The Modron Mutiny
Chapter Eight
Building their Machine
Hein felt it hit him faster than expected. It wasn’t like a dream at all. Hein could feel himself present, and also “see” himself as another person would. As his former Automata routine started, Hein realized that he could not control his past self in this dream. Hein’s actions, thoughts, and words played out exactly as they did when these events had taken place. Hein could feel the weight of the wasted months. The project that would have taken fifty days, but because of all the unnecessary rules, took over a year.
Hein remembered, and soon saw, his old calendar. The strange not-quite-vellum stack of sheets was one of the few things he enjoyed about the place, complete with those assuring signs that he would eventually leave. Each overly-squared box had plain writing marking the days, but it also sported x-ed out boxes and notes Hein had put to mark his time.
Hein’s marks were as asymmetrical as possible.
Someone may ask why Hein agreed to keep a job if he hated the people he worked for so much? Although it was difficult for Hein to explain himself without going off on a tangent, the simplest explanation could be found with more questions. Why was Hein not in clan Slatecutter? Why did he have backwards hands? Why was he a tiefling?
As Hein waited for the clock to strike the right hour, mainly because he couldn’t wake up at exactly the right moment like most Automata citizens, he mulled over a tome. It was about the mysterious spellweavers, or more importantly, their technology. Hein had never seen such a detailed record of technology that was so alien…so unreal. These were beings believed to have unraveled the universe at one time, and Hein had details on how they built their magic siphoning devices. Hein had seen and read things here even Candlekeep couldn’t have logs of.
Hein was in a world with knowledge that literally couldn’t be found anywhere else. Each time he delayed something by “mistake” he got more time to learn. Hein learned things he didn’t even know were possible here. Incredible forms of technology that ran on steam and even stranger substances. It made his stay bearable.
The siren outside of Hein’s door went off, almost as if it wanted to disturb him. It made a mechanical screeching that sounded like a steam whistle mixed with a broken viol. It was time for Hein to report to his station. Hein rolled out of his bed, remembering to fold the lone sheet of the abnormally rectangular mattress back into place. If he didn’t, he would have to go back and do it again. Once that was done, Hein went to clean himself. This always had to take exactly an hour.
Hein had to comb his hair, something he was quite unaccustomed to, and had it oiled back against his head. This way it didn’t blow around and force him to re-comb it again. The way he dipped the oil and combed it had to be in a certain process, or they would know and be unable to focus on him. Hein had almost lost his temper while the monstrosity he worked for gawked at him for having uneven comb-marks on his head.
Hein always brushed his teeth for five minutes, and every morning was asked if he did because they weren’t perfectly white. He had tried on different occasions to use a prestidigitation spell to make his teeth white, but then they were “too white” for their liking. It didn’t matter what shade he made his teeth; they were either too white or not white enough. Hein had accepted defeat and put the teeth questions down as his morning routine.
Hein had to unfold, iron, and brush his clothes free of lint. He then had to fold his sleeping clothes in a designated bin so that a modron could take his clothes away to be cleaned. Of course, he had to iron and brush these clothes as well. Hein once forgot to brush his sleeping clothes free of lint, and had to do it again right before making a minor breakthrough on their machine.
Hein went through his routine with no thoughts, as if it were a waking nightmare. Thankfully, Hein had done this so many times that it never felt like an hour. The only tenuous part was the bath. Hein had to stand in a tall, metallic box that was opened on one end. The box had a drain in the floor, and a spout at the very top that shot out water. The water was not warm, but not freezing either. It also, somehow, only stayed inside the box. Hein found the floor totally dry when he exited, but still had to dry himself in a complicated process with four towels.
The four-towel rule was not the bad part. Hein had to clean himself in a certain way while bathing. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t exactly know, but Hein learned the hard way what happened if he didn’t. On his first bathing regiment, Symmette had showed up, inside what he thought was his locked room, and almost watched him bathe. Having that creature stare at him, without his clothes, and instruct him on how to clean himself was something that nearly made him leave. Hein did make her wait outside, but the event still scarred him.
Thankfully this only happened once. Hein was understandably upset, and tried to complain to the council that ran the city. While they didn’t show much emotion over the matter, the council actually thought Symmette went too far. This was the only time Hein’s threats of leaving worked. Hein cleaned himself to their wishes, and never had to experience that again.
Hein wasn’t helpless in this place. He had to follow their rules, but there were loopholes. Hein had gone back and read the primer he had neglected, and all the laws that could pertain to him. He found ways to fight back. One such instance was an invasion of privacy, though not nearly as bad as the bath, but it occurred at least once a week.
Symmette would watch him sleep.
Hein had awoken one night, and in the pitch-blackness saw two pairs of eyes. Like some sort of night-terror, only illuminated by Hein’s darkvison, Symmette was standing at the back of his room, staring blankly. When Hein rose out of bed, she sported her smiles. Those awful, forced, and somehow synthetic smiles. It was as if this woman was grown from a jar and couldn’t comprehend normal emotions. She probably was, for all Hein knew.
Symmette tried to explain it was to make sure that Hein didn’t snore too loudly, or wake up screaming in the night. No matter what Hein said to her, Symmette never seemed to get too angry or react strongly. Hein had woven in magic in his words too, trying to actually harm her with his mind. It never worked.
Hein didn’t understand this at first, but he later found out that Automata had some sort of method to suppress psychic magic. The reasoning made perfect sense; Symmette was horribly afraid of mind flayers. When Hein realized this, his plan went into motion.
Hein made a rubber mask shaped like a mind flayer’s head, wore it one night, and when he felt the eyes upon him, leapt out of bed with a shriek. Symmette had screamed like a child, and ran out of the room with her arms flailing. Hein heard nothing from this, and much to his shock, suffered no punishment. Symmette also never visited him again at night. Hein thought that she might have violated a rule by not watching him. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only rule she had broken.
Though the thought repulsed him, Hein knew that Symmette and Holder were in love. The other Automata citizens were oblivious, and Hein was possibly the only one cursed with this knowledge. Azra Holder, was Ailia Symmette’s shadow for most of the day. He had no official title, other than what she had told them upon meeting him. “…he just helps me with tasks that I cannot accomplish alone or with the modrons…” The description made no sense, as Azra Holder never did anything a modron couldn’t do.
Azra appeared human, but there was nothing human behind those eyes. Hein wasn’t entirely sure that he was human, and not some advanced machine Symmette had constructed. Though he couldn’t tell for sure, Hein somewhat doubted this theory. He imagined that if Symmette tried to build herself a lover, it would be a very geometrically shaped machine instead of a human.
Azra Holder did have oddly symmetrical features, and wasn’t unattractive. Hein imagined that the only reason he didn’t already have a woman, other than his own undoubtably rigid standards, was because none could stand to hear him say more than a few words.
Holder was disgusted by most people from “the Prime” as the people here called it. This disgust wasn’t because he thought himself to be superior, but the same disgust one would show to another person covered in filth. To the people and things of Automata, most people were unsightly and dirty. They knew most people weren’t intentionally disgusting, but that it was a natural result of living outside the perfect city.
After staying in this city for so long, Hein honestly missed dirt.
Hein walked out of his unmarked door, in an unmarked hallway he was forced to memorize, and began his walk to the looming cube that held his new master. He had to walk on the right square tiles, walk with a proper gait, and always keep his eyes on the path ahead. Hein had been corrected on this too many times. If it happened again, modrons would die. The whole ordeal would be a headache, and he may have to leave with no gold, but modrons would die.
Hein got to the steps of the Pride of Primus, and strode through the door. The door opened automatically, and he had timed his steps to not have to wait or bump into it. He walked along that same stupid path, in that annoyingly dim building with its wrong houseplants and soulless paintings.
Hein would approach Symmette’s desk, state his name and purpose, then request to work on the machine. She always granted it, after asking if he had brushed his teeth, and then Hein went to the lower levels to do his actual work. This walk to the machine was one of the better parts of Hein’s day. He was always close to freedom, and there were rarely modrons in his way to obstruct him.
Inside the workshop, Hein was truly free. The second he stepped inside that unkept room, Automata could not make him to do anything. One thing Hein had forced into the contract, much to Symmette’s chagrin, was that, if they wanted the machine operational, they had to let him do what he wanted inside his workshop.
The appearance of the workshop mirrored this. It actually had a smell, that of machine oil, metal, and hints of pipe smoke. The room was a large workshop, with long desks lining three of the four walls, and two large tables in the center. Every square inch of the workshop was littered with mechanical scrap, or what looked like scrap. To Hein, each piece was important, and he simply didn’t want to waste time organizing it all. The wall-desks usually had stacks of books and half-unfurled blueprints. The center table closest to the back wall usually had partially assembled pieces of the Symmetry Synchronizer, as Symmette called it.
Despite this small mote of freedom, Hein still had to build the machine to Symmette’s instructions. If she didn’t like a design, he would have to do it again. Making the machine’s internals symmetrical was the hardest order, and Hein was only marginally able to do it. Despite having two brains, the master of Automata didn’t understand how machine internals didn’t work that way. Symmette sometimes reminded Hein of what was said about ettins; that they have half a brain between the two of them, not each. If you replaced intelligence with sensibility, this would describe Symmette perfectly.
Hein quickly ran over to the desk on the back wall, dug through a drawer, and pulled out a large metal smoking pipe. There was a well-made false hand over the prosthetic hook Hein used. It mirrored his hand in every way, save for it couldn’t move. Hein tossed the hand off, threw it to the front desk, then used his clamp hand to scrape the metal of the pipe. It made sparks, which lit the herbs inside. It was time for him to work.
Almost two minutes in, Hein heard a dual tapping at his door. He had only managed to roll out a blueprint. Hein loudly grunted, then walked to the door. He opened it, as this door actually had a regular hinge instead of sink into the ground, and glared at his visitor.
Even though Hein had seen the woman countless times, every time he opened that door, Hein felt chills go down his spine. Symmette always stood just a hair’s width away from the door, so she was immediately in his face. She showed her soulless smiles, as her lips curled back to show two sets of teeth that were all the same size. Hein sometimes wondered if she had molars. Not that she needed them with her diet…
“Good morning, Head Engineer Slatecutter. I certainly hope that your rest was well, and free of any obstructing occurrences.”
Though it was a minor complaint, Hein hated how Symmette had absolutely no smell. Most people, speaking so close to one’s face, had a smell to their breath. From the worst dog-breath to the extravagant perfumes and colognes of nobles, everyone had this. Everyone except Symmette. Hein didn’t think this was just Automata’s cleanliness either. Each time Hein spoke to her, he had both barrels aimed at him and smelled nothing. Not just that, but he smelled no soap, no shampoo, no perfume, no leather smell from her armor, nothing. It was an uncomfortable void he never could get past.
“I’m not in that clan anymore, just call me Hein.” Hein growled out, seeming like he was still asleep.
Symmette blinked, something she did not do nearly enough, and stared at him for too long.
“Well, that does not make sense to me. Even if you have left that clan, you still should bear their name. You have no other designation, and was never officially removed from it. I do not wish to speak the wrong title unless you…”
“Fine, by the gods! I don’t care! Why would you care about a title so…no…don’t answer. I don’t want to hear a story about why…just what do you want? Why are you here?” Hein shouted, now fully alert.
Hein scowled, and considered slamming the door before she could answer. He would certainly feel better, but would have to hear that annoying double-tap knock again. Symmette always came to his door to tell him stupid things…it was hard for Hein to keep his composure when she did.
“Well, I certainly will not recite a story Head Engineer Slatecutter, but I do need to discuss a rather pressing problem with the Symmetry Synchronizer.”
Hein stared at the woman blankly, too annoyed to argue about his name, before puffing some smoke outside his door. Symmette, almost unconsciously, casted a prestidigitation spell to cause the smoke to vanish.
“You see, I was told that you finished the construction of the primary control panel. Unfortunately, the panel is not properly assembled.” Symmette said in her sterile voices, voices that didn’t hold anger, irritation, or politeness.
Hein took another puff of his pipe, then reached his claw hand to scratch his forehead. Symmette audibly, but softly, gasped upon seeing it.
“Alright…so I redid that part of the machine six times. Each time, I made sure the buttons were square, that the attachments matched up, that the seams were clean, and even made the internals symmetrical. So, what could possibly be the issue now?”
Hein had trouble keeping himself calm. He was halfway through the internals, and already had constructed the device to hold and gather forces to power the contraption. He did not need to be caught up on a button panel.
Symmette forced herself to smile again. Hein still found it odd how her face never wrinkled. He knew that she wasn’t, or didn’t look, old. She looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties. Her skin, like the rest of her, looked fake. Not like leather, or metal, but it resembled a material Hein couldn’t describe. It just didn’t act like skin. Skin folded, had blemishes and wrinkled. Hers did not.
“Ah yes, and you did a fantastic job. Everything I requested was done, and done it the right process. However, you did not make the gaps in between the buttons, and where they meet the panel, the right size…” Symmette half-chided as her grins faded.
Hein stared a few seconds, rubbed his face, then looked back up at her.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
Symmette paused, then smiled again before speaking, “I assure you that I am serious.”
Hein bit his tongue before speaking again, “That has absolutely nothing to do with how it will function!”
“It does not, but I cannot use the machine if I notice imperfections like this. And they must be corrected physically, not with magical means. If someone undid the magic, the machine would be useless.”
Hein did something that he had not done in a very long time. He went inside his workshop with his door open. Symmette’s eyes, for the first time in at least a month, saw the inside of the workshop. Although Hein didn’t see this at the time, as he watched the dream, he noticed how afraid she looked. He didn’t understand how any of this worked, but it made him feel better about his situation.
Symmette covered both mouths, as if she had just seen a mass grave.
“I-I do not…Head Engineer…” She tried to stammer out.
Hein quickly appeared in the narrow doorway again, with the button panel. Hein had thought the panel was given to Symmette, but a modron must have dropped it off this morning.
“Alright, I want you to show me everything, every-thing, that you want done to this, so I won’t have to redo this panel. Do you understand?” Hein hissed.
Symmette didn’t appear to be paying attention, she was still shocked at how dirty the room was.
“Don’t look at the damn mess, look at me, mooncalf!” Hein shouted. Symmette’s hands snaked off of her faces and she complied.
“If you want this machine working, and not smeared with shit or painted in polka dots, you will tell me in plain common what you want! Since I’m the only person on this godsforsaken plane who can build this, you are going to have to stop slowing me down! If you don’t, I’ll either go insane, or die of old age before this mechanical abortion is finished! Do you understand!”
Hein realized how his rant sounded. He knew this would get him nowhere, and that being so rude to a client was beyond unprofessional, but these people had tested is patience for far too long.
Symmette’s outer eyes twitched. She almost, almost, looked angry. The small twitch of an emotion was only replaced by those disturbing smiles.
“Oh, Head Engineer Slatecutter…I do understand. You do not, however. This is my machine, and I can and will make as many changes as needed, until it is made properly.”
Hein felt more stung by the last bit than being called “Slatecutter” for a third time.
“Also, would you not rather be called Henry instead of Hein. A dwarven name seems improper.” Symmette said in her blank voices.
Hein almost felt like she was trying to insult him, but she sounded too serious. He had to remind himself that these people didn’t have normal emotions.
“No, because my name isn’t “Henry” or “Slatecutter”, though I do see that whatever awful hivemind puppets you all can’t grasp that. I’ll fix this panel, but if you bring it to me again there won’t be a Symmetry Synchronizer…I can promise you that!”
Symmette’s smiles briefly faded. She blinked, for the second time, and Hein saw her multicolored eyes focus on his table, specifically the one that did not have machine parts on it. Her eyes slowly, slow enough to be uncomfortable, rolled back to meet Hein’s.
“As you wish, Head Engineer…”
Symmette smiled again, this time wider, enough for Hein to see how her gums looked too dark, and turned on a right angle to leave.
As she left, Hein saw her shadow rejoin her. He was somehow late, but appeared to have heard the worse part of the spiel Hein let out. Azra stopped in Hein’s doorway, and Symmette kept walking. Azra looked angry, but surprisingly never said anything while Hein and Symmette had spoken. Perhaps he was waiting until his master was finished.
“That is no way to speak to the Magistrate of Mortals. Prime or not, you should know better. You are lucky she did not issue you a profanity charge.”
Azra said this scoldingly, almost like he thought Hein was a child.
“Follow your master, slave, or else I have some old oil I may need to dump…”
Azra didn’t move, and kept his angry stare. Hein no longer heard the annoyingly loud clicking of Symmette’s slightly raised heels.
“Okay then, the dog doesn’t want to stay on his leash. I’m almost proud, but I do have things to get back to.”
Hein walked away from the door, away from Azra, and actually did put his hand into a large bucket of machine oil. The thick, goopy substance caked his intact hand. He made sure to touch random things, for no reason other than deter Azra, before walking back up to the doorframe.
Azra was still there, arms now crossed, and still looking irritated.
“You cannot speak to her like that. It is not just unprofessional, but is very mean-spirited…” Azra said, now sounding almost hurt instead of angry.
“And you care why? She doesn’t even feel the same things we do…well not you, what normal people feel. Hells, I’m almost surprised you’re still here right now!”
Hein grabbed the edge of the door with his clamp hand, then reached out his oil-stained hand to Azra. He didn’t budge. The shock from this took Hein back, and he lowered his oil-covered hand.
“I’m responsible for the magistrate’s safety, and do not think your combat capabilities match what you put in your resume. I want you to meet me when the Magistrate spars. When you are done working, we will be in the sparring room at the end of the day. I will have a modron deliver a signed order by the Magistrate shortly.”
Hein stared blankly, then laughed. This might have been the best thing to happen to him all day.
“Seriously? Are you going to beat me up for making fun of your girlfriend? I thought you were a grown man? I also thought you didn’t have a specific job?”
Azra sneered, then actually walked into the workshop, “It is more than that! I am not going to assault you, but the Magistrate will likely want to see if your abilities are as you said! Maybe then you will not call her such foul things…and I am not anyone’s significant oth….”
Azra stopped before he could complete both his lies. Hein just smiled.
“Go on…”
Azra turned out of the room, and stopped once he was turned to walk down the hall.
“The order will arrive shortly…”
Azra left, and Hein was able to work with a little more joy in his day.
The rest of the time Hein spent working passed by in a blur. At the day’s end, when Hein was checking his supplies, he saw the order sitting on his grease-stained desk. Hein had almost forgotten about Azra, and it came as something of a minor shock to him. Had he really been challenged to a fight?
Hein laughed to himself as he lifted up the envelope and examined it. The paper had Symmette’s annoyingly symmetrical seal on it, which Hein ignored, and ripped off the top of the letter instead of breaking the seal. The paper was written in her typical, painfully pointless, mirror writing. The words were reflected on the opposite side; written perfectly backwards. Despite the fact Symmette wrote the order, it looked to be in Azra’s exact words.
Hein was surprised, however, to read that it didn’t demand a fight, so much as a “show of skill.” Hein knew that it was just a thinly veiled complaint. Hein had mad Azra angry, and he was looking for a legal excuse to fight him. Hein imagined Azra had to beg Symmette to approve this.
As Hein put down the letter, he glanced at his central table. He had noticed Symmette stare at it, but couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t out of horror or shock from the mess either. Hein couldn’t explain it, but the woman didn’t look fearful. It was as if she was trying to remember something…but why?
Hein shook the thought from his head, then started to prepare. Hein put on his armor, a set with square scales that shifted around unevenly; specifically made to distract the people and things of this place. Now he would see how well it worked.
As he exited, Hein had to fight back his excitement and remember his routine. Hein didn’t doubt Azra’s skills; Symmette needed an excuse to keep him around after all, and the city wouldn’t let some inexperienced rube guard her. Despite this, Hein knew that Azra probably thought he was a complete pushover. This couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Almost all of Hein’s inventions revolved around combat. Nearly every single contract he had was to design a weapon, or a trap-like device used to kill monsters. The only weapon he refused to make for clients were smokepowder based. It wasn’t that he couldn’t (Hein had developed a few formulas aside from the usual mixtures) it was a moral preference. Hein viewed smokepowder as a very dangerous weapon that shouldn’t be granted to anyone lightly. He knew in the future it would be inevitable, but if a hobgoblin army managed to conquer a nation with smokepowder, it wouldn’t be from him.
Hein was so lost in his thoughts; he had gotten to the underground sparring room before he even realized it. Hein purposely didn’t explore the cube or its many rooms, and after accidentally seeing Symmette’s laboratory, he tried to avoid them as much as possible. Hein had glanced inside the lab once, and saw an operating table with metal restraints. After that, he didn’t want to see anything else inside.
The sparring room was odd to Hein simply because it was unlike all the ones he’d been around in the past. Even though it was expected of Automata, the room had no smell. Sweat was the first scent most familiarized themselves with places like this. Not only that, it had no practice dummies, or training weapons. It was a plain, square room, with an even drabber square fighting area. One thing was odd this time though; Hein could smell tea.
As he entered, Hein saw a strange sight, one even strange in this place. He saw Symmette fighting in the ring, and a makeshift table placed near the ring with an intricate tea pot and matching cups sitting on it. Even stranger than that was Symmette’s opponent. Inside the ring, as she blurred around the larger figure, Hein saw that it was a gray, eyeless humanoid. She was fighting a grimlock of all things…
Grimlocks were cannibalistic, no-longer-humans from the Underdark. There were tons of theories as to how humans had changed into these creatures, all of the theories terrifying. Her fighting one made absolutely no sense. These creatures were monstrous and barely had any form of civilization. How one ended up here was beyond Hein’s understanding.
The larger grimlock did not look typical though. It wasn’t unkempt, and was in excellent physical shape. It was wearing very clean clothes (which didn’t really shock Hein) and had nicely forged war picks. The picks were chained to the monster’s wrists on some sort of strange bracers, but more importantly, were asymmetrical in size. Hein guessed this was to throw off Symmette…but why was she fighting it?
As Hein neared the fighting area, he saw Azra watching, almost studiously. He didn’t act bothered by the monstrous humanoid, which shocked Hein to say the least.
“You do realize that an Underdark creature is attacking your…boss.”
Hein had to stop himself from saying girlfriend. Hein didn’t know why he held back, after all, he was here to fight this man.
Azra’s head darted over at Hein, before snapping back to the fight.
“She has gotten better, but I still can see problems in her form…it worries me a little…”
After he said that, the two stopped. The grimlock, rather strangely, smiled at Symmette, then spoke in perfect common.
“Your speed serves you well, but you need to practice more on your form. If you have to fight someone faster than you, speed won’t matter. Still, you have improved.” The thing said with a deep but articulate voice.
Hein could only stare wide eyed.
Symmette was breathing hard, and even stranger than the grimlock, appeared to be taking its words to heart.
“Yes…well keep in mind I am not a primary warrior. I do have a city to manage, and rarely have I ever fought people here.”
The grimlock smiled a little wider, then looped its war picks onto its belt.
“Let us hope that day never comes. Are you sure you don’t want any tea?”
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Symmette looked like the thing just asked her to drink blood.
“Oh…oh no…I absolutely do not want any leaf-water…but thank you…”
“I’m sorry…why is a grimlock here of all places?” Hein couldn’t help but blurt out.
The said grimlock walked over to the table, took a long drink from a teacup, then sat the drained cup onto the table like it had just finished drinking a pint of ale. After this, it looked up a Hein, and grinned at him.
“Would you like some tea, Head Artificer?” It said in a jovial tone.
Hein just stammered a no, before looking over at Symmette. She did not look pleased with his question.
“Murmur is from Mount Celestia, and is my personal combat trainer.”
“That’s a grimlock…nothing you said makes any sense.”
“From Mount Celestia,” Symmette stressed, “He is from the higher planes, so show some respect.”
The woman’s voice darkened, and Hein could tell she was serious. The grimlock, Hein now noticed, had a sort of glowing aura about him. Hein still couldn’t believe it.
“No, don’t be upset. I was used to scaring people when I was still alive.” Murmur said.
Hein looked at him again, and tried to push his shock away. The monster and her man were his enemy here, not this already dead grimlock.
“Right…sorry…I just never spoke to a grimlock before.”
“Not many get the chance,” laughed Murmur, before offering Hein the teacup again.
Hein, now feeling a little awkward, took the cup and drank some of the tea. It was impossibly good. He couldn’t help but finish the entire cup. Hein never really liked tea, but this was something else entirely.
“Did this come from the upper planes too?” Hein said, still shocked at the strangeness of the scenario.
Murmur laughed, “Oh, no, but it isn’t from here. I was told a lot of forms were filled out just to get a few of the leaves in the city.”
Hein rolled his eyes, “Yeah, that’s the custom in this place…”
The grimlock started to speak again, before a swirling, golden-hued portal opened in the room.
“Well, I guess it’s time to go back home…” Murmur said as he gathered up his tea set.
He turned his eyeless gaze to Symmette, “Try to practice on guards more…”
Then he turned to Hein before walking through the portal, “Good to meet you Head Artificer, and I hope you enjoyed the tea…”
The portal overtook the grimlock’s image before vanishing in a swishing sound. Hein was speechless.
“It…he…he makes tea?”
Azra seemed to not hear Hein’s question.
“Well then, perhaps we should begin”, Azra said in a slightly irritated tone.
“A fucking grimlock just trained your master, then gave me the best tea I’ve ever drank…and you’re going to act like it didn’t happen?”
Azra’s face scrunched up, “Must you be so puerile and say such things? He made his way to Mount Celestia while looking that repulsive, so he deserves some respect.”
Hein just stared blankly.
As Hein tried to process what happened, two modrons came from the center of the side walls and moved the table. Azra stepped into the fighting area, then twirled his blade in an extravagant flourish. The fighting area was little more than a simple square painted on the floor, but the floor was not metal for a change. Hein couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked softer than metal or stone, though didn’t give under Azra’s footsteps.
“I suspected that you put false information on your resume to build our machine. I have been given a very generous chance to prove that what you put is indeed true.” Azra said while glaring at Hein.
Hein rolled his eyes, “That’s complete bullshit, but since you’ve managed to lie this much without sweating or fidgeting, I’ll give it to you. At this rate, you may even get close to being like us primes…”
Hein didn’t think this would actually provoke Azra, but it was enough to start the match. Azra raised a clenched fist, and a modron let out a loud buzzing noise. Hein looked over at Symmette, who instead of stating rules, was watching intently. Hein didn’t like how she was staring.
Azra started to walk towards Hein, who held up his good hand in protest.
“Hang on, I need my other weapon…” Hein calmly said with one finger pointing up.
Hein left his walking, mechanical hand in the main room of the Pride of Primus just for this occasion. He loudly whistled. Crashing and clanking sounds could be heard down the hallway. Hein watched both Azra and Symmette’s eyes simultaneously twitch with each loud noise.
The claw charged from the hall, then pounced into the sparring square like a spider. It slowly started to circle Azra, who didn’t pay it any attention. Azra was surprisingly focused. Nothing Hein had done managed to distract him.
Hein chuckled, and turned towards Symmette, “Maybe after this you’ll find someone else to fix your damn button…”
Hein saw a flash, felt lightning in his jaw, and was nearly thrown off his feet. It wasn’t until his vision stopped spinning that he realized he had been punched by Azra.
Hein’s walking claw leapt at Azra in retaliation, but couldn’t match the man’s speed. Immediately after his punch, Azra had spun around to not only counter the hand’s leap, but managed to sever one of its finger-legs. Hein started to realize that this wasn’t some formal test of skill, this was something real.
“Okay, you want the gloves to come off huh?” Hein growled.
Hein slipped out a strange mechanical blade from his belt. It looked like a long-handled saw with a blade pointed like a sword. Once in his grip, the blade started to move on a series of small gears in and out. It did this in such a rapid fashion, that the blade blurred. Hein held up the auto-saw, and used his replacement hand to retrieve a hammer from his belt.
With a dwarven chant, Hein caused an aura to appear around him. Hein used the hammer to tap sections in his armor, which glowed briefly with runes. Azra tried to advance while this happened, but Hein’s claw skittered into his walking path. Azra nearly tripped, and Hein finished his incantation.
Hein’s eyes glowed, and he was surrounded in some kind of magical aura. Hein slipped his hammer back onto his belt, and his crawling hand lunged backwards to reconnect with his arm. Hein waited for Azra to attack, but he didn’t. He only waited for Hein to make a move.
Hein caused the armor’s scales to shift. This left no openings, and its only purpose was to distract Azra. Hein saw Azra’s eyes dart at the scales, which signaled for him to attack. Hein swung both his claw and sword at Azra, almost as if he was trying to grab the taller human. Azra parried the sword, but the claw managed to hit him before he could step back.
The swipe left a jagged mark on Azra’s armor, and cut his arm. Azra didn’t appear to realize that he was injured. Azra advanced three more times, striking at irregular angles, while keeping his swings controlled enough to not allow Hein to gain an opening. Every time, the claw swung faster than him, and managed to stop his attack just before it hit Hein. As Azra thought about this, He narrowly parried away a saw-sword strike from Hein, as the claw managed to cut his other arm.
Hein’s claw blurred when it struck, as if it were trying to tear at reality itself. Azra had felt this kind of sting before; it was the same stuff magic missiles were made of. Magic missiles normally hit automatically, so this claw defiantly had a magical purpose that wasn’t just for cutting.
Azra held out his sword defensively, only thinking for a moment. Hein started to talk, but Azra lunged in again, and this time was targeting his claw. Though it was bladed, Hein’s claw was not entirely armored. Azra’s sword struck another digit of the claw, damaging it but not cutting if off. Hein started to lose focus.
Azra noticed that, when focusing on the claw, Hein’s defensive capabilities faltered. He rushed around Hein’s flank, then struck at his back. As Hein’s claw, almost swinging Hein along with it, came to meet his sword, Azra put everything he had into the swing. Hein was off balance, but at the last second let out a loud yell of spell-speech.
An invisible shield, very briefly, repelled Azra’s fist strike. As his sword slid off, Azra brought it back, twisting his body as quickly as he could, and overswinging without care. The blow managed to shatter the shield, cut deep into the metal claw, and then get redirected to Hein’s neck.
Normally, such a wound would have been near-mortal, but Azra knew that either Hein would heal himself, or more likely, the magic he had summoned at the start of the fight would. Azra was correct, and the wound stopped bleeding almost immediately. Azra could tell that such a blow shocked Hien, and did not let up on his assault.
After that attack, Azra used the half-second of surprise he had to try and finish the claw. The thumb didn’t matter, as it was the shortest finger and mostly there for show. Azra spun, kicking himself in the air, and brought his sword down with great force on the claw, which seemed to know where he was. The sword swipe cut off two more fingers, leaving only the already damaged ring finger and thumb. The claw then fell off of Hein, and went limp on the ground.
Hein again grabbed the small hammer with his prosthetic hand, which caused Azra to try and intercept his casting. Hein’s auto-saw parried Azra’s sword, and a quick flick of the wrist from Hein caused the blade to move faster. The sudden shift threw off Azra, and Hein finished his casting. He swung the hammer at Azra, but purposely didn’t connect.
Azra leapt back, expecting some kind of sudden effect, but all that happened was the disappearance of Hein’s aura. Hein still had a cut on his neck, but it didn’t look that serious anymore. Azra started to attack again, before his sword started to burn.
The grip was rapidly heating up, and Azra knew what had just happened. He immediately dropped his blade. Symmette gasped as Hein chuckled. He lowered the auto-saw, and again started to say something to Azra. Azra didn’t give Hein the opportunity. Azra, now unarmed, pounced at Hein with his arms open. Hein flinched, taken aback by what he never imagined Azra Holder would do, and shoddily swung his sword in response.
Hein was too late though, Azra had moved too quickly, and managed to grab Hein’s outstretched arm. Azra held Hein’s sword hand tightly, and with his outstretched other arm, gripped just above Hein’s armpit. Hein made the scales shift again to distract Azra. Hein couldn’t escape the man’s grasp, but even worse, the shifting scales did nothing to distract Azra.
Hein started to yell another spell, but Azra again moved too fast. Before the shock of the situation could take Hien, Azra had thrown him over his shoulder, back down onto the ground. Winded and eyes rolling, Hein mind was thrown out of focus.
Azra stepped over to the now cooling sword, picked it back up, then powerfully swung it over his head and back onto the ground. The stunned Hein wasn’t able to move in time. The sword came down with an explosive ring onto Hein’s chest. He felt the impact, lost his wind again, and knew that a front line of scales was dented. If Azra wanted to, Hein knew he could have just sliced into his head.
Hein’s eye darted to Symmette, who was watching like she had seen a perfectly drawn circle. Hein could have sworn that she had drool on the edge of her mouths. That was enough to make him not give up. Hein stayed on the ground and reached into his belt with his replacement hand as Azra swung down again.
“Fighting with a sword in one hand don’t match!” Hein yelled, putting magic in his words.
Hein didn’t have to look at Symmette to tell that her fantasy was ruined. Azra actually faltered. His eye twitched, and as his sword came down, the blade missed Hein noticeably. Even though psychic magic was incapable of working here, Hein could still insult Azra. As Azra struck the ground, he did so much too hard. Azra had thrown himself off balance, which was all Hein needed.
Hein slung some oil from his belt, and pelted Azra in the side of the head. The stuff stank; and was both sticky and viscous enough to stay on Azra head without running much. Azra nearly spasmed, then instinctively reached up to wipe off the oil. He quickly found out that it only clung to both his head and hand now.
Despite how focused he acted before; Azra was visibly distracted now. Hein’s fake hand grabbed his hammer, and before he leapt up, Hein shouted a dwarven spell. The oil on Azra’s head started to bubble and swell, then in a grotesque display, ran down his body and smacked onto the ground. The oil quickly pooled under Azra, who started to slide.
Hein leapt in with his auto-saw leading the charge, and swung at Azra’s face. Despite his dubious footing, Azra not only parried the blade, but deflected the attack so that Hein was thrown off balance, right next to where he stood. Azra brought the butt of his sword onto Hein’s head, which caused him to fall down into the puddle of grease. Azra started to stab down, but Hein was able to kick at his shin, and actually trip Azra to the ground.
Azra only stayed down for a second, but as he kicked himself back up, his body was hit in the torso. The auto-saw bounced off his armor, but Hein was lucky enough to get another attack in. Maybe it was because he was covered in oil, but Azra’s focus was now waning. Hein swung his sword up, and managed to hit Azra near the shoulder. Hein’s swing was strong enough this time to rip through Azra’s armor.
The auto-saw drew blood, but not before Azra counterattacked. Hein overswung, leaving himself open to Azra’s attack. Azra’s sword swung in a crescent out from his body. The sword took several scales with the swing, and finished cutting Hein’s left cheek. Hein shouted, then staggered back holding his face. The cut was deep enough that he almost dropped his sword.
Hein instinctively started to heal himself, only to realize that he was leaving himself open again. Before he had a chance to stop, Hein noticed that he had stepped back and not slid on the oily floor. Hein finished the spell, looked down, and saw no oil. Azra, who was now spotlessly clean, was also not advancing.
“Why ever would you do something like that, Engineer Slatecutter? I would have thought that such a foul maneuver would be beneath you.” Symmette chided, though her voice had a disturbingly happy tone to it.
Hein tensed up again, as he tried his best not to look afraid. He didn’t want to stop fighting, but knew that the battle was going downhill for him. Hein also realized that, despite her complaining, Symmette didn’t give him a list of rules. It was very unusual.
“I think this has been an adequate show of skill.” Azra said without a hint of smugness. He quickly flicked off his sword, which somehow did remove the blood and grease that didn’t vanish with the spell, then put it back in its sheath.
Hein kept his auto-saw out, but lightened his grip so it stopped moving. Hein had expected Azra to gloat or whine how disgusting the oil was. Not only was Azra not bragging or complaining, but he looked content. Despite such an unregulated fight, Azra wasn’t showing any of the emotions Hein had expected of him.
“You people better pay for the damages to my hand…” Hein spitefully growled before starting to leave the room. Hein felt a flutter of magic, then saw Symmette waving both of her spider-like hands in a casting gesture. It must have been prestidigitation.
“You were the one to dirty the fighting area.” Symmette said, her voice showing a slight hint of irritation.
Hein stopped in place, turned around, and walked up to his fallen hand. Maybe he couldn’t cut down her boyfriend, but a sudden realization popped into Hein’s head.
Hein stomped on his fallen claw, which caused a gout of oil to spew out. He purposely put the pressure in the direction of Symmette, and that was right where the stream of oil was heading.
Before it hit her, Azra intercepted all of the inky fluid. It covered his entire face, ran down his armor, and sputtered out a few drops at his feet. Azra glared at Hein without wiping the substance off his face. A brief tremor of fear shot down Hein’s back, but he shook it off. Hein would sooner die than cower to these people.
“See, that is exactly why I wanted compensation for this. Holder messed this thing up so bad its projectile-squirting the stuff that powers it.” Hein shouted with a glad tone.
He didn’t care if either Holder or the monster believed him, because the fight was over. If they attacked, they’d be breaking the only real “rule” that was half-established.
Azra growled before putting his hand back on his sword’s hilt. Hein gripped his auto-saw tight again, causing it to re-activate. Azra was, almost miraculously, cleaned off. Hein’s eyes darted to Symmette, who must have casted a higher-level spell he didn’t know about.
You will not…we have seen everything we need to. Come, let us leave Engineer Slatecutter to repair his grotesque machine.”
Hein noticed that Symmette’s voice had an edge of nervousness…or urgency. She quickly ran over to Azra, the whispered something that was inaudible to Hein. Hein just stared, now truly confused as to what was happening.
“You didn’t go over any rules, so I figured anything was on the table.”
“On the table…yes…yes…” Symmette briefly trailed off with looks of madness suddenly appearing on her faces. Hein felt a chill run up his spine.
“…you are indeed correct. I should also note that, we will fully compensate you for any damages to your equipment. I can also recommend our finest healers for that cut on your face.”
Symmette grinned at Azra, and the smiles were extremely disturbing. Hein just wanted to leave at this point.
“That won’t be necessary, I’ll just go back to my quarters when I get this claw repaired. It shouldn’t take too long…”
“Oh, by all means, take as long as you wish, Head Artificer. As you have completed your duties, feel free to work at your own pace for the rest of the day…you have indeed earned it.”
Hein was at a loss for words. She didn’t want him to keep his schedule? Was he really beaten that badly? Hein figured he had lost, but not by that much? Pity didn’t seem like a trait these people had…it had to be something else. Hein started to repair the claw, and saw the two leave rather quickly.
Hein wondered at what exactly their problem was, but it was a snowflake on Levistus’ prison compared to all the other mental deficiencies they had. Hein just focused on the claw. The damage was really bad, and it may take him longer than he thought.
Unfortunately for Hein, it did take much longer. By the time the claw was repaired, nearly thirty minutes had passed. Hein sighed, then commanded his claw to stand. It did, and quickly crawled after him. Hein wanted alcohol, but knew the tavern would be closed now. Because of course, the only tavern in this hellhole would be closed when people wanted to drink. The Divine Machine always closed before it got too late in the day.
Hein made his way back to his workshop fairly quickly. He opened the door, and started to look for some joint-lubricant on his cluttered desk. Hein looked for the small, metal container of lubricant on his table…only it wasn’t there. Hein had memorized exactly where everything in that haphazard pile of junk was. The can should have been behind his box of long screws, and on top of the spanner. The metal can was beside the spanner and the box…and was evenly spaced apart.
Hein noticed that, while all the junk was on the table, it had been tampered with. The clutter had become organized clutter. Rage started to fill Hein’s head. Had she really sent the modrons to organize his stuff?
Hein started to leave, when he realized something else. The spacing was not right. Modrons would not have left a mistake like this. It had to have been on purpose, and done by Symmette. If Symmette wanted his desk re-organized, or cleaned then re-organized, the items would have been equally spaced. They were not, and it had to have been for a purpose. Hein looked near the center of the table. In a slight pattern, the spacing was closer.
Hein thought at first it was to compensate so everything could fit, but this wasn’t it. There was an empty section of the desk Hein used to write on, so that space being filled would compensate for everything else. He could tell the desk had ben meticulously cleaned, but the spacing was in a shape. A line about six feet, with the wider part being at one end, just before tapering sharply. It was almost a perfect man-shape, if the arms were not stretched out, and the legs an average space. Why would Holder and Symmette remove all his stuff, only to reorganize it in a man shape…as if they were worried a section couldn’t have been cleaned as well. But why…?
Before the realization hit him, a single thought came into Hein’s mind. Hein thought back to what Symmette had first said when he met her. That Holder was responsible for something specific…he helped Symmette with tasks she couldn’t get the modrons to help her with.
This didn’t make sense, not at first. Modrons were single-minded, but so were most of the mortals in Automata. Holder certainly wasn’t special…only in the fact he was human…and not repulsed by Symmette. Hein remembered how awkward they acted, how poorly they kept hiding how they cared for each other. Hein started to be able to put the picture together. The meaning was now clear to him.
“Tasks that she couldn’t accomplish alone or with the modrons…”
The literal meaning of that statement now hit Hein like a spear point to his gut. Hein could feel his stomach start to spew its contents up his throat. Not in the mental state to think properly, Hein lifted his clamp hand to his mouth. Hein vomited, coughed, then found an oily rag away from his desk to wipe his mouth off with.
“On my desk! They…they did that on my desk! It was because he won that fight and I sprayed oil at them! She knew what she was doing! These people are out of their collective, freakish, gods-damned minds!” Hein openly shouted.
Hein could almost feel rocking of the ship again.
“You know Hein, you could have just remembered the armory without putting that last part in my head…in fact nothing you’ve show me has even mentioned the armory!”
Hein heard the man in the black scarf somehow say, in a clearly disgusted tone, inside his head.
“Why do you care? I thought you wanted details.” Hein thought in response, only now realizing how bad his answer sounded once it came out.
“I think that’s obvious.” The man in the black scarf growled back.
Hein focused back on his past.
Hein used the rag to try and wipe up the vomit on the floor. He tossed the rag to the back of the room, then kicked his work chair. The chair crashed to the floor as if it were just shy of shattering. Rage had clouded his mind almost completely. Hein needed to get revenge; his work be damned at this point. Several ideas entered his mind. Whatever it was, Hein would have to get them both in one fell swoop. Thankfully though, he was free to do nearly anything he wanted tonight.
Hein’s eyes darted to a metal box under the table. He reached inside it, and pulled out a small bottle. Normally Hein kept several different glues. One glue in particular was a very messy animal glue he didn’t use much. The glue stank badly, and was only really good for gluing wood. Hein knew that any kind of bodily waste would provoke some sort of alarm or cleaning response, so shit was out of the question. The glue would work for what he had planned.
Azra Holder had to have more than just one sword. Hein needed badly to find out. Hein raced to the armory, not bothering to mask his presence. He met almost no resistance, save for a lone modron who asked who he was. The fact that Hein was the Head Artificer was enough to satisfy the creature.
The armory had no guards, and was surprisingly lax in security. Hein entered the door, and once inside knew why. Hein had worked with magical weapons for a very long time. Inside the armory, next to no weapon was magical. Most of the arms matched, and in far end of the room Hein saw what he had hoped for.
There were several different kinds of scimitar, each one having a mate that matched it perfectly. Hein could already hear Symmette fussing at Holder to use two instead of one. Maybe he could help with that?
Hein tried as best he could to put magic in the smelly glue, hoping that would stop any efforts to clean it. The armory was likely to not be cleaned as much due to most normal steel blades needing oil to keep from rusting. Most of the weapons were Mechanus bronze, which didn’t get dirty or tarnish. Thankfully though, only one set of scimitars were made of this material.
Hein coated every non-bronze scimitar in the armory with the stinky glue. He slathered the glue not just on the handle, but all over the blade too. Hein snickered quietly to himself, then once finished stood back to admire his handywork. It wasn’t enough.
Hein thought to himself, drifting away from the memory world, and tried to go over every sword present. The few magical swords were either only minimally magically boosted, or designed to harm chaotic creatures. Hein remembered the chaotic-harming blades being old, near unused, and then the reason why.
Most people, like Holder and the captain of the guard, kept their own magical weapons. The stronger weapons were almost always given to people of importance and hardly left their person. If there was a “Sword of Automata” then it was likely the one carried by Azra Holder.
Hein started to feel a tug at his mind. He resisted it, and found himself speaking his thoughts aloud in the memory world.
“Wait…just wait let me show you more!”
The man in the black scarf didn’t respond, and only let Hein remember-live more of his old life.
Hein’s stay was coming to an end. He had finally completed their machine…but before he left, Hein wanted revenge. By the time Hein had been able to scout out Symmette’s patterns, he found a narrow window to complete his plan. Hein honestly didn’t know if they even saw the glue-covered swords, and if anyone did, no one said anything about it. The glue idea was haphazard at best, but Hein had found out something almost as good. He would have to wait near the end, just so they couldn’t refuse to pay him.
In truth, Hein had done little investigation. He realized that simply asking Symmette for her schedule told him far more than trying to find it out himself. She had no reason to be suspicious in a place like this, and if anything thought Hein knowing this would help him with his work.
The only irregular thing about Symmette’s schedule was that, during the middle of the week, she always took about two minutes from her day to do a stupid little dance in her office. She only did this when no one was around, and Hein got the idea she liked dancing but never got a chance to do it. All she did was slightly swing her arms in and out while mock snapping her fingers and bobbing her heads. It looked dumb, but showed Hein how easy it was to plan his revenge.
Hein knew that Symmette always went to a private “dinner” with Azra in the middle of the week as well. Watching Symmette eat was grueling, though Hien doubted that was all they did. Symmette wouldn’t eat any normal food, no matter how symmetrical it was. She didn’t want food cut to be symmetrical, and was terrified of bread due to the holes. She wanted things naturally symmetrical.
What could that be most may wonder? Well, this meant whole, uncooked animals. As cooking would deform the shape, Symmette swallowed creatures selectively bred to be symmetrical. When Hein had heard this, he expected her to be pescatarian. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Symmette did eat small fish, but most of her diet was white-furred mice. The first time Hein had seen this, he nearly gagged. This was an important detail though, as Symmette rarely ate in public. It gave her an excuse to get away, and Hein an opening to strike.
Hein found his way to her room rather easily. Of course, the room was symmetrical, almost dizzyingly so, and had a much too large curtained bed. Infront of the bed was a boudoir mirror that had foldout edges. Hein knew this mirror could be used to communicate through. Hein grabbed the bed, winced, and pulled off a sheet. The thing was immaculately clean, but Hein didn’t want to touch it long. He tossed it over the mirror, and waited for it to settle before passing the mirror.
Once past the mirror, Hein saw his target. In the back of the room, matching the doorway he came in, was another door. Inside it went to another hallway, parallel to the outside hallway, which connected to a bathroom behind the bedroom. There was a door in the hallway that led to this bathroom, but it was mostly for show. It was only so the plan of the bedroom and bathroom could be symmetrical; otherwise, anyone could access her private bathroom in the hallway.
Hein slipped out a small round thing from his belt. It was a small clay sphere filled with a smokepowder charge. Hein planned on dropping it into the toilet, then triggering it to detonate in the hopes that sewage would come up and fill the pristine, white-marbled bathroom. Hein laughed to himself, knowing he had a full hour to rig this up properly. Hein went to the toilet, which was an unfortunately rare sight in Faerun, and started his work.
Hein had brought parts with him to assemble an air-powered device that could quickly propel the bomb deep enough to draw up sewage. Hein had almost completed the assembly, when his finger slipped and a piece of sharp metal scraped him. The cut was enough to draw blood, and Hein didn’t want to leave any behind. He mumbled a short healing spell, but wanted something to make sure the wound didn’t open again.
Hein went back into the bedroom in search of some cloth. He walked up to Symmette’s long pillow, slipped off the case, and started to tear away at the fabric. He planned to tear off just enough to wrap his finger, in case it got cut again. Hein did not want these people having any of his blood. As Hein did this, he noticed something that really stood out in Symmette’s room.
It was a box.
Not an ordinary box though, a box with a round glass porthole inside it. For a brief moment, Hein thought it was something to keep fish in, but remember seeing where Symmette kept her fish, and mice, which was far from where she actually lived.
Hein looked inside the box, and noticed that not only did it contain some kind of fluid, but had a small tube coming from the back into the center. The inside of the box was spherical, which was unusual. What could have been kept here?
Hein also noticed the dimensions of the box were enough so it could fit in the Symmetry Synchronizer. Whatever this box was, Symmette wanted something inside it to become symmetrical.
Maybe it was because the foulness of what her and Holder had done to him, but Hein put a horrifying picture together.
What if this box was to grow a child?
Hein knew that, if it was even possible, Symmette would under no circumstances become pregnant. Symmette wouldn’t be able to tolerate the changes pregnancy does to a woman’s body. Despite that, what if she wanted a child? Specifically, a child of hers…?
She was going to use the box to artificially carry a child…and then make it symmetrical…
…make it like her…
The horror that now gripped Hein was too much. He had completed his machine…their machine…and now this is where it had led him. Hein started to smash the box, when he realized that it wasn’t the problem. His machine was.
Hein was in a state of borderline shock for the rest of the week. His last day, where he checked everything in that horrible machine, Hein knew he couldn’t leave it like this. Hein knew that they wouldn’t pay him unless the machine worked…which he now couldn’t allow.
Hein was about to lose a very large sum of money.
Later that night, most of the higher-ups in Automata were gathered at a long bronze table. Though it was a celebratory dinner, Hein had refused to eat. Thankfully, this didn’t break any sort of rules, only that Hein still had to ask permission to be excused. The guests had all started eating, including Symmette. Hein didn’t know how the others kept their food down, because he could tell how repulsed they were with her eating.
Hein watched her pick up two mice by the tails, and swallow them both in tandem. He then watched the people eating beside her. One older bald man, responsible for most inventions in the city, looked like he was going to vomit, along with who Hein knew to be his daughter. She was a woman with a similar haircut like Symmette’s, only longer, who always wore a strange sort of goggle-monocle. Azra didn’t act like he knew or cared about anyone present other than Symmette. Although he didn’t show her any real affection, at one time he tried to wipe both the woman’s chins.
Hein could tell that the other guests were disturbed by this. He wanted to get a feel if they also were disturbed by what was going to possibly happen. After clicking both of her wine glasses to get everyone’s attention, Symmette stood up from the dinner table, with faces grinning in borderline insanity.
“All ladies and gentlemen present, I must say that history has been made. Thanks to the hard work of Engineer Hein of House Slatecutter, we now have the ability to make objects of certain dimensions symmetrical! Perfectly and permanently symmetrical! This impending perfection will lead this city into a new state of lawfulness, one untold for generations to come!”
Hein watched the gathered guests clap, rather unenthusiastically, but he couldn’t tell if it was the average Automatan lack of emotion, or they just didn’t care. The only person who looked excited was Dolidra, the girl with the weird eye-lens. Hein’s eyes darted at Holder, who looked on the verge of joyful tears.
“We will achieve what the spellweavers could not! We will make so many things right with the world! Thanks to the work of Mister Hein, we should have enough to amplify this machine! The next step can be anything that we, the lawful governing body of Automata, can imagine! We now go forward to perfection!”
Symmette finished with a look of manic euphoria plastered on both faces.
Everyone at the table cheered. All except for Hein. In that moment, Hein’s thoughts raced back to Hell. Both him and the man in the black scarf saw the experiments. They saw harmless machines at first. Strange circlets to monitor thoughts. The experiments devolved from the circlets, into working with corpses. As Hein’s thoughts spiraled down, the corpses started to blur with living tests subjects. Both had their skulls opened, though none of the living ones seemed to be in pain. Shortly before the thoughts ended, the man in the black scarf saw a line of grinning slaves. They were all humming a tune that sounded like it belonged in a church.
The slave at the front of the line stood in front of what resembled the glass boxes that the man in the black scarf kept his fish in. The slave had his head shaved, and there was an odd line around the perimeter of his scalp. A backwards hand lifted the top of the man’s skull off, as the slave’s humming increased. That hand lifted out the man’s brain, and easily popped the brainstem from the skull. As the brain was placed on a rack inside the tank, the man in the black scarf could see that it still had its eyes attached.
The brain was sitting beside another, and another. All the brains seemed to be staring at the man in the black scarf; their eyes suspended snail-like in the tank. This tank was much longer than before, and somehow, as much as he wished he couldn’t, the man in the black scarf could hear that humming coming from the brains. It was ragged, almost screaming, but it kept going. It was manic; joyous and horrifying at the same time. The man in the black scarf started to break the connection, before he focused on another thing.
The backwards hand that had done this was connected to a tall catlike figure. The panther-man was wearing elaborate purple robes, grinning at the brains in a far too peaceful manner, and humming that same tune. Thankfully, this didn’t last.
The thing’s face changed into a howl of terror, as suddenly fire engulfed all. The glass shattered as the humming stopped, and all that remained was a dying roar, then darkness.
“I cannot have another machine end up creating horrors that should not be…I destroyed that fiend…and I will destroy Symmette if she repeats its mistakes…” Hein said before he awoke.
Hein rose up off the table, and found that his footing was still good. He wasn’t groggy or tired, but now invigorated to find the sword.
“I really…really…hate to say that he was right, but he was. I think the sword really is Holder’s blade Grovelthrash. It has to be, the thing is very powerful, and as you saw, Automata didn’t have anything else…”
The man in the black scarf was in thought, his hand lightly clasped over his mouth.
“I don’t think it is…I think that machine you made was the sword. In a metaphorical sense that is. Something stole it and…”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.” Hein flatly said. “I took all the blueprints and disabled that machine. Even if it is, both the machine and Grovelthrash will have to be dealt with. Hells, we may even need Grovelthrash to destroy the machine.”
The man in the black scarf blinked a few times. Hein just smiled.
“You’re wondering how I did it, huh? I enchanted a jar of peanut butter to where it couldn’t be removed, because its food and not waste so their magics can’t rapidly clean it off, and smeared it all in the machine. Coated every nook and cranny with smooth peanut butter. I bet Symmette nearly had a stroke when she saw the inside.”
“Well, that is a better lead that we had. Before you go though, can you tell me more about what we saw at the end? The rakshasa and whatever happened in the lower planes?”
Hein’s brow furrowed, “No, I don’t want to talk about that. I helped that monster do a lot of things I regret…I just didn’t know it was going to do that with the information I gave it. People ended up worse than dead, and I never got to make it right. I mercy killed them like we saw, but it still wasn’t made right.”
Hein stopped speaking, and glanced at the floor for a brief moment, before looking back up.
“Just know that Jalakara died in the Nine Hells, meaning he’s erased from existence. I made sure he died myself!”
“Jalakara the rakshasa…name rolls off the tongue. Well, if you saw him die, then it shouldn’t be a cause for alarm.”
Hein scowled, but attempted to shake off his expression.
“Thank you for listening to me. Maybe if I get Holder to give up his sword this can all be over.”
“I will attempt to get this ship back to the prime, and hopefully find that tower. If Grovelthrash can’t come to me, I’ll go to it. If the coordinates you gave Saltrock are right, it shouldn’t take too long…assuming I can get the ship close from this demiplane.” The man in the black scarf said somewhat worried.
The man in the black scarf saw Hein’s body start to fade. Hein gave him a brief wave before disappearing. Once gone, the man in the black scarf sat down in a small wooden chair in the room. He thought about the strange scene in Hell. It was obviously something traumatic for Hein. The man in the black scarf didn’t want to push the matter, but the scene was interesting.
The man in the black scarf knew how fiends worked, he knew that once slain in the Hells, they couldn’t come back. If this fiend caused Hein a lot of pain, maybe it had a sort of dying wish. Its final death throw, perhaps it wanted to make him suffer with what Hein hated the most? It certainly wasn’t something impossible, or out of character, for a rakshasa to do. But how could it do this?
“Aye, ye find anythin’ out?” Saltrock asked as he peeped his head in the doorway.
“Yes…well maybe. We need to go to those coordinates Slatecutter gave us. I think I have a book on native outsiders here…fiends that stay on the material plane…”
“Well, I couldn’t tells ye, though that name sounds like one from real far aways…maybe check the exotic place tomes if ye have em…I’ll get the ship ready.”
“Thank you, captain, and I’ll try and orient us in the right direction. Let’s hope the Silent Sea will hear my call.”
The man in the black scarf’s eyes rolled back in his head. The whites of his eyes started to glow. Saltrock saw a shooting star streak across the alien sky. In a few minutes, the stars changed above the ship. The second moon faded, and the daylight came. Right when the scene returned to normal, the dwarf rushed to the ship’s helm. Captain Saltrock started sailing to the east, and thought he saw the very fine outline of a tower on the horizon.