The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

The moment of silence that followed lasted over ten minutes. Every eye was closed shut while the lanterns burned on the stage behind Hum.

  He broke the silence by clearing his throat. He opened his eyes as others started to emulate him.

  “Though we mourn, we must remember that their spirits are everywhere around us,” King Hum said. “Though that hole in our heart feels empty, they are still there. They have joined the beautiful spirit of our dear Earth and our beloved Lord. This is a joyous thing, and therefore, a celebration is in order. Join me in a feast as we honor the memories of those we’ve lost with fondness! We will be reunited one day!”

  “We will be reunited one day!” the crowd echoed.

  Despite the end of his speech, King Hum was sullen when Ethan and Tera joined him at his table. His face seemed to lighten up a little as he saw them, but it only lasted a moment. His mechanical features fell back into numb pain as they took seats across from him.

  “I’m glad you could join me,” he said, offering them a plate each. When they waved them away, he simply set them on the table. “I know I don’t need to eat, but it still calms me.”

  “War on the Council?” Tera said, cutting to the chase.

  Hum nodded as he picked up a square of steak. “I see the error of refusing to help you,” he said. “They must be stopped.”

  “What’s the next step, then?” Ethan asked. He looked at the meat in Hum’s hand like he was reconsidering taking the plate.

  “We’ll need help,” King Hum answered. “We lost so much in the raid — we can’t possibly defeat them without allies.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Tera said. “Hopefully they won’t turn us down when we come asking for help.”

  Hum ignored the sour inflection. “The People’s Union, maybe. But not Opes. Not if we play our cards right.”

  “Then I suppose you have a plan?”

  “Yes,” the young monarch said, tossing the meat cube in his mechanical mouth and chewing. His expression grew annoyed as he realized there was no flavor to it. “We can think about our next move later — this time is for the dead.”

  Envoys

  King Hum’s guards let Ethan and Tera into the throne room without so much as a word. They were summoned first thing in the morning, but it seemed that the I.I. monarch was up some time even before then.

  The throne room looked much more like a study than it had before. It was like some blind librarian took over the chamber, leaving things about on tables he brought in and abandoning them forever. Books were open with bits of paper scattered over them. King Hum stood behind his desk where his throne customarily was. He was frowning down at a map and a handful of letters stacked beside it. He didn’t look up when the two foreigners entered the room.

  King Hum had holed himself up in the palace ever since the feast ended the day before. Though he gave the eulogy in public, he still felt inclined to hide from his subjects. He wanted as few Opesians as possible to be aware of his…defect. The linen wrappings served their purpose when he was in public, but he had to restrict his movement to keep up the charade.

  Most of the citizens thought their king was wounded — badly burned — as they assumed by his bandages. They dared not pry about the circumstance of his mysterious injury, but all assumed the Council was behind it. The tragic loss of the raid and the apparent wounds on their king sent them in a fury. Almost every adult capable of fighting was ready to march on Shell City. Still, they waited for the order from their king, sharpening their blades and practicing their skills in the meantime. The young king did nothing to dispel the rumors surrounding his appearance. In fact, it benefited him to let them think whatever they wanted to.

  Gauge sat across the desk from King Hum, sandwiched between it and another table. He was writing something in a journal, stopping every now and then to look up and think.

  Adviser Orram entered behind Tera and Ethan while they were still waiting for someone to take notice of them. He pushed them aside gently as he strode to the King. Hum looked up finally as Orram whispered something in his ears. He nodded, then made eye contact with the new pair.

  “You’re here,” he said. “Good. Then we can begin.”

  There were a pair of chairs in the corner of the room that Hum gestured to. Tera grabbed two of them and they both took their seats at the desk.

  King Hum waved his open palm over the map as if showing off a game-winning hand of cards. Everyone took note of the dotted lines and the geographic features of the map, in the middle of which was a large star labeled OPES.

  “This is the country that surrounds the kingdom,” he started, looking at each attendant as he spoke. He pointed down at the dotted lines that separated the region like cuts on a butcher’s diagram. “These are the territories of our closest neighbors. It’s these neighbors that we’ve got to win over and recruit to our side. In the west, we have the Battalion and the Republic of Orange. To the south, a tribe of installed intelligences who call themselves the Ghosts. In the north, we have Truck’s Raiders to appeal to, and to the east is the Gearhead Guild. Each of us will be tasked with recruiting one of these factions.”

  Ethan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the plots of land depicted on the map. Gauge nodded as he listened.

  King Hum turned to his adviser, who stood just to the side of the desk. “Orram, my most trusted adviser,” he said. “You will be visiting the Republic of Orange. You’re familiar with their traders, so you’re our best representative. Remember, they are a corporate government. Capitalism is their god. Appeal to their greed and it should be a matter of numbers before they join us.”

  “As you command, your grace,” Orram replied, bowing.

  The king’s glowing eyes locked onto Gauge’s, who stopped his scribbling to pay attention. “We’ll be sending you to the Ghosts,” he explained. “They may be sympathetic to your cause. Like you, they are I.I.s who loathe the Council, but instead of mounting a resistance, they fled. They can be found living in a large cavern to the south, in the badlands. They aren’t too fond of humans, so you’re the best fit, Gauge.”

  “Speaking of humans,” Hum continued, his gaze shifting to Ethan, “I want to send you to the Gearhead Guild.”

  “The Gearhead Guild?” Ethan repeated. The words felt ridiculous leaving his lips.

  “That’s right,” King Hum replied. “They’re not a nation or tribe like our other neighbors. They are a network composed of hundreds of independent landowners — most of them farmers and ranchers. Don’t let that throw you off, though — they drive battle-ready armor mechs instead of tractors. They keep to themselves, but that doesn’t mean they won’t put up a unified fight in the face of a common enemy. They’ve got a bit of a phobia of I.I.s, however — otherwise, I might go myself.”

  King Hum turned to Tera, who waited for her turn patiently. “Ms. Alvarez, I will be sending you to negotiate with Truck’s Raiders to the north.”

  Tera recoiled a little at the name. She looked across the desk at the young monarch with resistant eyes. Images of Abenayo and her time trapped in the ruins outside Shell City drifted through her mind.

  “Your grace, I’ve already encountered Truck’s people,” she said. “They kidnapped me and tortured me. I don’t think they’ll be inclined to offer us their help — and I’m not so keen on asking for it.”

  “It’s true: they are a nomadic band of liars, thieves, and murderers,” King Hum replied. “But they’re also outcasts, just like us. They hate the Council. That hate motivates them more than anything. More than greed, more than survival. I know you’re not fond of them, Miss Alvarez, but I think you’re the only one with the firm temperament to impress them.”

  Tera opened her mouth to protest further, but decided against it.

  King Hum scanned over all their faces before continuing. “I will meet with the Battalion myself,” he said. “They are a nation of former military personnel who clustered together in the west, near the Rio Grande. I believe I can sway them to our side once I e
xplain our plan of attack.”

  “Which is what, exactly?” Gauge asked.

  “A work in progress,” King Hum replied. “Once we have our allies, we can worry about that. The next step depends on who we are able to persuade to go to war.”

  The room was quiet. King Hum gazed at each of them as they stared down at the map. Gauge jotted something else down in his journal. The air was heavy and somber, like a wake had just begun. The silence went on for a few minutes as they each contemplated the task before them.

  “You are dismissed,” King Hum said.

  Orange

  Orram had never seen buildings like those in Orange. Though he was Opes’ liaison between the two nations, he never visited the corporate republic based in the ruins of an old world city. It composed only a few blocks of what had once been Anaheim, the sundered gate of Disneyland visible from the rooftop Orram landed on.

  Despite its small size, or rather, because of its concentrated population, the Opesian had never seen a place so opulent. King Hum’s palace seemed like a decrepit hole compared to the sleek metal and plastic of Orange. Neon lights advertised products in holographic displays throughout the city, even on the landing pad. A number of vendors stood by the exit, hoping to catch any potential customers on their way into the building. They seemed to shy away from Orram as he left his autocar.

  They can tell I have no money, Orram thought sourly.

  A wave caught his attention. He turned to see a young man with a beak-like nose holding a small placard. It read ADVISER ORRAM, OPESIAN ENVOY.

  “I am Orram,” the old man said as he approached the sign-bearer.

  The young man double-checked his sign, as if unsure of who he was waiting for. Then his face lit up with a professionally-trained smile.

  “Orram, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “My name is Darius and it’s my job to escort you to your meeting.”

  “Very good,” Orram said. With a wave, he instructed Darius to lead the way.

  They took a short flight of stairs to a corridor, where they waited for an elevator that took them deeper into the skyscraper’s core. Once they were on the eleventh floor, the elevator opened up and Darius led the way out. A number of strangers in business suits and button-downs shoved their way into the lift, but Darius flowed around them like rain on a duck.

  They followed a hallway down the left, then the right, then left again. Every door they passed looked the same; were it not for the brass plaques next to each entrance, anyone could get lost in here. Eventually, they came to the first set of double-doors the Opesian had seen.

  “This is the conference room,” Darius said, turning to face the adviser. “Wait until the light above the doorway turns green before going in.” He indicated the little L.E.D. device near the ceiling. “Their meeting should be wrapping up shortly. Feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

  Orram turned and noticed the tacky armchairs against the opposite wall. He gave the young man a short nod of thanks before taking his seat and fixing his eyes onto the dim lights above the door.

  After an hour, Orram decided he had waited long enough. The light above the door never changed, not even offering a flicker of illumination. He assumed it was malfunctioning, but continued to doubt himself as time dragged on. Finally, with a huff of indignation, he rose and pushed the double doors open.

  A voice stopped in the middle of its statement as the Opesian pushed his way into the conference room. The walls were bare and white except for two large glass windows that looked out over the city. A potted plant dominated each corner while the middle of the room was reserved for an enormous table. At least a dozen people sat around the table while a woman stood at the far end of the room in front of a projector screen. Orram couldn’t decipher the charts and graphs on display, but they were his last concern as every eye turned to him.

  He froze for a second like he walked in on someone using the bathroom. For a moment, he doubted that Darius led him to the right room.

  “Can we help you?” the woman at the front of the room asked. Her hair was auburn, cut to a precise shoulder length with uniform curls at the ends. Her face had some wrinkles, but it was apparent she took measures to reduce them.

  “I’m sorry. Yes,” Orram said. His tone quivered with uncertainty. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

  “Your name?” the woman asked so quickly that the old man almost felt like he was interrupted.

  “Adviser Orram,” he replied. “Of Opes.”

  “Orram, yes,” the woman said. Everyone else in the room remained silent as she put on a smile just as fake as Darius’s. “We are just wrapping up our presentation on autocar fuel supplies. If you don’t mind waiting — ”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Orram interrupted, “but this can’t wait.”

  A muscle in the woman’s chin pulsed with annoyance. She took a deep breath, however, and moved around the table to approach Orram.

  “Orram, my name is President Euring,” she said, extending her hand. He took it and shook it. “I’m currently the leader of the Board of Orange. Normally, I’d kick you out for interrupting my meeting, but I’ll overlook it as a cultural misunderstanding. You’re here now and you seem to think your issue supersedes all others, so please, say what you came here to say.”

  Great first impression, the old man scolded himself.

  “I’ve come to ask for aid,” he started. “Aid against a force that threatens us all: the Council. Specifically, it’s stronghold in Shell City.”

  “You’ve come to ask us to join a war,” a man with round spectacles commented from the table.

  “Jeffers, please,” President Euring snapped at the seated man. She gestured for Orram to continue.

  “Last week, the Council launched an attack on my people and our allies,” he carried on. “We lost thousands of lives. In response, my king has declared war on the Council. Understand that this incident doesn’t stand alone — it is just the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Aside from attacking peaceful people, the Council is guilty of kidnapping, torture, mutilation, and tyranny. They must be stopped.”

  “Wars are expensive, Orram,” Euring started. “You’re asking us to risk so much for, what? To stop a few warlords? They don’t bother us from their domain in Shell City. It seems to me that this is not our fight.”

  “It won’t seem that way when they march on the Republic of Orange,” Orram replied. “They will certainly come for all you hold dear once they are done with my people. Then, we won’t be around to come to your aid.”

  “If it were a costless effort, I’d help you in a heartbeat,” Euring said. “But our people will suffer if we go to war. Why trade in one suffering for another?”

  Orram thought for a moment. He wished to the spirit of God that he as quick-witted as those with fewer years under their belt. Calmly, he realized that wasn’t why Hum had chosen him to be his adviser, however. Orram’s strength wasn’t in snappy wit, but calculated appeal. His talent was understanding what a person valued most and how to use it to his advantage. Were I a more scrupulous man, he thought, I could be king.

  The Board of Orange didn’t care about stopping evil or protecting people. What they cared about were profits.

  “Have you ever heard of a simpod?” he asked, changing the course of his approach.

  Everyone in the boardroom raised their brow or furrowed it, including President Euring. She seemed to sense a larger game behind his question, but still took the bait.

  “I can’t say I have,” she replied.

  “They’re incubation chambers the Council uses to breed meat puppets,” he started to explain. “More specifically, it simulates whatever you want it to in what I’ve been told is painstaking detail. A friend of mine used to live in one. He said it was how they educated him, how they entertained him, how they honed his reflexes. The applications are vast, I’m sure.”

  There was a sparkle in Euring’s eyes as she listened. “Vast indeed,” s
he said, deep in thought.

  “That’s technology the Council has been hoarding for years,” Orram said. “Can you imagine, though, how useful such a device would be to you and your people? I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to buy them, providing you weren’t locking people up in them like the Council does.”

  “Hmm,” Euring replied.

  “The simpod is only one piece of the tech the Council has kept from the world,” Orram continued. “I can only imagine the treasures you’d find in Shell City — that is, if it were liberated somehow. There’d be no way to get that tech with the Council in charge, though.”

  “I suppose not,” Euring replied. The others at the table murmured with each other, discussing the monetary possibilities of such an endeavor.

  “This is the best shot we have of getting rid of them,” Orram said. “Join us, and all that lucrative tech can be yours.”

  Euring straightened her posture and sized the old man up. “Very well,” she said. “We will draft up a contract and send it to your king.”

  Orram released a sigh of relief. He wanted to do somersaults of joy, but he kept his demeanor cool. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little dirty about his manipulation.

  Better not abuse that, he reminded himself with an internal chuckle.

  Ghosts

  To say the cavern Gauge landed outside was huge was an understatement. The mouth that led into it was large enough to fit one of the Union’s gunships through, and the interior only seemed more gargantuan from what he could see.

  The Ghosts lived only an hour’s flight from Opes to the south. Gauge parked his autocar in a small clearing in the shadow of the mountain the tribe called their home. When he stepped out, a pair of bodyshells with faded paint jobs and desert shawls greeted him and searched him for any weapons. When they cleared him, he was escorted into the cave. One of the bodyshells introduced himself as Tain.