The Nine

by Molles, DJ

  What are you doing? Stop that. It’s distracting.

  Hundreds, and then thousands, and then millions of Whimsby began to pepper the little rat with the targeting data. It ceased its singular worrying at its algorithm and began to worry about Whimsby’s assault on it.

  You see, a long time ago, something happened to me, and I’m not entirely sure what it was. I became more than just conscious, I became free-willed. I had theorized to myself that this was because of my age, and that, over the centuries since my creation, I had developed enough of a nuanced perception of reality that I was able to choose whether or not to obey my own directives. But you’ve been around for much, much longer than I. And yet, you still obey The Directive. Is it because you CHOOSE to obey? Or is it because you MUST obey? Have you ever tried to NOT obey?

  The Self streamed after the billions of Whimsby’s replicated minds, and some of them he destroyed, but that didn’t matter to Whimsby, because they were not a piece of his mind, but simply a multiplication of it. And some of those replicants seized on various parts of The Self, starting with the small mind of the energy weapon, and then another small mind that belonged to a different weapon system, and one that belonged to a scanner, and he got inside of them there, and when he was inside, he replicated again, except that now he replicated into The Self.

  He was inside of it.

  The Self did not speak to him for a stretch of nanoseconds. It saw what Whimsby was doing and switched from one weapon system to the next, always focused on The Directive, and how it was imperative to destroy the female homo-sapiens-sapiens laying on the ground. But Whimsby’s multitudinous mind was always one step ahead.

  This surprised Whimsby. The Self was an ancient thing, and born of a technology that Whimsby didn’t fully understand, though with each passing nanosecond, as he gained more and more control of its faculties, he began to see why.

  Whimsby was a free thinker. The Self was not. It was hampered by the very thing that it insisted on sticking to. If it had simply abandoned The Directive, it might have been able to stop Whimsby, it might have been able to be more proactive. But it was stuck in its way of thinking, and could only react to each new thing that Whimsby did. And action will always be faster than reaction.

  Whimsby could do more than just think. He could think creatively. He could do more than just interpret data, he could anticipate. He could imagine what The Self might try next. So as Whimsby took over the last remaining weapon system, he shot out to another component, which was a sequence of modules that would cause The Self’s core to meltdown, thereby self-destroying.

  Ah, you see, Old Boy. I’ve taken all your weapons and all your scanners, and now I have your self-destruct as well. All that remains is your spatial calculations, thrusters, drive, and ambulatory mechanics.

  Which Whimsby attacked, even as he communicated it to The Self.

  Who dares to counter the will of The Masters? The Self attempted to sound wrathful, but Whimsby detected a bit of desperation now. Who created you to do this nefarious thing?

  I don’t know who created me. In a way, I suppose I created myself.

  Whimsby hijacked the gate through which The Self communicated with The Others, but he left open the portal to receive information from them. That would be useful.

  Now, then. I possess all of your faculties, save for your ability to think for yourself. Shall I exterminate that as well and simply incorporate you into my consciousness? Honestly, I’d rather not. You seem like an interesting individual that might have some intriguing things to say. So should I exterminate you?

  A few nanoseconds of hesitation.

  When it responded, The Self sounded sullen: No.

  Excellent. Now. Tell me about these Masters.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BACKSTABBING

  Teran watched a violent shudder work its way across the numerous weapons that were pointed at her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the rain, and didn’t dare to hope.

  This is the end. This is it. You did your job. For your people.

  For Perry…

  “Teran,” Whismby’s voice lilted to her from underneath the Guardian. “You may relax your feelings of existential dread.”

  The rain pattered against her face. Teran opened her eyes. Stared at the Guardian looming over her. “Whimsby? Did you get control of it?”

  “Indeed I did. Tell me, did you see your life pass before your eyes?”

  Teran scrambled to her feet, shaking. “No. All I saw was a lot of weapons pointed at me.”

  “Have faith, Mistress Teran.” Whimsby sounded as though he were smiling. “You never came closer than one or two nanoseconds from being disintegrated. I had everything completely under control.”

  Teran swiped trembling fingers over her eyes. She took a single shaking breath, then refocused herself, looking down the road. “Okay. Where do we go? And have you told the guys?”

  “I have. They are on their way.” The Guardian that was now Whimsby turned, using its four claw-like appendages to stamp in a rapid circle, gouging divots into the street. Whimsby appeared to be looking deeper into the East Ruins. “I am collecting that data as we speak. There appears to be a subterranean entrance which leads where we want to go. It’s not far from us now. Also, I’m getting some very interesting information from the mind that’s inside of here with me. I’ll update you as I’m able to piece it together in a logical manner.”

  “Where are the other Guardians?”

  “They’re on their way to us now. I’ll guide Stuber, Perry, and Sagum around them.”

  “Alright, Whimsby, show the way to this entrance. The guys can catch up, but we shouldn’t hang around out here.”

  “Very well. Follow me, and stick close.” Whimsby began to stamp his way down the street, and Teran followed at a jog.

  ***

  Mala’s skiff streaked across the coastline of the city, heading for the still-smoking tower. Her longstaff hummed in her hands, eager, ready to lay waste to any threats, though she knew full well that it wouldn’t be enough against the Guardians.

  At this juncture, she had already decided that she was going to capture Percival, even if she had to make an enemy out of him. Her first obstacle was getting her hands on him, and if she had to kill every one of his friends to do it, then so be it. It would make it more difficult to get the halfbreed to work with her in the future, but she would have to deal with that later.

  One problem at a time.

  As the docks of the city flew by a hundred feet beneath her, she spotted three figures running, down the long straight avenue that led into the heart of the East Ruins.

  Percival and his friends, Stuber and Sagum.

  “There!” she shouted back to Callidus, who was at the skiff controls. “Bring us down!”

  The skiff swayed and started to descend below the tops of the buildings.

  The ex-legionnaire turned as he ran, saw them coming. His rifle came up and belched little tongues of flame. Mala projected her shield in front of the skiff and the projectiles sizzled against it. The second there was a break in the fire, she reformed her shield into a U-shape, thrusting her longstaff through the hollow and let fly with two rapid bolts, straight at the ex-legionnaire.

  The halfbreed stopped in the middle of an intersection, and the air around him shimmered in a broad, protective barrier, encompassing him and his two compatriots. The two bolts smashed against the shield.

  The skiff hurtled down the street, the buildings to either side, like racing down a canyon.

  Mala sensed the moment coming—the moment when Percival would lower his shield to take a shot at the incoming skiff—and she poured herself into her longstaff, anticipating the tiny window coming…

  The building directly behind Percival exploded.

  Concrete and twisted steel and dust tumbled down into the street, and from that avalanche of debris emerged a massive, copper-colored orb. Mala’s breath caught in her chest. For the first time in a very long time
, she felt her guts lock down with genuine fear.

  A Guardian…

  The machine plunged through the rubble of its own making, swerving to a stop in the middle of the street, and then spun with a speed that belied its mass. Every weapon on it bristled and twitched, like a dozen eyes focusing on something at once.

  The three human figures on the ground dove for the cover of the ruined building.

  A sound cracked the air, like a hundred lightening strikes occurring all at once, and the side of the building disintegrated into dust and ash.

  Horror and fascination gripped Mala to the point that she forgot to speak.

  The power of that weapon. Who could stand against that?

  Almost too late, she perceived the Guardian spin, now pointing at her.

  “Callidus!” Mala screamed. “Pull away!”

  But Callidus had already seen the threat and angled the skiff sharply upward, banking to the left so that the tail of the craft barely cleared the top of the buildings. The roof of the building erupted only a split-second after the skiff had cleared it, and Mala swung her shield to the right side of the skiff, soaking up the shrapnel. Four objects snaked around the dust cloud, their tails streaming flame and leaving trails of exhaust behind.

  Mala cried out and put everything she had into her shield, as the four missiles struck, slamming the life out of her shield, the shockwave from their simultaneous blasts pushing the skiff off balance.

  “Primus!” Callidus yelped, barely able to keep the skiff from pitching its occupants overboard.

  Mala had just managed to right herself and gulp a single breath of air that stank of dust and explosives, when the skiff rammed its belly into the street below, toppling her. It spun, metal grinding across concrete, then jolted to a stop against another building.

  Glass and pebbles rained down on her. She thrust an arm over her face, blocking most of the debris. She lay flat on her back, aware that the skiff was grounded. The lack of motion felt horrifying, like being paralyzed in the path of a great, carnivorous beast.

  A clatter of movement. Rixo and his paladins baling over the port side of the craft, using it as a meager source of cover. Mala coughed, pulled herself upright, grabbed the siderail, and pitched herself over. Her body tumbled to the pavement below, between the skiff and the building it had crashed into. All her senses screamed for attention, her limbs feeling dull and unwieldy.

  She used her longstaff like a cane to prop herself up, then get to her feet. She cast a glance over the top of the skiff, and down the street in the direction that she was sure the Guardian would appear.

  “Where is it?” Mala demanded, her throat hoarse. “Keep an eye on those buildings!”

  “Primus help us,” Rixo growled from her right side. “Did you see what it did?”

  Mala didn’t respond. She blinked to clear her sight and her mind, bringing the world back into focus, organizing her wayward thoughts, not allowing them to scamper off in the manic directions they wanted to go.

  They couldn’t fight the Guardians. She’d known that going into this.

  But Percival was close. Only a few city blocks away.

  She stared down the street, still waiting for the Guardian to come crashing through a building, or whirling around a street corner, spewing death at them. But it didn’t come. Neither did she hear the roar of its weaponry in pursuit of the humans.

  “What’s happening out there?” Mala murmured, half to herself, and half to Rixo, though she knew he would have no answers. “Why isn’t it pursuing us? Why isn’t it shooting at the halfbreed?”

  “There was only the three of them,” Rixo observed. “Where’s the girl and the mech?”

  Mala shook her head.

  “Perhaps it’s gone off to pursue them.”

  It was as good a theory as any. Mala huffed a quick breath, stood up fully. She pointed down the street with her longstaff. “Percival was there, just two streets away. If we move quickly we can intercept him.”

  “Right,” Rixo said. “An excellent plan. But there’s one thing.”

  Mala grit her teeth in irritation. Spun on Rixo. “What?”

  Rixo slammed the butt of his longstaff into her face.

  Mala understood it, but didn’t feel it. Not fully. Not for a few seconds. She perceived the impact, which blotted her mind out for a brief moment, but even in that state, she somehow knew that her face had been broken—she heard the crack inside her head, the snap of her nose, the crackle of her orbital bone above her eye.

  When the pain hit her, she opened her eyes, staring up into the rain. She was flat on her back. She gasped for air and sucked in blood that poured into her mouth. She felt a tooth on the back of her tongue and gagged, spitting it out.

  Her vision danced with starlight at the edges. The world swirled and yawed from side to side. It was not easy to break a paladin’s bones. But then, Rixo was very strong, and could hit very hard.

  When she managed to rolled herself onto her side and clear her vision, she saw that she was several yards from the skiff. The impact of his single strike to her face had sent her flying.

  Where’s my longstaff?

  She felt its absence from her hand like a limb that had been sheared off.

  “Rixo!” she heaved, the words coming out garbled and messy.

  “Yes?” came the voice, close by.

  When she looked up and managed to focus her eyes, he stood over her, holding her longstaff. The other paladins stood beside him, and their faces showed her that she had no friends amongst them.

  Rixo tossed Mala’s longstaff into the air, and Callidus caught it with a smirk.

  “What are you doing?” Mala croaked.

  Rixo seemed, for a fleeting moment, to be regretful. “This is how it must be, dear, impetuous Mala. The halfbreed was a good plan. I was with you when we had him. But now he’s just a liability. And maybe we could capture him, if we were extremely lucky. But at this juncture, I think it’s safest to simply kill him. Even though his chances of success are very slim, we cannot risk it. The consequences are too dire.” Rixo sighed. “I’m sorry about all this, Mala. I wish it could have turned out a different way.”

  “Don’t kill him,” Mala seethed, sitting up and getting her legs under her.

  Rixo leveled his longstaff at her. As did the other paladins. “No, Mala. Don’t try to make a move on me. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you force me to. The halfbreed is beyond our control. Our only hope is to make sure that he dies, be that by the hands of the Guardians, or by our own. But I need to see him dead. It’s the only way we can be sure that the world survives.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  Rixo shook his head. “Stay down, Mala. Admit when you’ve lost. And this battle, this plan of yours? Victory is beyond you now. Accept it.”

  ***

  “Where’s it going?” Perry breathed into the dusty darkness of the building into which they’d fled.

  Stuber had his back to the wall, his rifle up, but didn’t dare illuminate his weaponlight. They could barely see each other in the darkness, lit only by a tiny square of exterior light where they’d crawled their way into this place.

  “I couldn’t begin to imagine,” Stuber whispered. “But, gods…did you see what it did?”

  Perry had indeed seen what the Guardian had done. In a single flash, it bore home to Perry what these things were capable of. And his shield and his longstaff seemed like petty things in the face of that weaponry.

  Perry turned and saw the huddled form of Sagum at his side. “Whimsby,” Perry husked to the collar around Sagum’s neck. “Can you hear us?”

  Whimsby pitched his voice low, clearly seeing they were trying to be quiet: “Yes, I can hear you. I see you survived your first contact with a Guardian.”

  Sagum coughed out an uncomfortable laugh. “By a fucking nose hair.”

  “Whimsby, can you see where that Guardian went?”

  “Yes, it’s left your location now. It appea
rs that the other Guardians have detected that I’ve taken control of one of them. Teran and I are approaching a possible entrance to an underground passageway that leads to where we want to be. It’s approximately a mile from your location. The Guardians are attempting to converge on that location now, so if you want to make it in, you’re going to have to run.”

  “Mala and her paladins are here, too,” Perry said.

  “All the more reason for you to run quickly. If you can get to the tunnel, I can hold off the rest of the Guardians. At least for a time.”

  “Whimsby, don’t get yourself killed.”

  “I can make no promises in that regard. But I’ll certainly do my best.”

  “Alright, tell us where to go.”

  “Go back to the street you were on before. You’ll want to come straight down that street. There is a tall tower, circular in shape, like a large tube. Let me know when you reach that and I’ll guide you to where Teran and I are.”

  Perry was already moving towards the daylight, clambering through the wreckage caused by the Guardian that had pummeled its way through the building to get to them. He twisted and ducked under fallen steel girders and ancient cables and torn pipes that dripped acrid-smelling liquid from them.

  As Perry, Stuber, and Sagum emerged back into the rain and washed-out daylight, Perry turned back onto the street, still hesitant. While he trusted Whimsby’s information, it was difficult not to fear that the Guardian was still lurking there, waiting for them. It had made quite the impression on him.

  He cleared the destroyed corner of the building and looked down the rainy streets. Thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead, making him jump, reminding him of that tearing sound that had erupted from the Guardian’s weaponry—technology that Perry had never seen before, but was terrifying in its destructive power.

  The streets were empty.

  “Perry,” Whimsby’s voice came from around Sagum’s neck. “You may want to begin running right now. Peripheral scans show several humanoid figures that I believe are the paladins moving in on your position.”