by Lee Bond
Dave opened his mouth to … well, he reckoned to deny Master Nickels’ absolution of his terrible crime, but the set of the other man’s jaw and the warning look in Agnethea’s weird eyes suggested that doing so would be unwise.
Instead, then, he asked a question. “What now?”
“Well,” Garth drawled the word out long past any reasonable sense, “I’m gonna sleep for umpty-leven hours on account of I haven’t really slept since coming to Arcade City and, yeah, giant robot and all. Tires a guy out. While I’m doing that, Agnethea is gonna bugger off for the hills and you, dude, are going to work on making some beers and shit and after I’ve hoisted a few, I’m gonna Bill Bixby my way across …”
“The bloody hell you are!” Agnethea slammed a hand down on the table, sending the food flying, which –naturally- got Primrose’s metal bonnet all twisted up again. The matronly head began caterwauling in a badly broken Gaelic accent that had them all tilting their heads this way and that in an attempt to decipher what the poor girl was saying.
After a minute or so, Primrose shut her trap long enough for Agnethea to resume. Time now to follow The Engineers demands. For better or worse.
”As I said, the bloody hell you’re traveling alone. Which is what I assume you meant. You, sir, owe me an adventure. A proper one, not as a wee thing hovering on the shoulder of your, er, robot self. If you mean to do for the King as I know you do, then there’s every chance that The Dome will fall, and I refuse to, what, wander about the bloody countryside, smelling daffodils until it all comes crashing down and I am stricken dead? I couldn’t even do for any monsters! You done for the whole of them this entire side of the City! If I hain’t in the thick of things, Master Nickels… you hain’t going alone. I won’t say another word on the topic.”
Davram nodded in agreement. Free of guilt as Master Nickels may imagine he now was, the Brigadier turned bartender couldn’t help but feel responsible. For everything. “Aye, Master Nickels, your lady-friend,” he ignored the hooting laughter erupting from Garth and the snorting, rolled eyes from Agnethea herself, “has the right of it. For my part in things, and for long-ago cowardice that is at the root of why I stayed my hand when Jimmy tried to turn you, well, I shall travel alongside. Brigadier, Golem, and …”
“Engineer.” Garth whispered the word. It was happening again. All over. No matter how hard he tried to keep people away from him and the things he needed to do, they all but clambered over one another to throw their lives away. Because that’s what was going to happen.
Dave gave a cheerful nod. “Well then, Mistress Agnethea, Master Nickels, as I am the proprietor of this fine establishment and the two of you look like what the cat dragged in, I implore you both to catch up on your, er, sleep. Whilst you while away the rest of the day in repose, I will prepare gear and all for the upcoming journey. ‘twill take time to get all of it proper, as those things which are turned from King’s Will to regular items do take effort to get right. I shall see thee anon.”
Garth and Agnethea watched Dave disappear through the kitchen doors. When he was sure the Brigadier was out of earshot, he turned to her. “He didn’t talk like that when he was the fucking bartender. Is he gonna be doing a lot of that? Talking all proper and fancy?”
Agnethea nodded, lips pursed together. A Golem and a Brigadier, traveling together with the man who would destroy the world. Stranger bedfellows there had never been. “I am afraid so, Garth. Brigadiers were ever the sort to speak thusly, and now he’s decided to make up for past errors, I warrant he’ll be doing a lot of that. Comes with the mantle of Brigadier. I warrant there might even be a book of etiquette on the whole thing.”
“Ugh.”
“Ugh, indeed.” Agnethea rose, eyes cast at the stairs leading to, she presumed, sleeping quarters. “Well, I, for one, am going to take heed of the Brigadier’s suggestion. And you?”
Garth waved a hand. “I’ll be up in a couple minutes. Gonna eat a bit more.”
“By your leave, then.” Agnethea clomped up the stairs.
Garth smiled wistfully as Agnethea slammed the door to her room shut with finality. They’d come so far in such a short time.
When the Engineer was one hundred percent certain that he was alone and would be for a few minutes longer, he held the fingers of his left hand against the wood of the table. Like everything in Matron’s Head Pub, the table was a physical construct willed into existence by Davram’s connection to the Cloud.
Concentrating hard as he could, staring at the fine-grained wooden tabletop until he thought his eyes were going to burst, Garth willed something –anything- to happen.
Nothing. Nothing happened.
A faint, flickering surge or relief passed through him. Good. It was time to get some rest before…
Before everything ended.
***
“Well, shit.”
There was nothing else to say. Nothing else could be said.
Problems, my Lord King Barnabas Blake the One and Only?
“Knock off the sarcasm, Erg.” Barnabas threw an angry hand outwards, indicating the vast expanse of machinery that had –until very recently- been working properly, gearing The Dome towards that final, delicious moment when everything was ready to be destroyed.
That really were a dim possibility, now. And it were all his fault, weren’t it just? Barnabas Blake admitted to himself that he seemed to make the worst decisions when it came to Garth N’Chalez.
Following Garth through Arcade City as he’d gone on his terrible rampage of mad destruction had taken a lot of doing, and in some ways, it’d been worth it to witness –even secondhand- the man’s vicious methods of dealing with things he took offense to; though it would’ve been infinitely easier to infer the Kin’kithal’s destination via where he’d been, Barnabas had opted –foolishly - to burn Enforcer energy to keep an eye on things as they’d happened. ‘tween nearly gutting the remaining Enforcers and the prodigious amount of Kingsblood he’d funneled into that bastard…
“I am spent!” Barnabas howled the words and they rang through the rafters of his cavernous home.
Barnabas howled and howled again, feeling no better but not knowing what else to do. Everything was all a shambles. Everything. The One and Only couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish for so long and now, here, at the end of things … Garth N’Chalez hardly seemed worse for wear, while he, he, King Barnabas Blake, thirty thousand year monarch of the only nanotech civilization known to ever exist, barely held enough power in his hands now to summon forth a nice cup of coffee.
And the problem still persisted! Had –in fact- grown immeasurably worse.
I have been thinking, Barnabas
“Oh you have, have you?” Options. Barnabas needed options. The situation could be rallied, yes it could, he just needed to come up with some way of dealing with Garth that wasn’t too terribly costly. Naturally, there were reserves held back in the case of dire emergencies, but was on the fence still about N’Chalez.
Things were definitely heading down a dark and awful path, yet –in his Kingly wisdom- they weren’t quite bad enough to warrant total depletion.
They weren’t quite there, not yet. They were close though. There was very little wiggle room before the situation became truly unmanageable. One wrong move, one poor decision now and everything he’d spent his entire life planning for would get flushed down the toilet. There was room to recover. It had to be handled properly, was all.
I have. About Garth N’Chalez and his unique nature
Grinning slyly, certain that Erg hadn’t intended to reveal his position so clearly, Barnabas flicked a finger, violently blasting the disembodied spirit from his hiding spot for no other reason than it was a bit of fun. The CyberPriest gave an electronic squawk of dismay before bursting apart in a plume of monochromatic confetti. He’d realized ages ago that there was no getting rid of the psychic mite, so there really was nowt he could do but make the malingering mope’s weird life miserable now and again.
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br /> “I could always funnel a bit more power back into my dastardly Son.” Blake mused aloud. A few heartbeats later, his face flushed cherry red as he realized he’d spoken audibly so Erg may get his digs in.
Bollocks. His life had become utter, perfect bollocks since Nickels had walked in through the Geared Doors.
The King shook his head and got back on track. Returning unto Chadsik more of the power he held in reserve certainly held it’s advantages, least of all being the arrival of additional ideas with which to throw at N’Chalez until the fool died. Those Gunboys had been terrific, truly, if perhaps … a bit too grandiose. The destruction of Ickford had well been worth the cost of Dark Iron and power, but the calamity following that ruination …
“No one could’ve planned for that.” Barnabas griped, still turning the idea of powering Chad up a bit more over in his head. The lad had blown the fuses, as it were, getting in a few choice digs at the Nannies as they’d tried figuring out what to do with the destruction at Ickford.
With things the way they were in Arcadia now, if power were returned, his son may not regain proper consciousness. Worse still, he might break loose!
Chad’s hectoring laughter and the cruel things he’d said to the Nannies rang in the King’s ears as if he’d been in the room wi’ ‘em. Aye, the lad had been right on the money, there, hadn’t he?
N’Chalez was an ever-changing, ever-escalating threat, and just when you thought you had him where you wanted him, he were somewhere else doin’ somethin’ properly awful.
Barnabas really could not believe he’d imagined there’d be nowt worse than the six foot two asshole, but he’d been wrong about that as well!
A gigantic, robotic version, complete with all the arms and armament of a fully realized King and the nightmare weapons available to Gunboys in the outside world?
Nightmarish!
Barnabas hated to admit it, but he was bloody damned lucky N’Chalez had taken more of an affront to the various monster nests ranged from Ickford to Sliver Hills than in taking that enormous robotic body of his further inward!
With the Matrons down, disintegrated by that unlucky strike and the Gearmen killed stone cold dead where they stood, there was naught anywhere in the City capable of properly dealing with summat like that repurposed Gunboy save the Platinum King, and Barnabas weren’t entirely certain that beast would care one way or the other.
It were too busy reaping the rewards of the dead Matrons.
Barnabas Blake tapped two fingers against his forehead. He needed to focus, to concentrate on the problems to hand. He were too scattered. Aye, brain bouncing back and forth ‘tween Nickels and all else as plagued him. One thing at a time. One thing at a time were the proper way.
If he gave Chadsik access to more power, the lad’s infinite genius and creativity would almost certainly result in more beasts and foes to keep N’Chalez occupied, a feat which in turn would give a certain King enough time –theoretically- to plan something more … definite.
The problem with that –as with anything concerning Chadsik and the powers at his disposal- was that the lad had clearly returned to Arcade City on error. As was no clearer than his astonishing efforts to rise up out of the very carefully crafted virtual reality he’d woken up into upon returning. If he woke, and was himself, which was the only way he’d be of use…
Barnabas shook his head. “Damn and blast the brethren for teaching him teleportation! And damn them again for doing as they did to him!”
‘twas not our fault, oh might King of Kings. Erg said defensively. When the boy fell into our laps, we all believed him to be a gift from Watt. We believed him to be the physical incarnation of our Savior, He who would lead us to the destruction of all things Unreal. Can you blame us?
“Actually,” Barnabas retorted snidely, reaching out with his senses to find Erg’s new hidey-hole, “you are one hundred percent completely to blame. It is hardly my fault you buffoons misread the Unwritten Scriptures. I was your Savior. How on earth could you have misinterpreted anything?”
Erg chuckled. That is the main problem with religions of all kinds, sire. Even the simplest, most straightforward of things can be … misunderstood. Doubly so with statements that appear to be all-encompassing.
Barnabas shouted incoherently, exasperated. “I daresay it has more to do with the whole lot of you being weak, pale shadows of myself. And you, you … you. You are the worst. So warped, so twisted, so … incomplete and incorrect that even here, with my wonderful machines, you just don’t fit in! If only you would go and leave a monarch to plan properly.”
I have nowhere else to go, sire. There is nowt for me anywhere, at all, forever.
“Then be silent. I am considering my options.” Barnabas dropped down into a chair that materialized beneath his Kingly buttocks.
I presume Chadsik is out of the question.
The King rolled a hand through the air sardonically. “Always late to the game, Erg. Yes, I have already dismissed the so-called Chadsik al-Taryin from the playing field. When…”
If. Erg interrupted.
Barnabas refused to take the bait. “When I am done with N’Chalez, I will still need summat to power this Dome properly. If I give said power to him too early, he will simply disappear as before.”
I was under the impression that Chadsik was to be pilot.
A part of the King still desperately wanted Chadsik to do just that, as nothing would make an old man happier than to spend one last, victorious evening with his son as they gallivanted across Reality, wiping all those other Spheres from existence, but alas. Things were not always as they were supposed to be, and his poor son was all sorts of wrong in the noggin to any proper piloting.
Blake shook his head. “No, it must be this way.” He looked over at the burnt-out Suits. “I wasted too much power dealing with Ickford and N’Chalez. There is but a single vessel under The Dome capable of handling the raw torrent of power that remains, and it is my son. No, he’ll be plugged into the systems, though I do wish it were different. The math says that with whatever remains within him and the few remaining Suits, I should be able to get The Dome up and running. True, with more than a few creaks and groans and mayhap a rough start, but rough and crude or not, it’ll do the job.”
And my brethren?
“With me at the forefront.” Oh, how he prayed that were different. But again, things had gone too far down the wrong path for there to be any hope of proper vengeance against Reality. “I take little comfort in the fact that Existence will suffer without me being able to properly revel in the annihilation, but there is no choice. Once N’Chalez is dealt with, all unnecessary systems still functional within The Dome will be shut down. The meniscus of Entropy between the walls of my most grandly designed weapon will be worn to it’s thinnest, and here, oh here, Erg1, I shall have to hurry, for if I tarry too long, entropy will destroy us instead of the other way ‘round. So hurry I shall, slotting my wayward son come home into the array of batteries behind me, waiting only long enough to see my heavens lit up properly, then I, too, will descend into the machine, surrendering my conscious mind unto it, leaving behind naught but my … our … vicious hunger to see all wiped out.”
A formidable plan. It sounds as though you’ve got everything all lined up
“I am not without resources, fool. I have been planning this for thirty thousand years. There is always a way. Some ways are simply … better than others.” This came out quite smug, but Barnabas cared naught. “Now leave me be. I need to find the best way of destroying N’Chalez.”
You cannot
“Everything can be destroyed, Erg, given enough time, energy, and explosives.” Barnabas laughed scornfully at his counterpart’s foolish notions. “We sit in a vast machine capable of destroying Existence, you … drab of useless energy. There is nothing that cannot be done for.”
Erg’s amused, static-laden chuckle washed over King’s compound, eliciting a furious snarl from the King. Fingers twitched in re
sponse to the disembodied CyberPriest’s amusement, though Barnabas proved himself a true monarch, for he held his ire in check.
“Explain.” Barnabas checked on the status of things for the millionth time. Things were as ‘quiet’ as they were likely to get. He could fritter away a few minutes listening to the brainless, addled dribblings of a ‘Priest so insane that the craziest machine in the Unreal Universe found him unpalatable. Why, there was every chance that the damned thing might impress him!
Consider N’Chalez, my lord. Erg began. You know more of him as Kin’kithal than I, but I know him best as what he’s become since awakening in this strange new Unreal Universe
“He is one of the children of the Kith and the Kin, their so-called ‘scions’.” Barnabas couldn’t get over Erg’s tone. There was this hint of … of … lecturing that he didn’t appreciate, oh no he did not. “Difficult to kill, though you seem to think otherwise.”
The Kith’kin and Kin’kith are indeed difficult to dispatch, My Lord King Barnabas Blake the One and Only. Devastation at the Pluto Excavation site, where all were held in captivity for a year, proves this quite admirably. In my guise as Kant Ingrams, I met with them all on a daily basis. Beyond seeming quite ordinary and spectacularly boring besides which, there was absolutely no indication they were, in truth, the children of Gods
“Hardly gods.” Barnabas couldn’t help but interject. “I am a god. Of all I survey. And I shall be the one to destroy it all, as well.”
You are indeed a God, my Lord. Erg’s voice washed from the electronics all around King Barnabas Blake. The One and Only, as you call yourself, rightfully so. But these Kith’kin and Kin’kith took astonishing punishment before falling, my King, terrible, terrible amounts of brutality. But die they did. As all mortal things must
“Well,” Barnabas offered a reasonable explanation for their demise, “the Universe moved on, did it not? Trinity Itself at the helm of all that space, dominating lesser creatures, erroneously believing that bigger is better and all that? The Scions of the Kith and Kin were antiquated, Erg, undeniably so. I daresay that there are men and women wandering about Trinityspace the equal of those ancient fools even now.”