‘We would never sell this device,’ Favian said, after another long silence. ‘But we might trade it for something we desire even more.’
He paused again, and Neb had to resist the urge to shout: Well what the fuck do you want? He could see that these pauses and long stares into space were just part of Favian’s character, and attempts to speed it up would just make things take even longer. Favian looked at nothing, hands together as if in prayer, fingertips to his nose. Finally he said: ‘There is a place in the north of this world. All the way where the Circle bends. There was a group there once who called themselves the Emorists, and their aim was to live in a sealed compound without outside contact for a thousand years.’
He paused again, lost in thought.
‘Did they succeed?’ Neb asked, despite himself. He was genuinely curious.
‘No-one knows,’ Favian replied. ‘It’s been over two hundred years since anyone last heard from them. The reason I am telling you this is that the rumors say the Emorists had a Main creation device. That they worshiped it, in fact. Like a little god. Which, I suppose, in a way, it was. Though people often call it, with some irony, a printer.’
‘Creation device?’ Meathead asked. ‘What can it create?’
‘Anything,’ Favian smiled, more to himself than to them. ‘Imagine… An unending source of Main technology. What a prize such a thing would be.’
‘If we had a device like that,’ Neb said, reluctant to ask the question but knowing they needed the answer, ‘could we not just print our own ultrafusion weapon?’
‘A fair point, Doctor,’ Favian said with a little smile, ‘and one which perhaps illustrates the difference between those of us within Edgetown, and those without. I should have said, it can create almost anything. It will not print offensive weapons.’
Neb could sense the disappointment in Meathead without looking.
‘If we bring you this device,’ Neb said, ‘you’ll trade for the ultrafusion weapon?’
‘We will.’
‘What does the creator device look like?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘How big is it?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Weight? Power source?’
He just smiled and shrugged.
‘Where did the Emorists keep it? How do we get into the compound?’
‘Doctor,’ Favian said, sitting forward in his chair. ‘If we knew any of these things, we would not need you. We could retrieve the printer ourselves. The Emorists are quasi-mechanised cultists who live in the remotest part of the world and have had two hundred years of almost unlimited access to Main technology. You can imagine that obtaining the device will not be straightforward. This trade would not make sense if it was easy.’
Neb rubbed the bridge of his nose. They had only eighteen hours left on the Game clock. None of this seemed even vaguely possible.
‘How far to the north are they located?’ he asked. ‘What do you mean by where the Circle bends?’
‘See for yourself on your map,’ Favian answered. ‘The Circle has an imperfection near its most northerly point.’
It was easy to find once Neb knew what to look for. He had to zoom in quite a bit before it was visible, but there it was -- a little additional arc in the Circle boundary, a small imperfection in the sweep of the overall circle.
‘That’s 40km away or more,’ Neb said, and he knew his disappointment was obvious. ‘We won’t even have time to get there before the clock runs out.’
‘Well,’ Favian said. ‘If we strike a deal, perhaps we can help you with that part of the problem.’
Neb looked at Meathead, who shrugged.
‘All right,’ Neb said. ‘But one last thing -- we need to see the ultrafusion device before we have an agreement.’ He nodded at the crate. ‘We must be certain it’s the genuine article. I’m sure you can understand our position.’
Favian shook his head.
‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘But it’s our most sacred possession. You’ll just have to trust us.’
Neb sat back in his chair. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘But sadly, that means we don’t have a deal after all.’
Favian sat back too, and they just stared at each other. At least a full minute passed, which felt endless in the total, tense silence. Meathead must have been wondering what the fuck Neb was doing, but his face revealed absolutely nothing. Neb felt his heart pound and willed himself not to speak. The silence hung and hung.
‘This is fun,’ Meathead said finally.
Favian glared at him, but it was as if a spell had been lifted. Favian sighed and glared at them, then said: ‘Give me a moment.’
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
He went to the inner door and called some other people over. There was a round of whispered conversations, people glancing at the humans with stress showing on their faces. Neb and Meathead sat without speaking.
At last it seemed there had been a decision. Favian turned to them. ‘Your request is accepted,’ he said. ‘But only the Doctor may approach, and our guards will remain very close by.’
‘Ageed,’ Neb said at once.
Favian led Neb to the safe. Two guards flanked him tightly. Neb kept his movements slow and smooth.
The ultrafusion case did not have any further locks on it, just two latches at the front. Favian opened them one after the other with solid snaps, the sounds loud. He lifted the lid slowly.
The weapon was a long thick ovoid, marked with three Main symbols that were distinct but interlocking, the curves of one seeming to form part of the design of the next. It was a dull gray, not made of the Main material they had seen so often before, but of some material that seemed to almost glow with an inner light. Arranged around it in the case were the pieces of the launch tripod. There really wasn’t much complexity to the whole system, Neb thought, and he suspected it was a wildly inappropriate level of straightforwardness for such a weapon.
Favian went to close the case again, but Neb raised a hand.
‘I need to hold it,’ he said.
‘No,’ Favian snapped. ‘No chance. We’ve already done far more than enough.’
‘What you’ve shown me looks correct, certainly,’ Neb answered. ‘But the weapon is unusually heavy, and yet has a tendency to float. An anti-gravity effect, I believe. Unless I feel that, we have no deal.’
Favian stared at him. ‘How do you know this?’ he demanded.
‘We’ve been around,’ Neb said evenly, holding his gaze. Meathead was sitting relaxed in his small chair, like he was enjoying a day at the beach. But Neb could see how focused his eyes were.
Favian did not take his eyes off Neb. ‘We do this one last thing,’ he said, ‘and the deal is closed. Yes? No more requests?’
‘Of course,’ Neb replied. He hoped Favian couldn’t tell how nervous he was.
Favian took a deep breath, then reached into the case and lifted out the rocket like a first-time parent picking up a new baby. Then very carefully and slowly, he handed it to Neb.
Neb took it gently. It was a beautiful thing, he thought, if you ignored its purpose. Like with other advanced Main artifacts there were no obvious signs of its manufacture, no rivets or seams or joins. It was very heavy, straining Neb’s arms, but then just as he had read on the cabinet screen back in the armory, the anti-gravity kicked in and the weight lessened. The rocket seemed almost to bob slightly in his hands.
And then somehow he dropped it.
The weapon slipped out of his hands and clanged heavily on the ground, the anti-grav field not strong enough to stop the impact. Favian made a little snorting sound of pure horror. Meathead jumped to his feet, and several soldiers moved towards him. Neb dropped to his knees to pick it up at once, stammering apologies, but the four security guards heaved him back painfully.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Neb kept saying. ‘I don’t know how that happened… it just slipped right out of my…’
‘Idiot!’ Favian snarled. The guards marched Neb across the room and deposited him roughly back in his seat. Meathead sat slowly back down beside him. Even he looked rattled. ‘Fuck me, Doc,’ he said, eyes wide.
It took a full minute for Favian to compose himself after he had put the weapon back in its case and locked the safe. Finally he said coldly: ‘I hope this is not a general illustration of your competence.’
Neb held up his hands. ‘My most humble apologies,’ he said. ‘I just… I have never held such a beautiful artifact before. It’s a straight line to the deepest Main power.’
This seemed to mollify Favian a little, though the guards were clearly still on edge.‘Well… we have a deal, then,’ Favian said. ‘And just so we are clear -- I don’t expect to see you at Edgetown again unless your part of it has been carried out. Understood?’
Neb nodded and smiled emptily. ‘Of course,’ he said.
--
From there things happened very quickly. Favian led Neb and Meathead back up to the row of vehicles in the courtyard they had seen earlier. They walked past sleek high-tech transport units and stopped at a vehicle that looked like it had not moved in a century. There were rust holes in its bodywork, several of the panels appeared to have come from different machines of varying colors, and there was hardly a square centimeter of it without a scratch or dent. It had no roof, and the six interior seats were stained and ripped. There were holes on the dashboard where switches were supposed to be, with bare wires poking out of them. A screwdriver stuck out from what should be the starter button, as if the machine had been stabbed. There was a small windscreen that was so cracked and dirty it was barely transparent. The machine looked like a picture of sadness and neglect.
‘I love it,’ Meathead said, and Neb could see that he genuinely did. He walked around it almost tenderly, surveying it from every angle. Neb glanced up at the next machine over, a towering off-white affair with wheels taller than Meathead, and sighed.
A guard got into their transport and fiddled with the screwdriver until the engine started with a sound like a bunch of pots and pans falling down a well. Then the engine bellowed as if in pain.
‘I think we can forget the stealthy approach,’ Meathead yelled to Neb over the noise.
Favian looked pleased to be getting rid of the machine. ‘It’s a fair deal,’ he shouted to them. ‘The weapons you gave me, in return for the information and transport we give you. Good luck. Perhaps we will meet again.’
Neb nodded. He felt another pang after the sawfish sword, even though he told himself he was better off without it. Meathead took the driver's seat and Neb jumped in beside him. Meathead edged the machine forward. Neb found it hard to believe the machine would actually move, but the tires groaned into action and they drove out under the main arch without incident. The drawbridge bowed under the weight, but held. Once they were back on the trail Meathead gunned it, and the machine accelerated with surprising rapidity.
‘Fucking love this thing!’ Meathead yelled to Neb over the roaring engine. ‘Let’s hope Mallory doesn’t frag it when we get near them, though.’
To be on the safe side they stopped well short of the low hill where the others were waiting. Buzz came to greet them, his eyes amused.
‘Too far to walk?’ he asked.
They regrouped under the trees and Meathead and Neb talked the others through everything that had happened, from the encounter with the goblins to trading the weapons and getting the mission for the ultrafusion weapon.
Buzz thought it over. ‘We can’t trust these Edgetown bastards, though,’ he said, looking from Meathead to Neb. ‘Right?’
‘We cannot, sir,’ Meathead answered. ‘They’re tricky little fuckers.’
‘Plus we’re not really sure what kind of life forms they are,’ Neb added.
‘Elaborate,’ Buzz said, staring at him.
‘Favian and the others are not players in the Game,’ Neb said slowly, thinking it through as he spoke. ‘They seem to be conscious and intelligent, but they are manifestations of the Game. Do they know they are in a Game? Or have they always lived on this Circle world, and to them it’s the natural way of the universe? If we knew that, it might help us predict how they will act.’
‘Mmm,’ Buzz said. ‘Well, I’m fucked if I know. But what I do know is this -- we’re leaving for this compound right fucking now.’