by Patrick Lane
At the academy, Nifty had learned that the chamber was wildly over-engineered for the simple task of crossing into the Helix. Even before the wars began only a select few seemed to have known what they were for. Engineers around the globe had been debating their true purpose for a millennia, but until the machine rooms were finally deemed safe, as likely as not, it could be another thousand years before the Gears’ true purpose was fully understood again.
The boars made good time, their metal-shod hooves echoing loudly as they tramped across the enormous bridging ramps between cogs. Far below, the shafts of each cog disappeared into an angry sea of bubbling lava.
As Snort side-stepped a particularly large pile of debris, Nifty shifted his attention to the station’s ancient war machines and the defunct delve-trains which littered the surface of the huge platform. Most were twisted chunks of scrap, ripped apart by ancient explosions, their virus-ridden carcasses ravaged by some unknown Flux reaction. Nifty shuddered as he recalled what the Scourge could do to a machine or body, even his own. Especially his own.
Like many Submantlers, he was Linked to Flux, an organic metal that had the ability to store and shape energies. His flesh and bones were saturated with the permanently-active particles. Through generations of genetic manipulation with lichendose and the countless strains of the Flux pervading their environment, there had been, over time, a gradual but inexorable change from their original forms as earth’s surface-dwelling humans.
At over seven feet tall, and close to six hundred and fifty pounds, Nifty would be considered a giant among topsiders. In Submantle he was only slightly larger than average for a Rocklinker. Unfortunately, this left Linkers and even the Ascendants, who dealt with Flux at arms length, highly sensitive to Jax’s Scourge, and could make any mission into an area like the Gears very uncomfortable.
Threading their way between two fire-blackened cargo buildings, the pushsnouts pulled up sharply; their ears swiveled forward as they tasted the air with their great noses, sensing danger. Some distance ahead, two flickering red dots came into view, dancing in the air.
In a heartbeat, Nifty’s arc-shot was out, a disc loaded, in readiness for a quick sling. The Link surged across his jacket, helmet, boots and arc-shot, extending his senses.
Nifty froze in his saddle, his muscles tense, as he watched two of the dusters return, their wings flashing red, signaling danger. Standing up in his stirrups, he peered into the hazy distance. He could see two of the dusters, but not the third—slagg, hopefully it hadn’t encountered trouble. As they flew nearer, he recognized Dart and Ryder, neither appeared hurt.
“Is everything all right?” boomed Scotty, across the platform.
Both dusters immediately flickered orange, the signal for ‘no immediate threat’, before returning to red, and were soon close enough to communicate properly.
Dead man at inside gates, fresh dead. Floe waiting, watching, Dart signaled excitedly, landing on Grunt’s pommel.
“How? Are there any soldiers?” asked Scotty, his eyes darting between the duster and the far wall of the cavern.
No other danger. Man smells burn with machine. No other mans, the duster replied, and as usual the tiny creature looked rather pleased with itself.
“Well this is an unfortunate turn of events,” said Scotty, vexed. He looked at Nifty. “This needs to be reported to a shield patrol immediately.”
Nifty cringed inside; he knew that a dead body would complicate their investigation considerably. “Well, the body is not going to get any deader. I don’t know if we can afford to waste time going to another Gears, not to mention explaining to the patrol what we’re doing here in the first place.” His arc-shot hissing loudly as he released the charged disc and re-holstered it.
“Agreed,” Scotty sighed, clearly struggling with the idea. “Damn rules! We need to at least confirm the dusters’ report, and if that means getting a closer look at the lock system, so be it.” He seemed satisfied he had circumvented protocol, and his own qualms. “Nifty, I think we should go on as planned, but if anything happens, you go high and I go low. We won’t be filing a complete report, so you don’t have to hold back, and I certainly won’t.”
“Grunt, Snort, no faster than a trot, if you please,” instructed Scotty, then to Nifty, “Sounds like a typical Flux burn to me. I’m beginning to think the seismic council may have already sent out their own people.”
“Seems like it, probably an academic type with no experience in the field,” pondered Nifty. “What a waste.
The stifling haze that had enveloped them when they left the delve-train had lessened now they were deeper inside the station, and the outer keep of the service bays were slowly becoming discernible. Once they crossed the lowest cog, they began the ascent to the next series of ramps.
They reached the perimeter walls, which protected the storage bays that lay just outside the machine room doors. They were high and thick, made from interlocking heatstoked sheets of metal. Their bronze-colored surface shimmered from the reflected magma far below.
To his surprise, Nifty could see that the security gates were sealed shut permanently: a massive seam of welded metal ran between them, fusing them together. “Well, this doesn’t seem normal,” he commented. Most bay-gates remained shut, granted, but they should at least be functional. These welds looked permanent.
“Hmmm.” Scotty sidled Grunt up to the gates. He contemplated the uppermost point of the wall, one hundred feet above. “How do you suppose our friend got inside, to the courtyard?”
Before Nifty could answer, Ryder plunged down from above, landing on Snort’s head. With a loud, chirping sound, she signaled. Something coming!
She then lay flat, with all four wings fanned out across her body and head. The fine hairs covering her skin shimmered and she changed color. Like a chameleon, the duster blended in seamlessly with Snort’s thick brown hide, wrinkles and all.
Nifty turned in his saddle and looked back across at the Gears. Movement amongst the outbuildings caught his eye and Nifty reached for his arc-shot once again. “Scotty, to your right, half a mile out,” he warned his companion. Something was moving towards them, fast. “It looks like… a... hyber-ram?” he added as the fully-saddled and rider-less creature’s details finally became clear.
“Its fool of a rider is probably our explorer inside; no doubt the ram was spooked when its rider didn’t return.” Scotty frowned as he considered the approaching animal. “I’m surprised a shield patrol hasn’t nabbed it yet. Nifty, you do the talking, I have no patience for these rams and their manners.”
The hyber-ram slowed to a canter, then to a cautious trot as it neared the Rangers. Without prompting, the pushsnouts aligned themselves, shoulder to shoulder, heads lowered, forming a broad, tusked, defensive wall.
“That’ll do,” shouted Nifty with authority. He held up a hand as the lone ram neared. “Name and origin, please?”
The hyber-ram skidded to a halt, its dappled silver-grey coat bristling. Though less than half the girth of the pushsnouts, it was still an impressive creature. Its silvery-black horns curled sharply away from its bearded jaw, supported by a thick muscular neck and heavy shoulders. With a tapered yet muscular body, it was a well-built beast, notorious for its ramming speed. However, this particular creature was slightly smaller than the mounts normally used by Rangers. Examining the civilian-style saddle and packs, Nifty recognized it as Rocktower tack. There was no mistaking the workmanship.
The hyber-ram stamped a razor-sharp hoof aggressively and snorted loudly. Your name, your origin? It mimicked haughtily, its bloodshot eyes belying its aggressive stance.
“Listen, we don’t have time for this. I’m Nifty and this is Scotty. Rangers from Rocktower. Where is your companion?” he inquired resolutely, calmly laying his arc-shot across his saddle. “Or would you prefer us to leave you here when we go?”
The ram thought over the prospect briefly and, to their surprise, the normally-proud beast capitulated immediately. No
leave me, no leave me, me tell, me tell, it signaled, presenting its side and lowering its head in submission. Wandering rider-less around the station had clearly frayed the poor creature’s nerves to near breaking.
Nifty winced as he examined the ram more closely: angry, red gashes covered its flank. The wounds were at least a few days old. As tough as it was, it was clear the beast was physically exhausted, its muscles quivering involuntarily beneath its silver fur from prolonged efforts to stay alert.
I Buttar, Rocktower home, too. Man not companion, worker, man climb wall, scream. I think, man no live, the ram signaled resignedly. Other mans leave with train.
“Other man? Who? When?” asked Nifty asked, shocked by the shameful behavior. Abandoning one’s comrade, leaving the poor animal to fend for itself, was beyond reproach.
Buttar stared blankly at Nifty and the boars as if confused by the question. Mans come over wall, it signaled, indicating the gates. He come without screaming man, tell me wait, then man leaves.
“Well, this is a fine mess,” sighed Scotty. “We can’t afford to get embroiled in details right now, but I’m sure–Buttar, is it?–will be willing to expose this coward once we’re safely back on the train. For now, I trust you can keep the scoundrel’s scent in mind until we return to Rocktower.”
Nifty studied Buttar, who continued to stare at them with nervous uncertainty as he continually shifted stance. He had considered questioning the ram further, but decided that Scotty was probably right. It was difficult to get any useful results when interrogating an unfamiliar creature at the best of times, and the Gears was hardly the place for it. He unbuckled the cylindrical medical kit from the saddle behind him and slid from his seat.
Scotty, satisfied the ram was cooperating, dug into his pack for a power cud. Despite jealous squeals of protest from Grunt, he tossed it to the ram, who caught it neatly with a quick flip of its head.
The senior Ranger then approached the ancient metal gates and reached out to grab an almost-invisible climbing rope resting against the burnished surface. Straining to see how high it went he shook his head. It was undoubtedly how the hyber-ram’s rider had climbed into the machine room’s outer courtyard beyond.
“Well, we’re faced with a decision here, lad. We can retrieve the body for identification or we could alert a patrol to what we’ve found.” Scotty huffed and looked up again. “Then we can go about finding ourselves a more accessible machine room.” He returned his gaze to the station, squinting at the barely-visible entry tunnels far above.
“We don’t have time to go somewhere else,” Nifty answered glibly. “With that dreadnaught on our doorstep we’re taking our chances already. Plus, we’re Rocktower Rangers, who else has the mettle to go in there?”
“I thought you might agree,” the senior Ranger replied. “Buttar’s harness indicates they’re from Rocktower. If that proves to be true, then I think our best option is to take the body with us. That way, no patrol needs to be alerted.”
“Retrieving the body is the right thing to do, the family needs to know what happened,” agreed Nifty, “but I’m beginning to wonder whether the gates weren’t welded shut for good reason.”
As Scotty considered this, Nifty dug out a jar of lichenbalm from the medical kit. Buttar recognized it and presented his wound, eager to finally have the festering gashes dealt with. Removing a glove with his teeth, Nifty turned his body to shield his hands from the heat of the falls and quickly smeared a finger-full of the oily paste across the ragged wounds along Buttar’s side.
Nifty turned back to his partner and grinned as he watched Scotty studying the gates a little more closely. “The Fergraniteson brothers would have made short work of these gates already and have been halfway back to the delve-train by now. So let’s just get going. None of this half- a-day business—we go in, get the body, roto-scan the key hole, and get out, alright?”
“Absolutely, lad,” said Scotty, smiling. He looked over to the pushsnouts. “You two will have to stay here. Can I depend on you to make our guest welcome?” he inquired, nodding towards Buttar. “And if anything happens, do not engage; try to signal us, and then retreat immediately,” he added, his voice echoing off the impossibly high gates.
Ram stay, Snort and Grunt run, then signal, Grunt snuffled. Both pushsnouts were wheezing hard at the jest, butting their enormous tusked heads sideways into each other enthusiastically.
We signal from train, we signal from train, added Snort, sending Grunt into another laughing fit.
Scotty cracked a reluctant smile, and let them have their fun for a moment, then held up a hand. “Yes, yes this is all very funny, now would you two mind focusing on the task at hand?” Scotty looked to Nifty, who was busy packing away the medical kit. “What do you think, wheel and glide?”
“Worked well in the past,” said Nifty, nodding in agreement.
From the saddle pack at Snort’s side, he unpacked the climbing rope and a pair of fist-and-boot rollers. He briefly considered the holster containing his punch-picks, but thought better of it. They were excellent tools for tight work, but as he considered the size of the gates once more, he doubted he would need them in the cavernous space beyond.
Slotted to the pommel of Snort’s saddle for easy access was one of his launchers. He’d noticed Scotty grabbing his and decided to do the same, snapping it into place where one of his hip holsters usually sat and then turning to the gate.
“Good, I was in no mood to cut through this thing.” Scotty frowned at the walls before walking back to Grunt.
Nifty knew from experience that the senior Ranger was having second thoughts about the climb. The older he got the less keen on his feet leaving the ground he seemed to be.
“Should have brought Daisy with us,” complained Scotty, as he went through Grunt’s pack and removed a small shoulder bag and his own grasp-and-boot rollers.
“Why don’t I just climb to the top and set up a pulley?” suggested Nifty, trying to hide amusement at Scotty’s discomfort. “Grunt can just pull you up.”
“The day I can’t climb a simple gate is the day I hang up my boots,” declared Scotty, with a wry smile.
“Let’s do this, old timer,” jabbed Nifty.
He plugged one end of the rope into a purpose-built receptacle on his belt and dropped the rest of the long coil to the ground. Grabbing the other end of the thin blue line, he inserted it into a similar port on Snort’s saddle.
“Ryder, you’re with me, but you two will be staying out here,” Nifty instructed the boars as he dialed through the rope’s color changes. “Keep an eye on the rope as usual, but this time yellow means a slow pull, and red means run, then circle back once I pop the connection.” He fastened a pair of small pulleys to his belt and started towards the gate.
We run, we run, replied Grunt.
But first we eat Buttar, added Snort, looking hungrily at the ram. Cud still in tummy. Cud still in tummy, he signaled, a stern look on his face, before his resolve broke, and he and Grunt descended into a bout of amused snuffling once again.
Buttar’s head whipped up immediately and he glared at the boars. Nifty, with no small amount of effort, finally managed to settle the ram down, assuring him that the boars were only joking, eventually encouraging the injured ram to take some much needed rest. When everything looked to be in order, he joined Scotty at the gates.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nifty assessed the doors for the best path to the top as he took a couple of deep calming breaths and pushed to the side his apprehension about what may lay behind them. He dropped his boot-rollers to the ground and stomped his feet into the bindings, so the wheels lined up with the front inner edge of the boots. They started to hum quietly as power from the boots activated their magnetic fields. He placed hand-held rollers on the wall, and waited for them to calibrate to the heat-stoked surface and fully magnetize. Scotty holstered Surge on his back to follow suit and, with a simple nod, they began their climb.
Nifty took the lead,
gliding up the sheer face like a silk-bomber on a thread, the pivoting wheels allowing him to almost run up the colossal gate. By the time his older companion had finished hauling himself over the edge, Nifty had already attached a pulley to either side of the broad ledge at the top of the doors.
Still breathing hard from the climb, Scotty signaled for him to crouch, and lifted the helmet’s heat veil to place a far-scope to his eye. From their vantage, they could see the long entry boulevard that extended half a mile from the outer gate. Massive storage racks stretched for miles in each direction along the walls, filled with parts for both the Gears and the engine room.
Nifty had rarely witnessed such a sight. “That is truly amazing,” he said, after letting out a low whistle.
“‘Tis indeed, the ancients were nothing if not thorough,” noted Scotty.
“No,” countered Nifty, standing up to get a better view. “I mean it’s amazing that none of these parts have been used. No breakdowns of any of the major functions for fifteen hundred years. That’s an incredible thing.”