Corvette above the Wildlands

Rising Blooming 20, 1885

“You must pardon the sparseness of the accommodations, cousin,” Dorsin said to the Nxtlu Generosus, sparing only a second’s glance for the gaunt Warlock in the next cell over. “My family has fallen on difficult times recently. Otherwise, I would have provided you with the finest silks and softest cushions Gens Nethress could spare, as befits one of your station. And philosophy. But circumstances being what they are, I am sure you understand.”

The Generosus had the tiny cell in the brig. It was barely large enough to hold his body as he knelt; his nose was practically sticking out between the bars. The Nxtlu scum arched his back against the wall to no avail; the shackles held him fast. “What is the meaning of this, dog?” he hissed.

“What is the meaning of your screaming, cousin? Crying day and night, insisting that we release you or you would bring the doom of your Gens down upon us all?”

“I’m pretty sure you kept your neighbor awake last night,” Senrii added cheerily. The Warlock’s eyes drifted over to her.

“Yes. Well observed, Maga,” Dorsin said. “Tell me, Warlock, do this man’s screams prevent you from taking your rest?” There was no answer, so Dorsin tried again. “We were impressed by the choice you made, Warlock.”

“Didn’t make it for you,” the Warlock said softly.

“Cursed betrayer.” The Generosus spat on the deck. “The Smoking Mirror is cracked in you, false servant.”

“And not a servant,” the Warlock said. “Never been a servant.”

“Tell me, Warlock, do you have a name?” Dorsin asked.

After a long pause, the thin man answered, “Ferghall.”

“Ah. Ferghall. An excellent name, and a strong one. Tell me, Ferghall—”

“Your issue shall fall before their betters,” the Generosus interjected.

Dorsin crooked an eyebrow. “And this one? Does he have a name?”

The Warlock shrugged. “Never saw a reason to ask.”

“Well, Ferghall—”

“I am Magus Erus Ehecatl Generosus Ortus Nxtlu,” the bald Generosus said. “Mark it well, for I —”

“What’s that?” Senrii said. “I must have misheard you. Father, I do believe this man claimed to be Magus Erus Ehecatl.”

“So I heard, Senrii.”

“Magus?” She shook her head, as if considering the taste of a foreign word. “Magus? I’m pretty sure—”

“Enough, Senrii.”

“—that word only applies to people who have a Symbiont.” She grinned evilly at Ehecatl.

“My Wisdom and I will scour the —” The man blinked. “My Wisdom and I…” His voice faltered. “Nethress scum, what have you done? Where is she? Why can I not feel her?”

“What we have done is not nearly as important as what you will do for us, Erus Ehecatl Generosus Ortus Nxtlu.”

“What have you done?” the man repeated. Fear was beginning to enter his voice.

“As I was saying, Erus Ehecatl, we have need of your genes. No, no; not for anything so pleasant as breeding. Do not flatter yourself. There happens to be a lock to which we have no key.” Dorsin knelt down and drew in close, until his face was mere inches away from Ehecatl’s. “But you do. Or… you are.”

Ehecatl gulped conspicuously. “What have you done to my SOPHIOS?” he whispered.

Dorsin matched his tone. “She is gone, Ehecatl. Gone.”

“You… you—”

“We took her away from you. Do you understand me, Ehecatl? We drove her off. And she will never return. Never.” He stood. “So grow used to the silence. And perhaps show the same grace to your bunkmate.”

Senrii jabbed a needle into Ehecatl’s neck, and the man’s head lolled down. Then she hopped to her feet, smiled at her father, and left the brig.

Dorsin looked through the bars of the other cell at Ferghall. “I hope you will find the rest of the trip more pleasing to your ears,” he said, then backed out of the cell and shut the cage.

Before Dorsin could reach the door of the brig, Ferghall spoke. “Begging your pardon. Sir.”

“‘Erus’ will do.”

“Begging your pardon, Erus, but I ain’t one for titles. Not much use for them, where I’m from.”

“Then I suggest you not live where they are so plentiful.”

Ferghall scoffed. “Weren’t by my choice, sir.”

“Few men do choose to be Nxtlu Warlocks.”

“None, sir. And not me.”

Dorsin turned and gestured, palm up. “Speak your piece.”

“Had a good life on the frontier, sir. A wife. Children. I realize frontier life’s not for most, but I made a go of it, and a good one, too. Until—”

“Press-ganged, I assume?”

“Framed, sir. Far as I know, for something this one did.” The Warlock nodded at the unconscious Erus Ehecatl. “Or another. Doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t make a difference who. They knew I was a tracker, a damned good huntsman, and they needed those skills when they came tromping through my garden. And when Nxtlu needs something, they don’t ask nice.”

“Then you have no love for Gens Nxtlu.”

Ferghall looked at Dorsin like he had three heads. “I look like I any love for them? I done a thing to make you think—”

“I’ll thank you to be civil, Ferghall.” Dorsin turned to leave.

“I bow before no man, sir.”

“That pride may bring about your premature end, Ferghall.”

“But the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Ferghall paused. “You told him that you drove away his Symbiont. That true?”

“True enough.”

“How? Can you do it again? Do it to me.” Ferghall’s eyes gleamed madly beneath his straight, shaggy bangs. “Do it to me, and I’ll help you bring those bastards down. For what they did to me and mine, mind.”

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“You would have me poison your Bond?”

“Not a Bond. It’s a prison.” Ferghall jangled the chains on his wrists. “These ain’t as bad as the ones inside me. This thing’s a nightmare like none you’ve ever had. And you know it. I can feel it sleeping inside me, so I know you’ve put it into quiescence. Smart move. I could go crazy and tear this place apart if it woke up. But you put it to sleep instead, and you took me prisoner instead of killing me.”

“How do you know I don’t intend to execute you once we arrive?”

“Instead of putting a bullet in my head while I was out cold? Please. Why these feeding tubes in my arm? Big waste of resources, that, just to kill a nobody. And you saw me with baldie over there on the ground. You know how I feel about him.

“Gehenn, I’m crazy, not stupid. You’re keeping me alive, and Nxtlu keeps us in the dark, and this Warlock still knows that things are bad for Gens Nethress. Why kill me, when you knew I could help you?”

“And that is your price, is it? Removal of your SOPHIIS?”

“‘Inadequate Symbiosis?’ That’s like saying firewater tickles as it goes down. I want this Adon-damned thing out of my head.”

“You are not in any position to be making demands, Ferghall,” Dorsin said. Before Ferghall could respond, Dorsin left the brig.

***

Thorssel

Rising Blooming 24, 1885

“Arrival in Thorssel in 2.4 hours, Erus,” Piotr rumbled.

“Thank you, Piotr.” Dorsin gazed out the window. They were rocketing north along above the coast; to the west, the sun was descending toward the waters, while green and brown cliffs rose off to starboard. The corvette was not as fast as short-range vessels like the lungboat or the whorlboat, nor did it have the capacity of the skywhale, but it occupied a middle ground between the two, with sufficient speed and living space for medium-length trips. Still, it would be good to be home, where Oralie was waiting for him.

Senrii leaned on the rail next to her father. He glanced at her. “Well, Maga, what is your opinion?”

She smiled mischievously. “He brought Ehecatl down. I like him.”

When the vessel landed in Thorssel, Dorsin had the prisoners’ hands and eyes’ bound. Ferghall turned his nose up and muttered something clearly obscene under his breath, but endured the humiliation; they had put Ehecatl under before landing, and so in his case the effort was merely preemptive.

They marched through the halls of the Palace of Governance, and the wiser of the servants and functionaries didn’t dare to cross their paths. Only a young man, too full of the brashness of youth to be deterred, forced Dorsin to break stride, and did so with such an unimpeachable bow that Dorsin couldn’t be bothered to reprimand him.

The young man silently handed a slip of paper to the Dux and withdrew.

“Take him ahead to the Tool, Senrii,” Dorsin said, motioning to the comatose Erus of Gens Nxtlu lying on the stretcher. Senrii nodded and led the crew of litter-bearers down the corridor. “Piotr,” the Dux continued, “install Ferghall in the guest wing under guard. See to it that he receives regular meals and doses of the quiescence factor.”

“At once, Erus.”

Ferghall nodded in the direction of the Dux’s voice before Piotr led him off. Dorsin hated the playing of men, but the Warlock of all people seemed to know the rules of the game. If he proved useful, then Dorsin would have no qualms about using him.

If he proved useful, and wasn’t simply a plant. Well, Dorsin would ascertain that when the time came. He scanned the note, frowned, and then folded it into his pocket.

When the Dux arrived at the control chamber of the Archon Tool, Senrii was urging a groggy-but-awake Ehecatl toward a Lock terminal. The blindfolded Nxtlu Generosus was struggling against the ropy weed that was wrapped around his neck; as the elevator descended, Dorsin looked over the edge and caught sight of Ehecatl’s nose-first collision into a computational pillar. Senrii’s subsequent giggling drifted up through the air.

“Senrii!” Dorsin said, and his voice echoed through the chamber. The Maga fell still at once. “Stop toying and take him to the Tool.”

Dorsin met her and Ehecatl, whom she had forced to his knees, at the terminal. Dorsin put the datavial that Senrii had liberated into the vestibule and placed his hand on the genalytic imprint device. “Tool,” Dorsin announced, “await Key and prepare to decrypt data.”

“Yes, Erus,” the Tool replied.

Dorsin moved away, and Senrii forced Ehecatl’s hand onto the device. The Generosus struggled, but lacking his SOPHIOS, he was no match for her enhanced strength. She held his palm firm as he struggled and writhed.

“Commencing decryption,” the Tool announced.

“What have you done to me?” Ehecatl rasped. “What have you done?”

“Your thrashing is of no effect, Erus,” Dorsin said. “Your SOPHIOS is gone.”

“Blasphemy!”

“Perhaps. The Last Era was full of blasphemies, I am led to understand. This is the first one I have discovered that has been of much use to me. Be silent, and face your fate like a man, rather than a beast.”

“Decryption twenty-five percent complete,” the Tool said.

“I am a beast!” Ehecatl screamed. “You have made me a beast.”

“Nxtlu never understood that beastliness comes from action, not biology. Your SOPHIOS no more made you a man than your lack of one makes you a monster. Your General Principles have always been a failure for that very reason.”

“Decryption fifty percent complete,” the Tool said.

“Failure?” Ehecatl said. “My brothers and sisters are like the grains of sand on the sea. Where is your Gens now? Where is your help? Your General Principles—”

“Are the only things that have allowed your Gens to survive and thrive,” Dorsin said. “I admit, Gens Nethress may have been remiss in this regard. Why treat a monster as if he is a man? Why provide, for example, a prisoner of war with decent accommodations, when he could be forced to sleep in mud and filth?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The voice rang out, “Decryption seventy-five percent complete.”

“Do not test what I might dare, for that will depend on what it is you are daring. The decryption that you are kindly unlocking for my Gens— information that we acquired at, do believe me, great loss to ourselves— will determine whether or not we have been right to treat your bloodline as humanity. So be silent, if you are a man, and let us hope for your sake that your Gens is not as wicked as it appears.”

“Decryption one hundred percent complete. Displaying data.”

“Ah. There we are. Please shut him up, Senrii.” And Dorsin watched as the information played out among the blinking lights of the tiny jellyfish and the worming veins that made their way across the filmy screens. There was silence as Dorsin’s plans unraveled before his eyes.

“Dad…” Senrii murmured.

This could not be. This made no sense. Nobody would be stupid enough to—

The letter. Dorsin ripped it from his pocket and reread it. He glanced at the screen; reread it again. His mind flashed back to the meeting in Lellonell, and the whole horrid plan took shape in his mind.

The genophage —

Revived, recoded, retargeted, released against his family —

Gens Nethress was already dead, and these —

“Dad —”

These… these…

“I was wrong. They are worse than beasts,” Dorsin growled.

“Daddy!”

“They are monsters!” Dorsin let out an anguished scream. Forgebone flashed through the air, and Ehecatl cried out in pain as it sliced through his hand at the wrist, cleaving into the terminal an inch deep. Dorsin roared again and swung his blade again, severing the Generosus’s arm at the elbow.

“Daddy! Daddy, stop!”

“You fiend!” Dorsin screamed as he thrust his sword into the man’s gut, drawing an agonized bleat from the man. “You ravening horror! Have you no shame? Have you no honor?”

“Stop it, Daddy!”

“You, and all yours, deserve no less than what you have done to us!” Bone and blood flashed, and Ehecatl’s other arm fell away. Senrii backed away, her eyes wide, leaving the captive spilling blood across the floor and naked before Dorsin’s wrath. “To gut you like a fish would be too merciful.”

“Daddy, please, stop,” Senrii pleaded.

“Take his blindfold off and hold his head up, Senrii.”

“Stop it!”

“Do it. How else will I gouge out his eyes?”

“Please, Daddy.”

“Do it!” he roared, and Senrii jerked back. Then her gun was in her hands.

“Senrii,” Dorsin growled, “you gamble with your life.”

She shifted position and wrapped her finger around the trigger, ready to bring the weapon to bear at a moment’s notice. Dorsin glanced down at the man, shivering and whimpering on his knees, disarmed in every sense, and revulsion filled him.

Revulsion that only the man’s eyes would slake. Dorsin raised his blade. “Hyyarr—!”

Senrii jerked, and the clap of the gun echoed.

Ehecatl slumped to the ground.

Dorsin and Senrii stood a moment in silence. Then she holstered her gun, drew a deep breath, and turned back to the membranes, where the doom of Gens Nethress lay exposed in the genetic code of the genophage playing across the membrane surfaces. “Are we going to die, Dad?” she asked.

The Dux could not respond; they already both knew the answer. He considered the note in his pocket, informing him that his father and several of his brethren had fallen ill. It was no coincidence that the hearty Magi of Gens Nethress had all been taken by a mysterious illness at the same time. “Tool,” he said.

“Yes, Dux Dorsin.”

“Prepare for Synapsis.”

“What is your message and recipient, Dux?”

“Recipient: Lellonell Archon Tool. But I must speak directly to Princeps Gerart. I will link directly. This is a matter of utmost urgency.”

“As you command.”

“Dad—” Senrii began.

“Come, Senrii.” Dorsin approached the Synapsis Direct Link, a molded shape like a chair/human hybrid inset as a bas relief on one of the long terminals. He sat back into the shape. “Ensure that no one else comes down,” he said. “We must not allow word of this to reach any others until we have a plan of action.”

“Dad. I’m scared.”

“So am I, Senrii.” As he fell into a world of colorless Synapsis, his intellect racing instantly across space to Lellonell, he whispered the words. “So am I.”