Dark Convergence

by Gross, Dave

  Nemo looked down at druid. Was she asking whether he wanted her to kill Mags? Or was that some dark fancy born of his own impulse for retribution? “Let her sleep. I want her fully recovered and fit to face court-martial.”

  Bronwyn returned to Mags’ chamber.

  Nemo walked out of the casualty tent, Chaplain Geary at his side. To the guards outside he said, “Place Sergeant Jernigan under guard. No one other than the druid or the surgeon is to speak with her without my express permission.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As they walked away, Nemo remembered he had asked Finch to meet him at the casualty tent. Yet he hated the thought of remaining another moment near the traitor—he could no longer think of her as his friend.

  The very idea that Mags—Sergeant Jernigan—had been turned against the country of her birth by this death cult—the betrayal made it easy to embrace Geary’s perspective on the Convergence—was too much to accept.

  Anger fragmented his thoughts. He felt a vein throbbing on his temple. Like an overheated warjack, he needed to vent before his fury harmed him. Yet there was no time for a personal retreat or even the reprieve of a soothing cup of tea. Instead, he turned his attention to the other matter.

  “How is Benedict?” he asked the Precursor.

  “Recovering, although it will be days before he is fit for duty.” Chaplain Geary cleared his throat. “General, while I am glad to have been of use in your interrogation, I must tell you that I do not care for perpetrating such cruel deceptions on our own people.”

  “Nor do I, when they can be avoided.” He looked across the camp toward the north, where the great Convergence tower rose high above the village of Calbeck. “You will be pleased to hear that the time for deception is over, Chaplain.”

  Geary nodded, his hand straying to the mace at his hip. A counselor during peace, he was a battler in war. He would fight beside the storm knights, by turns slaying foes and healing allies.

  The priest coughed as Bronwyn emerged from the casualty tent. The druid ignored him and spoke to Nemo. “She will sleep now.”

  “I appreciate your warning, Bronwyn. You must return to your tent now. The guards will keep you safe during the battle ahead of us.”

  “I will be of no use to you in my tent,” she said.

  “Are you saying you prefer we release you?”

  “My people may not fight beside you in this battle with the Convergence,” she said. “But if you allow it, I will.”

  Nemo fixed his gaze on her, wondering what secrets lay behind those bright green eyes. He made his decision.

  “Finch, ready your stormsmiths. I want the Striders on either side of the front line, and send word to both flanking teams. Chaplain Geary, report to Major Blackburn. You will fight with the storm knights. I want all units ready to move within half an hour.”

  “What about me?” said Bronwyn.

  Nemo beckoned to the guard who held the druid’s long axe. He took it from the man and handed it to Bronwyn.

  “You will come with me,” he said. “Help us bring the storm to Calbeck.”

  Aurora

  Beneath the astronometric nexus, enormous gears jolted into motion as Aurora and Sabina returned from their inspection of Calbeck. Unlike the animal clamor Aurora had heard when she first arrived in Calbeck, this sound only seemed chaotic. As she listened closely, Aurora perceived the mathematical precision of the hundreds of different clicks and whines. In its way, the apparent cacophony was as beautiful as any symphony, as holy as any equation.

  “Numen!” cried Sabina. While her chromium face betrayed no emotions, Aurora heard the exultation in her lieutenant’s mechanical voice. “The realignment has begun!”

  Unlike her lieutenant, Aurora could still smile. Even as she allowed herself to do so, she thought ruefully on the manner in which Sebastian Nemo had turned her words against her. Her smile froze upon her face, as cold and reflective as those of her clockwork angels.

  Aurora wondered whether she was truly as transparent as Nemo’s barbs suggested. Verbally, she had always been able to outmaneuver others with great ease. Yet most of those around her, she understood, were minds encased in mechanikal bodies, devoid of the fragile human senses that confused and injured their emotions. Beyond them, she was surrounded only by insensate machines, beautiful in their functional perfection, but incapable of offering challenges.

  Even as she recognized her disdain for others who continued to await the honor of transference, like Enumerator Bogdan, Aurora could not understand why she must share their fate. More than anyone, she had proven herself worthy of a perfect physical vessel.

  Still, there was something about Nemo that allowed him to strike at her heart—or, more aptly, at the very core of her thoughts.

  Did he possess some special insight into her psyche because of his great intellect and achievements? After all, he and she were not so different in that regard. Aurora’s own title, Numen of Aerogenesis, was proof of her greatest accomplishment: flight. Was that not every bit as worthy as any technological advance that Nemo had made for the Cygnar forces?

  “Numen!” cried Sabina.

  The tower loomed before her. Aurora banked, veering away before she could strike the southeastern corner.

  She shook her head to dispel the useless recriminations that plagued her mind. Focusing once more on the sound of giant gears—the sound of progress toward completion of the Great Work—Aurora performed a perfect barrel roll and swooped beneath the arches to fly up into the shelter of her aerie.

  Her officers awaited her arrival. To either side, her clockwork angels stepped in to flank her. Sabina took her position two steps behind Aurora’s right shoulder.

  Prime Enumerator Septimus stood before Aurora, Enumerator Bogdan just beside and behind him. No other enumerators or optifex joined their leaders, for they were all devoted to the operation. Only in the event of an attack would they emerge to tend the vectors and clockwork soldiers defending the site.

  First Prefect Pollux stood beside other first prefects of each type of clockwork vessel: the shield-locking obstructor, the eradicator with protean shields on both arms, the reductor wielding a swarm projector on one arm and a retractable blade on the other, the javelin-launching perforator, and the deadly reciprocator with its massive protean polearm. The clockwork soldiers greeted her arrival with a perfectly sequenced bow. The observation deck shuddered as they moved their feet in unison.

  Prime Enumerator Septimus stepped forward. “All troops prepared for battle, Numen.”

  Aurora had not informed the others of her scheme to compel the Cygnaran mechanik to sabotage Nemo’s warjacks, and the unexpected explosion from the enemy camp had set them on high alert.

  Jernigan had acted even sooner than Aurora had anticipated. That showed a miscalculation on her part, perhaps, but none of her advisors needed to know. In any event, the fervor with which Pollux led his troops in a formal bow suggested she would continue to reap the benefits of Septimus’ diversion of the credit for rescuing the captured reductors.

  “Well done, Prime Enumerator,” she said. “The Cygnarans may attack soon, but if so they will do it without benefit of their most powerful warjacks.”

  Septimus said, “With or without those machines, it is best we are prepared. This Sebastian Nemo has proven most aggressive.”

  “Indeed,” said Aurora. “Yet now we are well prepared for such a response.”

  The prime enumerator inclined his graceful neck. “Your stratagem is most cunning,” he said. “The iron mother approves.”

  His phrasing alarmed Aurora. “You communicated with her while I was in parlay?”

  “Of course, Numen. The iron mother gave me explicit instructions to keep her apprised of all contacts with the enemy.”

  “Of course,” repeated Aurora, her resentment growing.

  “Now that the realignment has begun,” said Septimus, “we need only remain a short time longer before withdrawing from this site. No doubt you shall retu
rn home to receive the full accolades of the Constellation.”

  “As shall you, Prime Enumerator. No doubt.”

  Septimus inclined his head and withdrew several steps. As he did so, Enumerator Bogdan stepped forward. “Except for this morning’s casualties, all vectors and servitors are ready for combat, Numen. They are arrayed as you directed, throughout the village. The Prime Axiom stands guard before the Cygnaran central lines with a Transfinite Emergence Projector on either flank. Wherever you fly, vectors await your command. Three optifex directives, each with three accretion servitors, stand ready to support the vectors. The fourth directive remains with the astronometric nexus to monitor the realignment from the control room.”

  “Very thorough, Enumerator.”

  “Numen,” said Sabina. “The clockwork angels stand ready to defend you in combat.”

  “I want four trios with me and four to either flank, First Prefect,” said Aurora. “Set one trio on the tower roof, and have your two most capable trios report to me on the pinnacle for special orders.”

  A faint click from her voice box indicated Sabina’s surprise, but she said, “As you command, Numen.”

  “Prime Enumerator, where are the steelsoul protectors?”

  “They remain on guard throughout the realignment node, Numen. Shall I assign them to the field?”

  “Take one to support the front lines,” said Aurora. “Station the others here, one by each lift.”

  “It shall be done, Numen.”

  “Return to your stations,” said Aurora. “Not you, Enumerator Bogdan. You will escort me to the control chamber. I wish to observe the realignment process.”

  “As you command, Numen.”

  Bogdan led the way to the lift tubes. After whispering a command to one of her subordinates, Sabina followed at Aurora’s heel, two more of her bodyguards trailing at a more discreet distance. Three other trios went to the remaining lifts to meet them in the tower above.

  The lift brought them to the control level. Aurora folded her wings tight to navigate the narrow passages. Bogdan scurried before her, opening the control chamber door before standing back to usher her inside.

  The optifex manning the various stations had exchanged their battle helms for goggles with tinted lenses shielding their eyes from the steady glow of the control panels. A few had donned elaborate multi-specs, their transferrable lenses forming shining petals around their eyes.

  Bogdan led the way, swatting aside those optifex who remained so engrossed in their work that they failed to notice the arrival of their leader. They bowed and stepped away, or when necessary pressed themselves into shallow niches between the machinery to allow Aurora to pass.

  One relatively spacious corner of the chamber was dedicated to a large sphere representing Caen. A chromium-plated Face of Cyriss orbited the globe.

  Both monitor and shrine, the sphere depicted the planet’s seas in brushed steel. The known continents were etched in brass, while the fathomless reaches of the globe remained blank. Dark lines indicated rivers and lakes, while glass filaments formed a blue-green network across the globe.

  Those were the key to the Great Work: the paths known among the savage druids as “ley lines” but which Convergence engineers understood as the network of geomantic power. When the worshippers of Cyriss brought them into proper alignment, they would bring the goddess to Caen itself, where she would establish a perfect, permanent order.

  “Here, Numen.” Bogdan turned away from the globe and indicated a mechanikal board with his staff. Most of its surface was filled with gauges and dials indicating the depth of the geomantic probes, the heat stress on the main axle, the current torque ratio, and other critical values.

  Bogdan indicated a vertical groove on one side of the panel, a thin sheet of brass slowly rising from bottom to top. As the tower’s probes drilled deeper into the earth, intersecting with the flow of geomantic energies, the Node nudged their course into a new alignment. As Aurora watched, another card clicked into place. At a glance, she calculated its progress.

  “Twelve percent?” she asked.

  Bogdan peered up at the panel, squinted for a second, and nodded. “Precisely, Numen. You have a keen eye.”

  “How long before the realignment is stable?”

  “Approximately seventy-nine minutes, Numen.”

  “An auspicious number.” Like all true worshippers of the Maiden of Gears, Aurora saw the hand of Cyriss in every prime.

  They left the control chamber and returned to the lift, which Aurora ordered to return to the observation deck.

  As they descended past the level containing the prime enumerator’s meditation chamber, Aurora turned to the Enumerator. “Tell me, Bogdan, are you present when Prime Enumerator Septimus communicates with the iron mother?”

  “No, Numen. I await him in the corridor.”

  “And then he confides in you, does he not?”

  Bogdan winced. “Please understand, Numen, anything the prime enumerator shares with me…As my superior, he expects my utmost discretion.”

  “As he should,” said Aurora. “No doubt he shall reward your loyalty the next time you petition for transference.”

  Bogdan relaxed and bobbed his head.

  “How long have you served the prime enumerator?”

  “Why, it has been almost seven year…” Aurora could see in his hesitation that he understood her implication. Septimus would do nothing to elevate his minion to equal standing with him.

  Bogdan cast a glance at Sabina before returning his gaze to the lift floor. Without looking at either of them, he said, “Of course, if I should ever hear something the Numen of Aerogenesis should know…”

  Aurora smiled. Nothing more needed to be said.

  They stepped out onto the observation deck. Bogdan saluted Aurora and took his leave, descending the automatic stair to join his optifex directives below.

  “Numen,” said Sabina. She stood close and inclined her head toward Aurora. The gesture was beginning to annoy Aurora, since her first prefect’s height made her appear like a mother leaning down to speak to a child. “It is my duty to protect you from all dangers, not just in combat.”

  “You will tell me not to trust Bogdan.”

  “No, Numen. I know you do not trust him. I would suggest you tread more carefully when you seek to pit him against the prime enumerator. If he tells Septimus what you have said, surely the prime enumerator will inform the iron mother.”

  “Do you think I fear her?”

  “No, Numen. If you feared her, I would have no need to caution you.”

  “Don’t worry too much about the priests,” she said. “There is no more concentrated source of gossip and intrigue in all of the Convergence. It is precisely because of Bogdan’s weak position that no one will take him seriously if he speaks of my inquiry. He has more to lose and far less to gain by informing on me than by confiding in me.”

  “If you say so, Numen. Your calculations are far more precise than mine.”

  “Numen!” called a bodyguard. “There is motion among the Cygnar forces.”

  Aurora went to the southern edge of the observation deck. Another unit of infantry dashed forward to occupy the nearest trench. It was difficult to discern movement at such a distance, but by the way they carefully dropped down, Aurora had the impression the trench was already full of soldiers.

  To either side of the trenches, the Storm Striders moved forward on crablike legs. Between them, Nemo and his assistant guided their light warjacks and—to Aurora’s surprise—one of the heavy warjacks she had thought destroyed in the explosion. The Stormclad moved with a slight hitch in its step, but it appeared intact despite discoloration on the shoulder of its sword arm. Aurora wondered whether Margaret Jernigan herself had repaired the machine. If so, Nemo might have another surprise soon.

  Behind the warjacks, the remaining Storm Lance cavalry galloped eastward toward the woods. The soldiers concealed there were already in motion, moving steadily forward thr
ough the trees.

  Looking west, Aurora saw similar activity. There was no sign of the stormsmiths. It was possible Nemo meant to hold them in reserve, but Aurora did not like it.

  “It could be a feint, Numen,” said Sabina.

  Aurora knew that either the sabotage or some other event had prompted Nemo to strike before her mission was complete. She had kept Margaret Jernigan far from the realignment node. There was no way she could have learned Aurora’s time frame.

  Unless Septimus had told her.

  “It’s no feint,” said Aurora. “He intends to drive us from the village.”

  “But we outnumber his forces. Is he mad?”

  “That depends on what you mean by ‘mad.’”

  “If he is angry, he will make mistakes.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Aurora.

  Whether or not Septimus had betrayed her, she had made enough mistakes of her own for one day. Now it was time to prove herself beyond any doubt the prime enumerator could place in her mother’s mind. If he would not allow her to delay him long enough to complete the realignment, then she had one unshakeable course toward a complete triumph.

  She would take to the field and kill Sebastian Nemo.

  THE SEVENTH HARMONIC

  Human souls are the divine equation of consciousness made manifest.

  Nemo

  Nemo raised the tempest accumulator above his head, and his army leaped into motion. All of his officers knew what he wanted: a swift, disorienting strike to the center, followed by a tactical turn directly toward the Convergence tower. Nemo was certain the weird structure held the key to whatever the enemy forces wanted in Calbeck. If he could bring it down, they would have no further reason to remain.

  Or so he wagered. He ran forward, ignoring the complaints of his aching back.

  On his right ran Caitlin Finch. Her earlier jocularity had vanished, replaced by the grim determination Nemo had so often seen on the battlefield. Lightning flickered up and down her weapon. The instant he wished her to augment his control of the warjacks, she would be ready.