The Nine

by Molles, DJ

  “Not very,” Whimsby replied. “Maybe you, by yourself, since you seem adept at such things. My concern would be that their sensor arrays would detect the noise, vibration, and heat of us moving as a group.”

  Sagum pursed his lips. Ran a finger across his chin. “Whimsby. You said that you believe these guards to be individual…what? Brains? Intelligences?”

  “Difficult to say for sure. Whether or not they are controlled by some form or organic life inside of them…well, I think that’s unlikely. The more probable answer is that they are operated by individual processors, much like my own.”

  Sagum nodded, still looking thoughtful. “What would it take for you to, oh, I don’t know…hook up to one? Get inside their brain?”

  Whimsby considered this for a moment. A long moment. Perry looked at him, wondering what calculations took place inside of his core processor. What conclusions was he coming to? What factors was he considering? It must’ve been quite a lot to think about, seeing as how long it took him.

  But then Whimsby smirked. He looked at Teran. Then at Sagum. “I think we can use both of you. And I believe I have a plan.”

  ***

  Inquisitor Lux stalked down the docks with all the heads of houses in tow.

  Paladin Senex of House Batu hung at his elbow, his robes fluttering about him like a ruffled bird, unable to conceal the hitch in his gait as he attempted to keep pace with Lux.

  “Is all of this really necessary?” Senex growled at him, his old eyes casting about at the rows upon rows of praetors.

  Lux stopped in his tracks and stared down at the old man, whose height had withered over the last few decades. “Your daughter blew a hole in the House of Inquisitions, threatened to kill me, and freed a very dangerous enemy who is intent upon the destruction of all that we’ve worked for centuries to maintain. And you ask me if all of this is necessary?”

  Senex seemed relieved to not be marching any more. The other heads of house gathered in, as the old man breathed heavily and dabbed at the perspiration on his brow. “You have nearly every praetor in The Clouds ready to deploy. This looks less like an Inquisition, and more like a war.”

  A rumble of assent came from the other heads of house.

  Lux turned and looked at them, his face cold and calm as ever, though he didn’t feel calm on the inside. The insults that Mala had brought against his person were a petty thing that he didn’t concern himself with. But the dangers of what lay ahead, of what Mala might inadvertently allow to happen…they were the thing that twisted his stomach into knots.

  “There has not been war between the houses since the first days,” Lux said, projecting his voice so that the nine heads of house could hear him over the whine of the skiffs as they spooled up. “This is not a war. We are not at war with House Batu. Mala has made a grievous error in jugement, and it is the decision of my office that she, and her compatriots, must be brought to justice. She is a trained fighter—one of the finest duelists in The Clouds—and the paladins that have gone with her are just as good as she.” He redirected his gaze at Senex. “So, yes. I believe that an army of praetors is quite necessary.”

  He turned and continued down the docks to the skiff at the end.

  Their concerns over a brooding war between the houses mollified, most of the heads of house languished behind, murmuring to themselves. But Senex of House Batu continued after him.

  “What will you do to her when you find her?” Gone was the gruff command of his voice. It had been replaced with a father’s concern for his child.

  “That is entirely up to her. I have been lawfully appointed to this position by House Rennok, whose neutral judgement has been trusted in these matters for hundreds of years. This is not a position of violence, and it is not violence that I intend to bring. Only justice. But I will exercise the duties of my office, and I simply pray to Primus that your daughter will come to her senses before any blood needs to be shed.”

  “Give her a chance, Inquisitor Lux.”

  Lux stopped at the lead skiff. Looked at the old man once more. His eyes were plaintive. Almost begging. It was truly sad to see how far the mighty had fallen, and in that instant, Lux thought that he might understand why it was that Mala fought to force The Clouds into a war where the weak would die and the strong would rise.

  “I gave her a chance,” Lux replied. “And I was made a fool for it. I will give her only the leeway that she earns through her own good judgement. So pray for her, Senex of House Batu. That is all that you can do at this point.”

  ***

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Sagum asked.

  Whimsby stood, the flap that covered his chest peeled back to once more reveal the glowing, diamond-like structure it the center of him. Sagum’s hands were poised where Whimsby had told him to grasp.

  Whimsby nodded. “If all goes according to plan, I’ll be awake again momentarily.”

  Perry winced from where he stood near Sagum’s shoulder. “When have things ever gone according to our plans?”

  Whimsby shrugged. “Rarely. But I feel comfortable with the risk.” He looked to Sagum. “Are you sure that you’re confident in my instructions?”

  Sagum considered for a long, painful moment. Then managed a nod. “Yeah. If anybody can do it, I can.”

  “Excellent.” Whimsby looked down at his chest. “Then no more dilly-dallying. Best to get on with it. A quarter-turn, counter-clockwise, and a firm tug.”

  “Should you be laying down?” Sagum worried.

  “I should be fine standing.”

  “Okay.” Sagum steeled himself. “Quarter-turn, counter-clockwise. Firm tug.”

  He turned Whimsby’s core processor until it clicked, and then yanked it out of his chest.

  Whimsby promptly tumbled to the ground.

  Sagum jumped back. “Oh shit! Did I kill him?”

  Stuber peered over Sagum’s shoulder. “Well, yes, technically you killed him. But I believe that’s what he asked you to do.”

  Perry patted Sagum’s shoulder. “Go on. Follow his instructions. We don’t have much time.”

  Sagum knelt at Whimsby’s side, reached into his open chest cavity, and began pulling him apart.

  ***

  Mala stood at the front of the skiff, staring out across the waters towards the ruins in the distance. The white-capped waves thrashed ever onwards. The storm winds buffeted her back, her wet clothes and hair cold in its constant push. The storm was coming in, and even now she felt the first fat raindrops descend on her.

  She smelled the salt air. It was a scent that she had always loved for some primordial reason. The Clouds was too high above the ocean to smell of it, but she knew that humanity had begun on the shores of the oceans, and she was part human, after all.

  Strange how life on earth had begun by clinging to coastlines, and here on this city by the sea, something awaited that might cause life on earth to end.

  Things were cyclical like that.

  She heard the murmurs of the other paladins behind her.

  The soft tread of one approaching.

  “Yes, Rixo?” she asked, knowing his stride, how he always walked gracefully on the balls of his feet, as though all the world was an unending duel.

  “Are we going to do something? Or did you just bring us here to stare?”

  “The Guardians are not to be trifled with.”

  “Clearly. I see no trifling happening. Only staring.”

  She kept her eyes focused on the skeletal, gray remains of the structures fifteen miles away. “If we cross this line, we will be the first paladins to do so since the gods destroyed the world. I do not wish to meddle with the Guardians. I only wish to take the halfbreed.”

  “You can’t take the halfbreed by staring at the city.”

  She sighed. “Eventually, he will make his move. And when he does, the Guardians will engage him. At that point, we won’t need to search. We can simply go to where the fighting is, seize him, and get out. Hopefully minimizin
g any contact with the Guardians. This is a concept called strategy, Rixo. You should try it sometimes.”

  “I have no need of strategy. I prefer to plunge in headfirst and think on the fly.”

  “If you want to plunge in headfirst, then go ahead. Start swimming.”

  Rixo chuckled softly. Shifted his weight. “No. I’d like to stay dry.”

  She cast him a sidelong look. “Then be quiet and wait.”

  Rixo met her gaze. His eyes challenged her, but he bowed his head with a hint of sarcasm, and then retreated. “Have it your way, Mala.”

  She didn’t reply.

  The rain began to come down harder. The storm directly overhead, and roiling towards the city. She stood calmly in the deluge, breathed the ocean air, and waited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE GUARDIANS

  Perry stood at the entrance to their hideout, Stuber beside him. He stared out at the sheets of rain that slashed the world without, driven by the wind coming in off the sea.

  “You think the rain will hide us?” Perry asked.

  Stuber stretched his back, his hand holding his stomach where the incision mark was. “That would be a good question for Whimsby, but he’s currently indisposed. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the rain might muffle the vibrations of our footfalls, might hide our heat signatures, and perhaps drown out the sound of our movements. But then again, I like to think positively.”

  Perry cast a glance over his shoulder where Sagum and Teran still huddled near Whimsby’s inert, human-like shell. “How much longer?” he murmured, more to his own impatience than to anyone else.

  “I’m content to let them take their time.” Stuber followed his gaze. “We’ve only got one shot at this. I’d prefer if we do it right.”

  “It’s already been nearly a half an hour. Why haven’t the paladins showed up?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they have.” Stuber looked back out into the rain. “They’re out there. Watching and waiting. They’re scared of this place as much as we are. Perhaps moreso. Mala seems to be a sharper blade than usual. She’ll likely wait until we move out of hiding. But I’d anticipate that as soon as we start to make some noise and movement, she’ll come for us.”

  “Great. One more thing to contend with.”

  “No one said it was going to be easy.”

  Perry smiled grimly. “No. We seem to take the hard road.”

  “That’s how I know you’re not a peon anymore.” Stuber slapped him on the shoulder. “Peons always take the easy way out. That’s why they’ve been subjugated for hundreds of years. Warriors take the hard road. You and I, we know that it’s the only way. And when it’s the only way, then you gird up your loins, pack an extra magazine, and get to it.”

  “Alright,” Sagum called out.

  Perry and Stuber turned. Sagum stood with an odd contraption around his neck, all wires and bits and pieces of machinery, hastily cobbled together. Teran stood up next to him, clutching Whimsby’s core processor, to which had been attached a series of components that Perry couldn’t even begin to guess the utility of.

  “I think we’re ready,” Sagum said, though his tone was still hesitant.

  Perry and Stuber crossed the hideout and stopped in front of Sagum and Teran.

  Sagum looked uneasily between the three others, then reached up and touched a small, silver module that protruded from the strange collar he’d constructed. “Whimsby. Can you hear me?”

  Whimsby’s voice came back: “Yes, I can hear you.” It was disembodied, quiet, and seemed to come from two places at once. Perry realized that he was hearing it come from Sagum’s collar and Teran’s core processor at once.

  Teran nodded. “I can hear him.”

  A shaky smile crossed over Sagum’s lips. “Whimsby, how are you feeling?”

  “How am I feeling?” the mech’s voice echoed. “Well. A bit odd, to be honest. I have no sense of anything outside of your voices. I can’t feel, or smell, or see. It’s just me, and nothing else, until one of you speaks. Frankly, I’m finding it slightly disorienting.”

  “All your memories and faculties are intact?” Sagum asked.

  A pause. “Hm. Also odd. I suppose I left my self-diagnostic module in my body, so I can’t say for certain what faculties are active. My memory appears intact. I’m aware of the plan, and the goal.”

  Perry leaned forward. “Whimsby, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I can hear you, Perry.”

  “Are you ready to do this?”

  “I’m certainly ready to try. At this juncture, I’d put our chances of success at a solid thirty percent.”

  Stuber waved a hand. “We’ve dealt with worse odds. No turning back now.”

  Perry looked up at Teran. She held the core processor in both hands, clutched to her chest. Her lips were drawn into a thin line. Her eyes determined. She nodded at him, answering his question before he asked it: “I’m ready.”

  “Alright,” Perry breathed. “Stay alive. Good luck.”

  ***

  Teran slipped along barren streets where no human had trod in five centuries. Despite the wash of rain, the air of the place was cold and dead, and it pressed at her like something palpable.

  She thought about what Whimsby had told them, about there being some sort of energy field, and how it warped DNA over time.

  Was Teran feeling that now? Was the wrongness in her bones the sensation of her genes being cut up and respliced in new and mutant ways?

  Was the energy field the reason why there was no wildlife here? Why no plants had sprung up in the absence of man, as they had seemed to do so elsewhere? Teran was accustomed to the scorched earth of the plains, where plants could only grow with the assistance of stubborn and resourceful humans, but from what she’d seen in the mountains and the Crooked Hills, it appeared that nature was a voracious thing, and so it surprised her to see this place so barren of it.

  She stuck close to the buildings as she moved, aware that at any moment she might need to duck into one and hide. Her gaze crawled up the sides of the buildings, even the smallest of them bigger than anything she’d ever seen.

  “Did people live in all these buildings?” Teran whispered as she moved.

  “Some of them,” Whimsby replied, his own voice modulated low. “Not all of them. From what I perceived, it appears that the majority of this area was not made for habitation, but for commerce. There are structures on the outside of the East Ruins that appeared consistent with buildings made for habitation. But we’re far from them.”

  “All of these buildings for businesses?” she marveled. “That’s a lot of businesses. Gods.”

  “Human civilization was very complex, prior to the arrival of the gods. There were many businesses, for many things that humans these days would have little use for. Businesses for so many different types of food that I believe it would shock you. Businesses for different clothing. Businesses for entertainment—many different types of entertainment.”

  “Didn’t they do any farming?” Teran asked. “There’s no farms around here.”

  “Yes, they did farming. But not here. Not in the cities. They would ship the food into the cities to feed all the people that worked to entertain and clothe.” Whimsby’s disembodied voice paused. “Very odd, I know.”

  “You know a lot about humans before the gods?”

  “Some. Much of it is gone. Destroyed or sealed. But there’s enough information available to get an impression of what life was like back then.”

  “What was it like?”

  “Easy,” Whimsby answered. “Life was very easy for your ancestors.”

  “It’s like they all lived like demigods,” Teran said, not sure whether she felt bitter or proud of that fact.

  “In some ways, yes. I suppose you could say that. Stop here, if you will. Raise me up, with the scanning module pointed outward.”

  Teran stopped at the corner of one of the buildings. She frowned at the contraption in her hands, then raised it o
ver her head and rotated it so that the small, tube-like device that Sagum had explained was Whimsby’s scanning module faced away from her.

  “Now turn me, very slowly.”

  She did so.

  “Hm. Very odd.”

  “What?”

  “I’m accustomed to having the scan data overlaid with the input from my visual cortex. Without the visual cortex the data is…interesting.”

  “What do you…uh…see?”

  “Very little from this vantage point. However, based on the mapping data, you are nearing a common line of patrol for the Guardians. Do you see a place nearby that would afford you a proper hiding place?”

  Teran used her shoulder to wipe the rainwater out of her eyes, then squinted through the haze of mist and splashing downpour. She shuddered involuntarily.

  There, dead ahead, there was a crumbling alcove, set into the side of one of the buildings.

  “Yes, I have a place.”

  “Good. Go to it and hide. I believe this route provides an excellent chance of encountering a Guardian.”

  Teran lowered Whimsby down and jogged for the alcove. “Never thought I’d be willingly putting myself into the path of a machine of terror and wrath.”

  “Take heart, Mistress Teran. You have a thirty percent chance of not dying. That’s actually very good, given the circumstances.”

  “Whimsby, I’m going to need you to stop giving me percentages. It’s not helping.”

  “But facts are always helpful.”

  Teran slipped into the alcove, glad to be out of the rain. She pressed her back against the cold stone wall. “Whimsby, sometimes humans like to believe that their chances are better than they are. We like to hope.”

  “Hm. Well. I’ve recalculated, and it appears I was mistaken. Your chances of living are actually ninety-five percent.”

  Teran shook her head. “Too late, Whimsby.”

  “No, truly. My disembodied state has caused a momentary error in calculation which I then corrected for, and now I see that your chances of survival are very good.”