented by the Academy of the Unnatural Sciences. The Association of Dungeoneers recommend the use of medium- to long-range area-suppression type artefacts in the field, to complement the range limitation of Line Mages and Twinblades.

Extensive knowledge of the source Entity is required for their effective deployment. In her Bestiary, Lorian categorizes all artefacts as sentient beings, and advocates for their treatment as such. The Academy is of the position that, while Artefacts are in fact highly responsive to external stimulus, especially Magicule flux, their apparent awareness is comparable to that of a severed limb. This is an ongoing field of research.

Amps are known to hoard their knowledge of specific artefacts as proprietary information. Bills have been put before the Home Council to enforce the sharing of information for the good of all elven kind. The use of artefacts derived from Class Four Entities and above is strictly regulated. Users without ADCs are prosecuted.

~

The Flesh Cabin roiled as it regurgitated seven hundred corpses into the import chute. The Cabin’s interior must be under some kind of spacetime distortion, but Fayeed had not the slightest clue how it worked or where it came from. The elf that drove it here was an amp – with a PDC badge that looked centuries old – but his registry was blank. No record of entry or exit from the Home City. That meant he was an exile.

Outside the towering domes of Frontier Command, the Sixth Strata boiled. The Steam Rise was in its second and most deadly phase, sweeping across the wasteland at five hundred Kelvins. Even in an environment suit one would not survive thirty minutes, yet the Flesh Cabin had made its way unscathed, its organic exterior slightly pinked as if by a hot bath. The elf who came in it should by all rights have been boiled alive, but he came wearing winter furs. The corpses were refrigerated.

Fayeed could not begin to guess how much such an artefact was worth, or how one would come by such a treasure. The Gorgon Eater slung across his back seemed like a toy in comparison. He had devoted his whole life to the study of Class Five Entity 6-A179. The lanthanum harvested from its liver-equivalent had made him rich, and the Gorgon Eaters pried from their jaws had equipped a hundred ADCs, yet Fayeed has never been more resentful. Watching the Cabin crawl around on its spidery legs, he felt as if he had wasted his life.

The last corpse tumbled into the chute. The elf approached him with papers. Papers. Even at the edge of elven civilization, bureaucracy kept exiles chained, and faithful slaves busy. Fayeed scribbled his name on the dotted line, but the elf was not moved. He pointed at the Tower of the Sun.

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“Jacob is not here,” Fayeed said. “I am the acting commander of this outpost.”

The elf laughed. The sound was grating. Fayeed felt blood rush to his face. Not one word the elf has spoken to him, yet he would laugh.

“Feel free to wait,” Fayeed snapped, dropping the rest of the forms to the ground. “Do you ever speak?”

The elf glared at him with disdain. He rubbed his fingers together.

“Jacob will pay you. I am but his humble servant.”

Violence has never been his strength, but Fayeed was nonetheless a veteran of the Second Expedition. He was here when Frontier Command was raised from the barren earth. The Rattlers on the ramparts he had installed himself. By seniority he was more than Jacob’s equal. By CQC proficiency, however…

The elf threw him to the ground before he could react. The Gorgon Eater activated in response to his heightened stress, but was only useful in prodding painfully into his back. Fayeed was unfussed. He has been thrown around a thousand times by stronger elves. Always they threatened him with physical harm, like children brandishing knivesr.

“Where did you get your artefact?” Fayeed smiled through gritted teeth. “You know the use of unregistered artefacts incurs hefty fines? Lucky for you, I am an arbiter. I can take it straight out of your contract.”

The elf hesitated. They always did. Fayeed shoved back with all his strength and managed to gain an inch. “I can take everything you own any time I want, exile. You are only tolerated because of your services. If the trouble of your employment ever exceeds your usefulness, a click of my fingers will make you destitute. So, why don’t you reconsider your position.”

The elf backed off. They always backed off. The smarter they were, the faster they shrunk. Fayeed brushed off the dirt and took out three cheques. They gleamed gold with the spyglass insignia of the Association of Dungeoneers. He watched the elf’s face as he returned one to his pocket. “This one is mine, for keeping quiet about your unacceptable behaviour today,” he said. “You are dismissed.”

Ah, how he enjoyed their expressions in moments like these. The rage, the confusion, the violence so helplessly imprisoned – they flitted across the elf’s face like a storybook. Fayeed gazed at them and smiled. He knew for a fact that the Flesh Cabin will one day be his. He will uncover all its secrets, and exploit it to its maximum potential, while this mute elf would be relegated to irrelevance. Not killed, of course. He could never cause harm to another. He was an arbiter, a member of the War Committee, and head of logistics at Frontier Command. Next year, he would run for a seat on the Council. One such as him needed not waste time with subcontractors.

The signal bell rang three times from the top of the Tower. An expedition was returning. A dubious claim, seeing that the Steam Rise has rendered the outpost inapproachable. Fayeed was about to tell them to turn it off when the sentries on the ramparts began to shout. Doors everywhere banged open. Line Mages in their fancy robes flocked to the main airlock, dashing past the Flesh Cabin with nary a glance. They were all shouting excitedly, the ADCs especially.

A beam of light rose in the distance, higher than the walls, taller than the Tower of the Sun. The Line Mages cheered. Fayeed shook his head. This cult of personality has grown to absurd proportions during the last few years. It was the new ADCs with their new textbooks. The ones where Jacob’s name was attached to every known magical invention.

Still, even Fayeed felt a sense of relief, little as he wanted to admit it. Jacob has returned, and where went the Young Sage, there was hope and light, whether one wanted them or not.