The Modron Mutiny
Chapter Two
The Perfect City
How long did he spend preparing for this? It was what, maybe a month at most, since he had left the lower planes. Hein was becoming a true planeswalker now. Maybe everything they had told him was true? Maybe the outer planes do change people?
Hein was pretty sure the lower planes didn’t change him though, at least not for the worst.
Thankfully, this was something much tamer that his old job. Hein had used his contact in Sigil, the City of Doors. This was a sort of bastion in the absolute neutral plane of the Outlands, where Hein’s contact had found him a grand engineering project. Apparently, the portal town that lead to Mechanus needed his help building a machine. The irony of the situation was far beyond humorous to Hein. People from a clockwork world needed his help building a machine.
Hein got to the gate town fairly quickly. It was amazing how fast everything changed from the neutral fields of the Outlands into this. The sky was almost gray, everything about the outside gates was disturbingly geometric, and the one-eyed modrons that were watching him hadn’t moved for nearly thirty minutes. This was the Outlands’ bastion of law, and from what Hein could see, it seemed to embody just that. Plain, regimented, order.
Hein was patient though. He had practiced writing his name neatly, and knew he would have to do a lot of paperwork just to get inside. He didn’t have a clue what was taking so long. Hein was the only person standing outside the gate. From what he knew, this place attracted all sorts of people.
The modron that was watching Hein suddenly came to life. It let out a buzzing screech, the sound of whirling gears was the closest it could be compared to, then took exactly two steps in his direction. The thing’s uncomfortably thick lips pursed, before it started speaking in clear, but high-pitched, common.
“Processing time has been reached. You have successfully passed the mandatory waiting period of exactly thirty standard minutes and thirty seconds. You have been informed by this thirty-word response.”
Hein blinked in astonishment. The strange cycloptic being just stood there with its gross lips still.
“You made me wait for no reason?” Hein asked a little annoyed.
The creature stood in place for a few seconds, before making that gear noise, and finally responding.
“The processing time is required by Automata law. Paperwork can now be completed.” The modron stated.
The modron unceremoniously spun around, and started to walk to the bronze gate. The gate opened, without help from anyone standing on or around it, and it opened by the doors splitting down the middle and retreating into the side walls. Hein stepped into what he thought would be this grand machine city, only to be greeted by a small courtyard of another gate.
This gate was smaller and much less grand. On each side of this gate was a small booth, and what appeared to be a desk on each booth. Modrons were sitting inside, but they looked more advance that the one leading Hein. These looked like living cubes.
When Hein saw this, he also noticed the modron he previously spoke to go back out through the large gate, as the doors only opened wide enough for it to walk out. Hein went to the booth on his right, and got no reaction from the thing operating it.
“Hello, I’m here to get inside the city. I was commissioned to build a machine and…”
The modron wasn’t even looking at him. Hein started to get angry, but noticed that the other modron was looking at him, almost annoyed. Hein quickly jogged over to the left booth, and repeated what he said to the identical modron inside.
“Protocol states that, upon entering the secondary gate, one is to go to the first processing booth, commonly known by the literate to be the left booth, before gaining access.”
Hein’s memory was jogged. The protocol manual about this city that was as thick as a dictionary, the primer that Hein certainly did not memorize or even complete, he briefly remembered that.
“Oh, you are absolutely right sir”, Hein said as patronizing as possible, “I forgot all about that. You’ll have to forgive me, still not used to the customs of this place. I mean I have work to do after all…”
The modron has the most emotionless look imaginable plastered on its face. It took a step back squatted down, then lifted up a stack of papers that looked like a book.
“Complete these entrance forms, then go to the secondary booth to complete those.”
Hein’s eye twitched, “Wait…why didn’t you give me these when I stood outside for thirty minutes.”
Hein was having trouble not shouting at this creature, which didn’t answer his question. It did give him something of a response though.
“Guests may use the form filling room at their convenience.”
The modron pointed to a small room to the far left. The metallic box of a room had a long bench against the back wall, with an equally long desk spaced where multiple people could share it. Though clean, there was a certain grimness to the room.
Once inside, Hein glanced around to see various notches in the wall, who he guessed was applied by former, would-be visitors. Some were simple tally marks or crude drawings etched in the wall. A few were cryptic, with some implying insanity or worse just from dealing with the paperwork. Hein could have sworn he saw what looked like a skull under the bench, but it couldn’t have been…the forms weren’t that bad right?
Once glance told him otherwise. Hein had no intention of filling these out properly however, and knew that this client wouldn’t bar him entrance if this project was so important.
“Automata is just going to have to accept a lot of smiley faces for answers if they want their machine…” Hein chided to himself.
Hein started, and made sure he had a healing spell prepared for his hands afterwards.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hein had made it inside the city proper. It was what he expected; at least at first. The city mostly consisted of perfectly planned and square red-brick buildings. All the streets were parallel, symmetrical, and very well organized. Everyone in the city seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going. There was no one to break the perfectly spaced people walking on the roads, all moving it what looked like a synchronized pattern.
All the people that scurried around to their assigned jobs had the exact same wardrobe. They all wore robe-like garments, though they did have what resembled trousers too, that were drab reds and grays. This was what Hein had anticipated, and yet it was still surprising to him.
The people were disturbingly ordered, behaving more like machines than beings with thoughts and feelings. Hein caught several glances, as if these people were angry about something, yet even this scorn was too ordered. The people would glance at him in a perfectly ordered sequence as he passed; as if they could somehow pre-plan their supposed instinctual actions. Perhaps it was how he walked out of sync with everyone else, or his false hand. Hein didn’t really know or care, he just wanted to get to his client.
There were almost no horses here, and Hein instead found a strange road that was depressed into the stonework of the street. The road had two lanes, each divided by a small wall, and below the “street” was what looked like a rail that contained teeth for a gear.
Hein couldn’t help but grin, glad that at least he could see some exotic machine in action. Maybe the driver would act like a normal human being, tell him a joke, and offer complimentary glass of bourbon for his travel.
Hein could dream.
What looked like a floating bronze pod was speeding down the engraved stone road. Seconds before it got close enough to board, Hein could tell it was gliding on the rail. The door of the pod shot open unceremoniously, and exposed the small interior seating. What Hein thought would be a plain-faced driver was instead a mechanical humanoid attached to the floor of the machine by the waist.
The bronze metal man had what looked like a butler suit forged into its body. It wore a hat similar to what Hein had seen some boat captains wear, a round hat with a short bill. The thing’s eyes looked like those of a doll; they were white, and appeared to be painted orbs of ceramic, complete with sliding eyelids and fake lashes.
The driver turned to Hein, its head spinning almost completely around like an owl, and blinked a few times. Its mouth looked like a ventriloquist dummy. The driver’s nutcracker mouth flapped open with what Hein assumed to be its way of assuring passengers it wasn’t some monster and was only here to drive the machine.
“Gree-tings sir! I am re-quired by law to trans-port all new visi-tors of this grand ci-ty.”
The manchine-man’s mouth hung open, in a soulless gape that Hein imagined was supposed to be a smile. It appeared to be waiting for an answer.
“…yeah…great. I’m the new engineer here to work on a project for a member of the Council of Order. Can’t tell you much more than that, as I was told that I’d be directed in the right…”
Hein was cut off by the disturbing driver.
“You will be taken to the Pride of Primus structure, and will work for the Magi-strate of Mortals, Ailia Symm-ette!”
The thing’s voice came out in a sort of mechanical shriek, like metal rubbing together. Hein tried not to cringe, then boarded the machine with a poorly maintained smile. The driver’s head followed him until he took a seat. When Hein had planted himself on the bare seat, a seat with no cushion, the driver’s head spun back around as the machine’s door closed.
“Pre-pare for depar-ture!” The driver screeched as the pod lurched forward.
Hein’s mechanical hand grasped in vain for something to hold onto, but thankfully the force of the pod moving drove him to the back of the seat. Hein wasn’t glued to the seat, but the speed of the craft kept him feeling restrained. If would have been comfortable if he wasn’t moving at such a high speed.
The machine pod had what resembled portholes of a ship. Hein kept glancing out them when his mind was taken off the speed of the vehicle, or the machinations of the driver. This machine was much faster than a horse, and the images though the window were hard to keep up with.
The entire city of Automata was like a giant machine. It had gray skies, different from the Outland’s normal blue skies, and everything was too geometric. The perfectly gridded streets, the same-colored buildings, Hein was starting to anticipate that maybe this place wasn’t the best place to stay in the outer planes. It was certainly less dangerous, but Hein could tell his stay here would not be the calm and uneventful time he had anticipated.
The machine slowed to a stop enough to not thrust Hein forward. The force keeping Hein to the seat started to fade, and Hein could tell the pod was about to arrive at its destination. Hein had only been inside the pod for a few seconds. When it finally stopped, the vehicle let out a loud and rusty shriek. Hein winced, then nearly jumped as the driver’s head spun back around. The thing’s face was directly in front of his face. Hein had to fight back a scream as it spoke.
“We have arr-ived! Please remem-ber to com-plete all pro-cess-ing paperwork!”
Hein jumped out of the machine’s cab right when the door opened. The pod shot off, almost as if it was in a hurry for him to get out. Landing on his feet with a short stagger, Hein noticed that this place didn’t have anyone outside it. It had a similar post to the main gate, but only had one clerical booth. A single box-like modron was manning the booth, and already had a stack of paperwork for Hein to fill out. Maybe they did check his forms…
Hein groaned, popped his neck, and started to walk up to the booth. Before he could protest that he didn’t want to fill out another book of forms, Hein heard the modron address him.
“Magistrate Aila Symmette had requested that I fill out all forms based off your answers to a short survey.”
Hein let out a sigh of relief. The modron asked him several questions, and both arms simultaneously filled out two forms on each side of it. The modron could write faster than Hein could see, but completed all the forms in a few minutes.
“The paperwork here has been completed in the approximated time. You still have an allotted time of three minutes before you can enter the Magistrate’s chambers. Please wait outside the doorway in the center path.”
The modron’s thick lips didn’t smile, or even twitch with an iota of emotion. It just sat down and stared into space. Hein felt like he had to thank it, though he also felt a little silly doing so.
“Well…uh…thanks for saving me the trouble. The name “Symmette” doesn’t sound like an actual name though, are you sure you didn’t mishear what the magistrate’s name was?”
The modron didn’t answer, or even blink.
Hein just shrugged and walked into what he guessed to be a courtyard. There was a single path engraved in the stonework, with all the square stones looking like a too perfect grid. The large alabaster building Hein was standing in front of was quite a work of architecture. He had seen it coming in, but didn’t get to study the building due to the speed of the vehicle that had brought him.
The building called “The Pride of Primus” was a perfect cube. It had several complex engravings on its walls, but each shape and design matched the next wall over perfectly. Hein spent his three minutes looking up, trying his hardest to find some kind of defect, discoloration, even a bird dropping. There wasn’t anything like that on the cube’s surface.
An obnoxious hissing alarm, sounding like gears grinding together, caused Hein to jump as the door opened vertically into the ceiling. The white of the building was a stark contrast to the dark interior. Hein hurried in, and noticed that while it was darker, the inside walls were white as well. The building’s interior was massive; Hein almost thought that the whole cube was one room. Though the room gave this illusion, Hein quickly calculated the dimensions he could see, and it appeared that there was indeed more to the structure.
There was a black carpeted path that led to the center of the large central room. The path was a perfect dividing line in the building, and Hein noticed two more branched out from the center of the building, going to each of the four ends of the cube. An elegant chandelier hung in the building’s center. It looked to be larger than a man, and every crystal and candle matched the opposite side perfectly.
At the building’s center was a large empty desk. The desk looked more advanced than anything Hein had seen. This desk had various clerical items on it, though each was mirrored on both the right and left sides. The owner of the desk appeared to have two of every device one would use for clerical work. The most peculiar thing about the desk was that it had a clean, bare surface in the center, with what looked like metal buttons strewn under the blank space. Hein wished it had someone manning it so he could see what the functions of the desk were.
Despite not having anyone in the courtyard, there were several people inside. They were all standing in matching patterns; two people were in each group talking except for a small figure near the back of the cube Hein couldn’t quite make out. Each person nearly matched their opposite side counterpart by height or sex, only differing in the fact they weren’t clones. Hein saw an elf woman speaking to a shorter human man, then on the other side of the carpet there was a lanky tiefling man speaking to a short half orc woman. To Hein’s surprise they weren’t dressed in the matching clothes the denizens of Automata had on, and wore a variety of outfits and armor. None of them reacted to Hein entering the room.
Hein noticed that the small figure he saw before wasn’t alone. Hein could tell there was a man behind it, though in the dim light he couldn’t quite see this person. Hein was more curious about the lone figure in the back now than the rest of the room. This person (assuming it was a person at all) had a body outline skewed by some sort of blurring magic. Hein didn’t know if the man near it was the source of the magic or not.
As he made his way to the back of the enormous cubic room, Hein noticed that the walls decorations matched on each side. The highly detailed paintings matched each wall. Hein didn’t know how this person could afford multiple copies of such intricate art pieces, but they all matched down to the brushstrokes.
As Hein continued, one art piece stood out. It was a large charcoal drawing of a woman holding a sword and standing over a freshly killed mind flayer. Hein chuckled, then walked off the carpet up to the drawing. As he searched for a signature, Hein noticed several of the denizens were now looking at him. They didn’t look angry though, just confused.
“Nice drawing, wonder if the symmetry lady drew it?” Hein said with a chuckle.
No one reacted to his comment, but all watched him walk farther down the wall to the back of the cubic room. The man facing the obscured figure was a pale human who didn’t look old, yet had gray hair. He also wasn’t the source of the disappearing blur magic either. The magic was waning, and now all but the figure’s head and shoulders was obscured. Hein knew this was a cleaning spell, which was not surprising.
Hein walked up to the man and whatever stood in front of him. What was slouched in the center of the carpet, just away from where the path stopped near the wall, was what resembled a doll. Hein wasn’t walking fast, still gazing at the strange paintings, but “doll” was the first thing he thought of. The figure was disturbingly thin for its short height, which reminded Hein of large ball-jointed dolls that were sometimes kept by those who collected such toys. It was slouched, and standing perfectly still.
As Hein got closer, his doll theory made more sense. The thing’s attire seemed too clean; it looked like black leather armor studded with clockwork. The clockwork appeared to be moving, unlike the figure that had the breathless stillness of a mannequin. The thing’s stick-like arms were hanging at its sides just above its equally thin legs. The arms looked too long, and Hein noticed that they were the same length as its legs.
None of its limbs were thickened by the armor. Its torso was a little over half as wide as a regular human’s which made the doll theory even more sound. It looked almost skeletal.
The closer Hein got he noticed that the human was softly speaking to the thing. The human also wore studded leather armor, though it lacked any intricacies of the doll’s clothes.
“Why would they clean a creepy doll in the center of the carpet?” Hein muttered to himself as he approached.
The human stopped speaking, looked up, and glared at Hein. Hein couldn’t tell if he was afraid or mad, though the latter was more plausible due to the irritable nature of people here. The man was much taller than both the doll and Hein. Though he wasn’t overly muscled, he looked to be in good fighting shape. The man had a heavy-bladed scimitar hanging from his belt. Strangely, it was one of the only asymmetric things Hein had seen in the building.
Hein started to address the man as the blurring magic faded, when a detail he didn’t notice about the doll struck him. The thing’s overly pale skin and black hair blended in with the wall so much, Hein didn’t notice that it almost appeared that another doll was standing in front of it slightly to the left. Hein was almost exactly five feet; this “doll” was maybe two or three inches shorter than him. Hein couldn’t see over its shoulders. To him, it looked like a duplicate of its head was sitting in its front…or was it to the side?
The man’s agitated expression relaxed as the person Hein though was a doll spun around. With a click of her raised heels, the woman twirled around just as fast as the creepy machine driver’s head had done before Hein arrived here. Hein could tell this wasn’t a doll, but a creature that appeared to be made of flesh and blood. Hein’s mind raced to “creature” because whoever this was sported two heads instead of one.
The woman, women, still looked like a strange doll. Their skin was too pale, hair too straight, and once the things smiled, both sets of matching teeth were far too straight and white. The creature’s short black hair was cut perfectly straight at her jawline on each head. Each head had different colored eyes that mirrored one other. Near the inside of the being’s heads were white-irises, and light blue ones on the eyes farther away. A mole sat below each blue eye that could have been a mark of paint. Hein almost wished it was, as a construct would have been less disturbing.
Hein screamed. He couldn’t control himself, the transition from supposed creepy doll to two headed humanoid was too much. Right after, Hein heard that same strange alarm. In his brief state of panic, Hein noticed that all the guests were in single file lines along the carpet, going out either the main door or the doors to the right and left. The strange two-headed being didn’t seem angry at Hein, but the human did.
The human, however, stayed silent as the two-headed thing finally spoke in powerful yet emotionally sterile twin voices.
“Ah yes, you must be Hein of clan Slatecutter. It is so nice to finally meet you in person.”
Both heads spoke at exactly the same time. Hein still looked horrified, and had his body half-twisted in a hands-up stopping pose.
Hein tried to shake himself out of his frightened state
“Ah…I’m sorry…you scared me…I just…yeah nice to meet you…I’m guessing that you…eh…you two…are the client?”
Hein could have sworn the human was going to say something, probably something not particularly kind due to how he was gritting his teeth, but the client, or clients, interrupted.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I am Ailia Symmette, the Magistrate of Mortal affairs here in Automata.”
The woman heavily emphasized “I” which told Hein that he was somehow speaking to only one client.
“You have no idea how difficult it was to find the right engineer for this undertaking. I am beyond thrilled that you accepted the offer, this work will most likely be lengthy, but I assure you that it will be worth the effort.”
Symmette smiled again, the somewhat forced and synthetic looking grin was almost as bad as the machine driver’s expression, and he didn’t even have real lips. The fact that Symmette’s lips had bronze-colored lipstick didn’t make the situation better either.
The human behind the strange woman finally walked up, looking agitated but much less angry than before. Symmette didn’t acknowledge him. Hein didn’t know which head to look at, so just looked between the two. There wasn’t much space, and each head nearly touched the other. The woman’s necks touched right before they ended at her shoulders. Hein wanted badly to ask what exactly she was, but knew this was probably not the time.
Hein was more concerned with what Symmette had said about his task. The blueprints of the machine looked like something that could be put together rather quickly. The actual function, and more technical aspects of getting it to work would take the most time, but the machine wasn’t even large, probably the size of a storage cabinet.
“Lengthy? The schematics and size of the machine looks like it should be less than a month of work.” Hein choked out; the fear he exhibited before still clear in his voice.
Symmette smiled and chuckled. Her mouths stayed closed, and all sets of eyes widened. The woman’s bowed lips looked painted on. This reaction really did make her look like an unnerving doll Hein would have expected to see in an abandoned house. More specifically a haunted house…
“Perhaps on the Prime Material Plane it would, but here in Automata we have methods and protocols that ensure no errors can ever happen. Do not worry Hein of clan Slatecutter, you will fall accustom to all of our procedures in a short amount of time.”
Hein wanted to correct her, he wasn’t a member of clan Slatecutter anymore, but he didn’t get the chance.
“He will have to.” The human abruptly muttered.
His voice didn’t sound like a mercenary’s. It was much too proper. Hein turned to the human, who still looked angry, then when Hein’s head turned back to Symmette, she had somehow moved much closer to him. Hein had to fight back another scream.
“Oh, do not worry; it will certainly be an easy process. I have full confidence that you will enjoy our customs here, as this is one of the only places in the planes one can find such advanced machinery…as I know you are familiar with.”
Symmette motioned to Hein’s claw, then stared at it. Her eyes almost bulged out of both her heads. Hein waited for the woman to say something else, but she was still staring, borderline gawking, at his false hand. Hein looked at the human, who was doing the same. The two’s expressions practically mirrored each other.
Hein’s shiny black eyes just stared back at the two, almost surprised he was being stared at. Hein had just seen a woman who looked like something out of a curiosity museum, and she was shocked he had one hand.
“It comes off too…” Hein half-shouted with a wide grin.
Hein hoped to break the two’s gaze, but wasn’t successful. Hein then commanded his mechanical hand to detach, causing both Symmette and the human to gasp. The hand pranced around in a spider-like fashion, then rested on its wrist and waved at the two. They looked more horrified than impressed.
“I built this thing after losing my original in a portal accident.”
Hein waved the claw prosthetic at both of them, and the two still looked afraid of the mechanical hand.
The human spoke again, which caused Hein to notice he had a strange accent that emphasized certain syllables.
“Why would you make it a claw instead of matching your other hand? Not to mention the other one is backwards…doesn’t the unevenness bother you?”
The man spoke with thinly veiled disgust. Hein couldn’t tell if he was trying to be insulting or was serious.
“No, it doesn’t because I was more concerned with not having a hand at all. As for my intact hand’s shape, well having a rakshasa…eh…ancestry is the easiest word for it, well that’s why. Backwards hands can be a pain when building stuff, and believe it or not a claw prosthetic is more versatile when building nearly anything. That, and if I can use a simple clamp-hand well, I don’t have to worry about being slowed down if a more advance prosthetic broke down.”
The human just winced as Hein clamped his false hand. He looked like someone had just burped in front of him.
“But the asymmetry…would it not have been easier just to cut off the other hand and have matching false ones? Why not just do that? If you do it here, we can make you a set of matching, not-backwards hands just as good as flesh hands…all for no charge of course.”
Hein’s jaw dropped open as the man smiled. Anyone else would have thought that this man was trying to start a fight, but Hein was clever. He could tell this human was both fully serious and probably thought that this was a helpful suggestion.
“I wholeheartedly refuse to cut off my hand for something that ridiculous.” Hein said rather flatly.
Symmette looked shocked and borderline insulted by the human’s words.
“What? How could you say something like that Azra!” Symmette gasped with a hand over each mouth.
The human looked over to her; genuinely confused as if he didn’t understand what he did was wrong. Symmette just shook both heads, then took another step towards Hein. The woman moved so swiftly; Hein could now see how she appeared to get closer when he wasn’t looking.
“I apologize for Azra…Mister Holder’s behavior. He should not suggest something so cruel to someone who suffered such a misfortunate and crippling accident.”
Symmette looked back to the human Hein guessed was named Azra Holder, and shook both heads with a pouty expression. It looked almost like she was playfully taunting him.
“Mister Holder should have suggested that we remove your backwards hand, graft it to your other forearm, then use magic to regenerate the wound to a forward-facing hand. That way, not only you will have two hands, but two matching and regular facing hands!”
Symmette smiled, again looking as disturbing as ever, which caused Holder to also smile. Despite being human, the man’s smile looked anything but. The anger and ill will melted off the human’s face, and he looked at Hein with an expression of almost childlike, yet still disturbing, joy.
“That is a wonderful idea!” Holder half shouted, “Well, what do you say Engineer Slatecutter?”
Hein looked at the two, with their three joyful faces, and couldn’t believe what he was hearing. These people were so obsessed with symmetry, that they wanted him to have surgery done just so his hands would match. They didn’t offer to regenerate his missing hand, only to use a spell like that in order to correct how his hands didn’t look the same. Hein was insulted, but not so thin-skinned to get angry about the situation.
“I work better with the false hand. Believe it or not, this thing doubles as like five tools in a pinch. Besides, if I did take your offer, which I wouldn’t, I would have to take time to recover. I would rather start working…and learning whatever protocols you keep referencing.
The human slouched dejectedly. Symmette looked somewhat disappointed, but the woman’s inhuman expressions were too hard to read. It was still hard to look at her; it was the porcelain-doll skin, the teeth that looked so even they could have been carved or drawn on. The dark circles under her eyes from being so sickly thin looked like a smooth paint job. Even her moles matched perfectly, moles that looked exactly like slight dabs of ink from a feather quill.
Hein didn’t understand how a creature that looked so human at a first glace could look so off…so wrong. She had just enough irregularities to make her look like something…well from the outer planes. Maybe that was it? Maybe Ailia Symmette was some sort of outsider monstrously representing symmetry. If modrons represented order, maybe other lawful concepts were embodied here.
Hein was certain of one thing; she certainly wasn’t human.
Symmette stood a little straighter. She held both heads high, and as she started to walk away from where Hein and Holder stood, Hein noticed two cubic modrons standing in each corner of the walls on opposite sides of the room
“Right!” Symmette said forcefully as the two modrons came to each of her sides.
“You will be building a device based off of the technology of a long dead empire.”
Symmette walked down the carpet with her modrons matching each step she took. Hein followed, and noticed that Holder was a few feet behind him, still watching with a strange, half-worried expression. What was his duty? Symmette didn’t really introduce him.
“I am not sure if you know of them, but in ancient times the beings commonly known as spellweavers had magical machines that could warp reality itself. They still reproduce to this day with magical means. This machine will be powered by items of magic, similarly to the designs of machines they have used. Your machine will be far less imprecise however, relying on less magic…”
Hein glanced again back to Holder, then turned his focus back to Symmette.
“Spellweavers, I think I have heard of them. Six-armed magic users, dark eyes, no mouths.”
Symmette nodded, “Yes, they once had an empire, similar to the…mind…flayers…”
Symmette practically had to choke out the word. Hein could now see why she hated mind flayers. He imagined that they’d see whatever Symmette was as either a delicacy or something to be replicated. Both prospects were equally horrifying.
“I saw the schematic. It was very well drawn but lacked a lot of information and had some design flaws. I’ve already corrected them in my head. When I have my workspace, I can show you more.” Hein stated as gently as possible.
He didn’t know how these people would react to errors.
Hein watched each of Symmette’s heads turn to the modrons on her sides, then let out a series of noises that sounded like turning gears. The modrons quickly parted, going in opposite directions as they left.
“Now that my guards are dismissed, I can better explain to you the importance of this task.”
Holder watched Symmette grin again, then saw Holder walk up from behind her. He strangely stood behind her instead of at her side. He was certainly tall enough to look over her heads, but the scene still looked odd. Hein couldn’t stop looking at him, still wondering what his job was.
“Is he going to give me the supplies, or is he just your personal bodyguard you always keep around?” Hein said as he pointed at Holder with his clamp-hand.
Hein’s real hand had been following the three, crawling behind them far enough to not draw attention. As it ran up to him, he watched Symmette borderline jump. The hand scuttled up to Hein, reattached, and shortly after Hein flexed it. He noticed that Holder didn’t step forward; he didn’t treat the hand like an enemy. Most bodyguards would have at least been curious.
Symmette’s faces changed to embarrassment. Hein didn’t think she had normal blood to blush, or if it was present at all, but the pause she exhibited should have warranted it. Such a simple question shouldn’t have caused her to look like that.
“Mister Holder is not important…he just helps me with tasks that I cannot accomplish alone or with the modrons…I do not really have a title for him…”
“Yes!” Holder borderline shouted, “I am nobody important worth keeping up with. Just pretend like I do not exist…unless the magistrate wants you to do something and sends me to tell you. Or if you do not keep your section of the hall clean.”
Hein was only confused for a moment. In this city where everyone knows exactly what they’re doing, where they’re going, and what their title is, this stood out like a sore thumb. Hein wasn’t stupid though; he knew when people tried to hide something. Seeing Symmette blush without color, and Holder’s nervous defense of not having a title, told Hein enough. It told Hein that the two were doing something that the perfect city might frown upon. Something that was probably best kept private.
Even though Hein could feel disgust creeping up his throat, he couldn’t help but grin.
“Lictor. The title you’re looking for is Lictor, someone who helps, and usually guards, a magistrate.”
Hein smiled, which he thought would comfort the two. It probably would have if they were normal people, but as Hein was learning, these two were about as far from normal as you could get.
Symmette looked terrified; the emaciated woman’s ribs were almost visible against her armor as she started to breathe harder.
“Yes, Mister Holder is not important…he does not really need a title. In fact, he probably should not even be here right now!”
Holder eye widened, and he started to dash away. Hein held out his false hand just before Holder could run off.
“Hang on, just wait a minute.” Hein grumbled as the two held almost childlike looks of fear.
“You have a sword; do you know any of the guards here? The ones that aren’t machines I mean?”
Holder just nodded nervously.
“My hand likes to stand guard over me when I sleep. Sometimes it goes outside my sleeping quarters. Could you let any guards know about it so they don’t try to stab it? It would be a pain if it leaked grease everywhere.”
Holder’s face held a look of horror, almost as if he’d just seen a ghost appear.
“It…it leaks stuff?” Holder stammered out; his face twisted in disgust.
Hein could see the human’s face start to pale. His skin was getting as disturbingly light as Symmette’s.
“Oh yes. If it gets damaged, it oozes black sludge that looks sort of like ink. It kind of smells too.”
Hein couldn’t help but grin. Maybe he was upset about the missing-hand comments after all.
Holder put a hand over his mouth. Surely, he wasn’t sick? Hein started to reconsider when he heard the man cough.
Symmette darted behind holder, then slipped both hands over his shoulders. Hein noticed that her fingers, like her arms, were too long. Not only that, but she had six of them, with an extra thumb on each side. Symmette appeared to not have a ring or pinky finger, and instead had duplicates of her middle and index fingers.
“His hand will not leak; there is no reason to be afraid or sickened.”
“It will if a modron pokes it enough.” Hein retorted as he watched Holder’s face pale again.
“Well then, we will make sure no one bothers Mister Slatecutter’s hand.” Symmette chided far too softly.
Symmette said this like she was comforting Holder, then half shoved him away. Hein watched Holder walk off, but not before turning to look at him and Symmette again. He always seemed to have a look on his face that was either mild anger or concern. It was hard to tell the looks apart.
Symmette let out an irate sigh, then snapped the fingers of both hands simultaneously. Having two thumbs on each hand made it sound like four snaps. The small tufts of smoke and light told Hein this was a spell. Her prestidigitation spell removed what Hein assumed to be dirt on her hands. Even though she had hardly touched Holder, apparently that one action warranted this level of cleaning to Symmette.
Hein had noticed that the roads of this city were cleaner than the plates he ate off of. The toilets, assuming people here didn’t somehow magically avoid going to the bathroom, were probably just as clean. There was nothing for the spell to remove.
After doing this exactly four times, Symmette turned both faces back to Hein. She didn’t speak, and instead stood in place with her creepy, doll-like smiles. Hein smacked his lips. The disgust he felt earlier learning about that two was starting to return. Even though he had just met these people, though technically they had insulted him, he felt like he shouldn’t judge them too harshly. They both lived in a plane of law, maybe they couldn’t help themselves?
Hein thinking the phrase “couldn’t help themselves” just magnified his disgust. He coughed, and attempted to block the cough with his intact hand. Symmette half-yelped, and started to caste prestidigitation on Hein’s head. As the buzzing magic swashed over him, Hein could only repeat to himself not to be prejudiced. No matter how annoying or repulsive these people were to him, Hein had a reputation to uphold. He didn’t skip out on jobs, and his work was always the best quality.
As Symmette casted her last bout of magic, her hands darted back to her side. The woman was breathing like she had just finished running, and was staring at Hein with both sets of eyes wide. The woman’s strange, almost false-looking eyes practically bored through Hein’s soul. This time she didn’t smile.
“We have had angels, devils, and even holy inevitables come here and tell us nothing. So many had no idea to replicate the spellweavers’ alien technology, and obviously we cannot ask the spellweavers themselves. Spellweavers are genocidal monsters bent on universal destruction…not to mention how they literally eat magic items. You were one of the few people we could find who could blend high magic with machines.”
Hein smiled. The tiefling’s wide, slightly off-color teeth surprised Symmette. Luckily for Hein she didn’t cast the cleaning spell again.
“Of course, they didn’t. I mean, not to insult you or anything, I wouldn’t talk down to a client, but outsiders don’t have much use for technology. Beings that actually can die, but will live long enough to learn more than an average lifespan, are the ones that get the most out of it. Mind flayers are the first thing I can think of, but I bet no one lets them in here.”
Symmette just closed her eyes and shuttered. Hein could see she understood his point.
“I don’t know much about spellweavers, but most high technology, at least what I make, takes some magic to operate. The schematic for that machine, if it will go as smooth as I hope it will, shouldn’t take too long to make…even with your protocols. Merging whatever they’ve made shouldn’t be too tricky. After all, if they’re daft enough to eat magic items, they can’t have too complicated of…”
“This machine is a reality warper. The spellweavers were said to have done that on a massive scale once. We need it done on a scale small enough to be manageable.”
Symmette’s voice came out powerfully. It was strange, coming from such a small woman. Maybe it was because she had two throats? Hein could only blink in response.
“The complete details of this machine I cannot divulge, but it will warp reality to repair small defects in objects.”
The gears in Hein’s head started to turn. He immediately knew it couldn’t just be used for repairs.
“Small defects…like if something doesn’t match exactly? I imagine you want something to make things…well…symmetrical. Maybe so you can have an apple with no bruises and equal sides?”
Hein noticed the woman’s twinned faces make the same expression at the same time, as they seemed to always do. It was just so bizarre. Symmette looked both joyful and scared.
“Y-you are much keener than the rest. That is exactly its purpose. I have lived far too long unable to eat so many things. How many foods are symmetrical? Next to none! Some fools actually thought bread is symmetrical! Bread…with all of its…its…holes!”
Symmette visibly shook as Hein covered his mouth. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Not only that, but he wondered how old Symmette was. She looked so synthetic, and was so emaciated, it was impossible to tell her age. Maybe whatever she was didn’t age?
As Hein lost focus, Symmette continued with her psychotic tirade.
“How many plants must I see that have uneven branches? Why are leaves and flowers symmetrical, but the rest of a plant, no matter what kind, a tangled and nightmarish eyesore? These are the most overlooked but unsightly defects of nature, that I must…must…correct!”
Hein was still struggling not to laugh. It was very hard, he had worked for people who needed things built to save their lives or clans, and this woman was in near despair over her flowers being too ugly. He could tell her voices were struggling not to crack with more emotion. Hein couldn’t tell if it was sorrow or anger.
“Well, since I understand the scale, we should talk about the cost. Obviously, I won’t demand it all now, but I need at least twenty-five percent upfront.”
Symmette’s faces lit up, each one holding an equal view of madness and excitement.
“Price is of no concern to me, nor anyone here! The entire Council of Order will be willing to fund this endeavor for as much money as is needed! Granted, we are very adept in knowing the value of labor…”
Symmette motioned behind her, farther down the carpeted walkway. Two of the same cubic modrons Hein frequently saw here were carrying a chest. The chest was so large it nearly resembled a coffin.
The modrons sat the chest down, working in perfect synchronization with each other on opposite sides. Both modrons opened the chest, and Hein saw that it was full of neatly stacked gold bars.
“We have more of these ready to fund the material cost. As for the labor cost, please name your price.”
Hein faltered. He had served for dwarven lords with great riches, but something told him that this woman had near infinite wealth. Hein could have probably asked for a kingdom, but he didn’t want that. The only things Hein wanted couldn’t be bought. He had a reputation, and wouldn’t be unfair to these strange clients. This “Council of Order” probably had quite the influence, and Hein wouldn’t let his reputation slide, especially in a lawful plane.
“Well, since you have no other people who can do this, and it’s something that important, I think two chest-fulls of whatever valuable treasure you have should work.”
Hein thought it was steep, but he wasn’t wrong. There may be literally no one who could build such a device. Symmette didn’t look angry, or even shocked.
“We will have to discuss this later. The council agreed to pay much more than that. Perhaps one of our treasurers can agree to something more fitting and precise. Two “chest-fulls” are not exactly the most accurate way of measuring the labor cost of this important task.”
Hein was at a loss.
Symmette took a few steps closer, her legs blurring with speed as she did so. The woman’s overly wide grins made her advance even more disturbing.
“None of that matters anymore! Finally, someone has been found that can actually complete this grand design! Someone will finally build our machine! After all these years…!”
“Yes, build our machine!” Holder shouted, which almost came out as a chant.
“The Hells? I thought you ran off?” Hein sputtered out as he turned around to see Holder only standing a few feet away.
Hein only now noticed that Holder was standing behind him. There really was no way to know how long he had been standing there either.
Both Symmette and Holder were showing the same madness Hein would have expected to see on demons. As the two stared at him, their manic, perfectly straight-teeth filled grins not fading; several rows of modrons came marching down the hall. The modrons stood on parallel sides of Symmette, while Holder circled back behind her.
Hein’s first instinct was to back up, but the modrons kept coming as Symmette and Holder just stood there. In mere seconds, the modrons stopped only a few feet away from Hein.
“These quadrones will take you to your chambers, acquaint you with your tools, and show you around the premises. They can also refresh you on any rules you may have forgotten.”
Once Symmette’s emotionally sterile voices stopped, one modron yanked the bag off of Hein’s back. Another grabbed his shoulder, and half pushed, half carried him down the hallway.
Hein wanted to go back home, but glancing back at that chest stopped him. That was probably enough money to buy half a city. Hein also noticed Symmette now looked to be close to crying with what he assumed to be tears of joy. Holder just stood there with his arms drooped by his sides, staring at her almost dumbly.
If Hein could deal with the Hells, he could deal with this. At least that’s what he thought at the time. In truth, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
******************************************************************************
Unbeknownst to Hein, another endeavor was being carried out. The tower was a piece of absolute law; a treasure in itself, but it wasn’t as it seemed. No one above could tell, but the tower had a counterpart. From the surface, and even below the water, only one half of the tower could be seen. Spanning in the opposite direction underground, the other side of the tower ran deep into the earth. The line of the seabed could have been a mirror, and the other side the tower’s reflection if one could see through rock. Of course, it couldn’t be made any other way.
Energy for the portal could easily be gathered underground. What was really needed however, was a better power source. Not for this tower, obviously, but for the purpose of this invasion. It was needed for the machine. The original design was so short sighted; just to make food or small objects match. The machine was meant for something far more important.
The lower level was still completely dark. Modron #371, one of the upper echelons of the four-hundred and four that was able escape for this endeavor, didn’t understand why his master didn’t place sources of light here. Neither him nor his master necessarily needed light, but seeing in monochrome darkvision made it hard to tell how ordered the place was. It was atypical of their leader to do something as careless as this.
Such an action was not the usual behavior of Ailia Symmette.
Modron #371 was a nearly perfect copy of his fellow modrons. He was a living metallic cube like the rest, only he was permitted to use two axes instead of swords. He had been reviewing a series of orders by his master. Normally, modrons obey without question. That was before the loss of The Sword, after the Perfect City was turned upside down. Now, his master was too grief stricken to obey every custom she was used to. She needed help, someone to remind her, and more important, someone to help her carry out her grand plan.
The modron’s master had not made many mistakes. These errors were almost entirely minute details that modron #371 could now see weren’t too significant. So much had changed since Lady Symmette’s husband had been lost. She had been able to conjure this tower, this spearhead of their attack, and start their glorious purpose. This was not the only good thing to come of such chaos. Ailia Symmette had, against all odds, repaired their machine.
While her husband couldn’t be returned by any means, magic or divine, Lady Symmette could do the next best thing. If she couldn’t have her perfect life, she could change the imperfect. Make imperfection a thing of fiction. This world, the filthy Prime Material Plane, could be repaired. Despite its name modron #371 didn’t understand what was so prime about it. Now that they had the machine, all they needed was something to power it. Based on what his master had said, there was more than enough material to power it on the scale to change a whole world.
Modron #371 strode up to his master, trying to stay in the center of her totally dark throne room. He made a two-handed salute, by extending both arms out with his fists closed, then folded them into his body on parallel sides. She didn’t return the salute, but modron #371 noticed that he had her attention.
Ailia Symmette had been sitting with both heads against the back of the throne; all eyes closed, but now was looking at modron #371 expectantly. The modron was always blown away when he saw her; there wasn’t another being in creation as symmetrical as she was….
…only something was off.
Ailia Symmette was now sitting slouched to the right of the throne. Modron #371 nearly gasped, but Symmette corrected herself at the last second. The rush of catharsis the modron felt dulled any questions he might have had. This was after all, the being, the soon to be god, that had bested Primus.
Primus…that name now held so much scorn to modron #371. Primus wasn’t even symmetrical! The god of order wasn’t symmetrical! Modron #371 knew he could have never seen this unless he was separated from Primus. His master had done just that, and now had an entire army of clear-thinking modrons.
Symmette’s dark eyes were even more bruised, which caused her health to look worse. By most mortal standards, modron #371’s mistress looked sick enough already. He had thought she was recovering, but perhaps Ailia Symmette hadn’t recovered as well as modron #371 thought.
“What do you want?” Symmette half-whispered, half barked as she rubbed her left pair of eyes.
Modron #371 immediately started to state his case.
“The adventurers have indeed been waylaid by the larger, occupying force. Unfortunately, the occupying force has failed to stop a certain ship from getting close to the tower. It has bypassed the defenses set up by the engineer.
To the surprise of modron #371, Symmette smiled.
“Did it? Look how painfully obvious his incompetency is now. Of how short-sided our old friend has become. My orders will still stand. You are to keep him alive. The adventurers are of no concern, but before you terminate them, we need to find out how they breeched the field.
Symmette stood up from her throne, and strode away. Modron #371 followed her, already realizing where she was going.
“After all, I am very intrigued to see what happens when we put living creatures inside the improved Symmetry Synchronizer.”
Symmette’s already echoing choir of voices were amplified by the metallic room.
Now he and his master stood on a balcony, one overlooking what resembled a metal building. The improved machine was belching magical smoke. Several compartments and seams leaked a strange light, and modron #371 couldn’t stare at it too much. He understood their purpose here, but the machine’s improvements made it asymmetric. He struggled to look at it.
Modron #371 turned back to his perfect master. The modron’s mind saw nothing disturbing about how she was laughing almost uncontrollably.