by B. V. Larson
“Well-I suppose that’s worth something.”
“Indeed it is. But I think I’ve made a huge error. One of my commanders went wild, and we will all be blamed for his actions.”
“Captain Bellevue?”
“Exactly. His slaughter of innocents will goad the humans. They attacked in force before, and they will do so again now with even greater ferocity. I’ve escalated this war, not dampened it.”
“What are we going to do?”
Sixty-Two shook his head. “I think we will march to Nightside. They are looking for us here. We don’t have the numbers to face them all, so we must continue to hide and gather strength.”
“But Twilight is between us and Nightside.”
“I know. We will march through it and vanish into the cold darkness on the far side.”
“I don’t remember what real night looks like,” Lizett said. “I hope it’s pretty.”
Sixty-Two eyed her for a moment without comment before continuing. “Now, the question is what I will do with Captain Bellevue. I think he must be demoted and removed from command.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” she said softly. “He did awful things.”
Sixty-Two shook his head, marveling at her. So reasonable, so agreeable. These traits stood out in a sea of mechs that were either completely devoid of personality or exhibited a highly unpleasant character.
He clasped his grippers behind himself and paced within his tent. His cloak, which had become ragged of late, wavered behind him as he clanked back and forth.
“Yes,” he said at last. “It must be done.”
He sent out a broadcast message over their local network, summoning Captain Bellevue. He was surprised when the other showed up promptly. Four mechs accompanied Bellevue. These were former perrupters, well-used models with burnished steel hides and weapon muzzles that were dark from a thousand firings.
Sixty-Two swept the group with his orbs. “Leave the perrupters outside. Lizett, stand with them, if you will. Now, Captain Bellevue, please step inside.”
Bellevue followed Sixty-Two into the command tent. The walls of it shuddered with the buffeting winds from outside. Soon, another sandstorm would come. They were less common this time of year, but Sunside was never completely free of them.
“Captain, I’m afraid I must apply disciplinary action in this case. In the operation at Dolleren, you acted without orders and committed unforgivable crimes.”
Captain Bellevue stood before him, motionless except for his left gripper, which twitched and twirled occasionally. Eyeing it, Sixty-Two thought he saw some bloody remnant or other that had glued itself to the metal. Was that a ligament, or a clump of hair? He supposed it didn’t matter.
Laughter erupted from Captain Bellevue’s speakers. “Unforgivable crimes? The enemy forged us into these machines. Not yet satisfied, they lobotomized our people en masse and enslaved us all. And then, lest we forget current events, they slaughtered our civilians at our main base not two ten-days ago.”
Sixty-Two waved a gripper at him. “Yes, yes. You have excellent points. But they will not be convinced we are anything other than crazy mechs if we act like crazy mechs.”
“Why should we attempt to convince them of anything?”
“What do you see as the final outcome of this conflict?” Sixty-Two demanded. “Let me tell you what I seek: I reach for peace and equality with the Twilighters. Mechs shall be paid for their work, not enslaved. They shall have contracts the same as any indentured human, rather than be owned like chattel. What’s more, I see mech castles built by our people in Sunside and Nightside-fantastic structures the Twilighters can only dream of. Let them have their cool band around the planet. We shall own the other ninety percent, where they can’t thrive.
“I see,” Captain Bellevue said, sounding thoughtful for the first time. “I suppose, in the end, there must be some form of peace. I like your conception of mech castles and presumably mech lords on their thrones.”
“Precisely!” Sixty-Two said, his orbs blazing. He stepped close to the other. “I need every mech with me, especially free-thinkers such as yourself. In the end, you will become a lord amongst our people.”
Captain Bellevue cocked his head. There was a small grinding sound as he did so, most likely from the grit blown into his joints. “And how many of the mechs shall we free? How many shall become like us?”
“Very few for now, I would think. But in the end, I’d like to free them all, or at least most of them.”
“How would we sort out who would be given the gift of freedom and even lordship?”
“Quality of service, for the latter. But for the former-I’ll tell you what I hope. I plan to locate the archive on our mech people, and read their records. We all have serial numbers stamped a dozen places on our persons. We can review the crimes of the individual and pass our own judgments. Those that are not criminally insane and which we deem salvageable will be restored as we have been.”
Captain Bellevue nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “And what about myself? What is my immediate status to be?”
“I can’t have you leading a company any longer, of course. You will be demoted to the role of an aide for one of the other commanders, but with no authority. Your mind however, will not be tampered with, nor shall you be disassembled.”
Captain Bellevue was silent for a moment. “I doubt I would be as generous if the roles had been reversed. You’ve given this more thought than I’d believed possible.”
“Thank you.”
“Unfortunately, I must disagree.”
“Next-” Sixty-Two began, but broke off. “Excuse me? What was that?”
Captain Bellevue threw open the tent flaps and waved with his grippers. Four perrupters marched in to face Sixty-Two. As one, the perrupters raised their cannon-arms. Lizett followed them, gasping in concern.
“I’m afraid I see a different future,” Captain Bellevue said. “There shall be mech lords, as you envisioned. But most mechs will remain like these fellows: mute warriors. As for the Twilighters, they are insufferable and will be put to the slaughter.”
“You’re going to kill all the humans?” gasped Lizett.
Captain Bellevue turned to her as if noticing her presence for the first time. “No, but the herd clearly needs to be culled down to a manageable size. I require a solid population for breeding stock, of course, to produce fresh brains for new mechs. Possibly, reproduction can be automated in time and we can rid ourselves of them permanently.”
“How awful,” Lizett said.
Bellevue returned his attention back to Sixty-Two, who stood tall and quiet before him. “And now, as there is no formal process for advancement in our community, I will introduce an informal one. You are to be executed. I do this out of necessity, not malice, I want you to understand. You are a great mech among us, and you will always be remembered fondly. Possibly, I’ll build a statue in the courtyard of my personal castle in your honor.”
“How nice,” Lizett said.
Bellevue and Sixty-Two both slid their orbs to look at her for a moment, then returned their attention to one another again, without making any comment.
“Do you have any last words before the sentence is carried out?” Bellevue asked politely.
“Just two,” Sixty-Two said. “Override shutdown.”
“An odd choice, I-” Bellevue stopped speaking. He looked in sudden concern at his perrupters. All of them had stopped functioning. One that stood to his right and behind him fell forward, having been slightly off-balance. He struck the back of the one in front of him as he toppled. They both pitched onto the floor. The two on his left stood solidly, if motionless. Their glowing LEDs were quiet dead, however.
“A built-in failsafe?” Bellevue asked. “Impressive. I didn’t know about this.”
“I apologize,” Sixty-Two said, “I have kept certain details even from my closest officers.”
Bellevue drew his power-sword then, and thumbed it to its highest setting
. Sixty-Two did the same.
“This puts a different light on things,” Bellevue said. “Shall we duel for the honor of leading our people?”
“I’m afraid I’ve already broadcast for help. Every mech in the compound should be here shortly to arrest you.”
Bellevue chuckled. “Do you honestly think I wasn’t prepared for that? Shouldn’t they have already arrived?”
Sixty-Two had suspected as much. “Very well. If you will not accept my commands, you give me no choice. But Lizett, perhaps you should step outside to prevent injury.”
Bellevue’s blade flicked out to interpose itself between Lizett and the exit. It sizzled with maximum plasma power. “I don’t think so. I will slay her the moment she moves to get help.”
“I’d rather stay in any case,” Lizett said quietly.
“Very well,” Sixty-Two said, stepping forward and raising his blade in salute.
The two mechs touched tips and there was a flash of brilliance that filled the enclosed space with light.
The battle began immediately, and it was intense from the start. Neither mech was highborn, but every Twilighter had some familiarity with the only honorable weapon in their culture. They slashed and cut with powerful, inaccurate blows. Sixty-Two’s metal desk was chopped twice, cutting a huge V-shaped section out of the middle of it, which clanged to the floor. One of the three big central poles holding up the tent was cut down, causing that part of the roof to sag down. When their blades reached high, they slashed holes in the fabric, which allowed intense beams of sunlight to penetrate the relative gloom of the tent.
The first casualty of the fight was Captain Bellevue’s left gripper. It was shorn half off. This caused no pain and did no damage that couldn’t be repaired with a trip to the machine shop, but it did mean he was down to one effective appendage. Sixty-Two focused on his opponent’s right gripper next, the one holding the power-sword. If he could damage both, Bellevue would be helpless.
As the battle went on, Lizett stepped away continuously, removing herself as far as possible from the action. She watched intently, but said nothing.
Captain Bellevue made a sudden lunge for her the next time the battle brought him near. Growling through his speakers, Sixty-Two beat his blade down, but had to stumble and put himself off-balance to do so.
“Ha!” shouted Bellevue triumphantly. He reversed course and swept his blade low. There was a flash of contact, and Sixty-Two’s right leg was a ruin of sparking metal.
Crippled, Sixty-Two could not withstand the onslaught that came now. He realized Bellevue’s attack on Lizett had been a feint, and he’d been duped. He fell backward, unable to retreat.
Triumphant, Bellevue stood over him and hacked down with his sword, making an odd, warbling howl of victory as he did so. Sixty-Two caught the blows, but he was in an impossible position. Knowing he was in his final moments, he told himself he’d done his best.
Suddenly, however, the situation changed. Bellevue stiffened and stopped moving. Fluids ran down his back and his legs, splattering upon Sixty-Two’s prone chassis. Something large and pinkish-gray fell down to sizzle on Sixty-Two’s hot chest plate a moment later.
“What is this?” Sixty-Two asked.
Lizett stepped around from behind the Captain, who’d gone into emergency shutdown and stood frozen in place. She pointed with a gripper to the fleshy material on Sixty-Two’s chest.
“I think that’s his brain,” she said. “I pulled it out. The rear access panel wasn’t locked, fortunately.”
“I see,” he said. “Thank you, Lizett.”
Lizett walked around Captain Bellevue’s metal corpse, looking at it appreciatively. “You know, I think he’d make a fine statue as he is. We could mount him in our courtyard.”
“Uh, I suppose we could,” Sixty-Two said. He looked up at Lizett thoughtfully. She seemed fascinated by Bellevue’s corpse, and even reached out with her grippers to make adjustments to his frozen pose. To Sixty-Two, it seemed a grotesque practice.
What crime had brought her to be convicted and sent to Sunside as a mech? He could not help but wonder about it, and he also could not help thinking he didn’t want to know the truth.
Later on, as his obedient mech troops carried him to the workshop and repaired his chassis, he planned out his march toward Nightside. They must move soon, before the Twilighters came to strike them again.
Sixteen
When Nina got the news that a ship was landing in Lavender City, she gathered company of her finest knights and rode out immediately. They could have reached the spaceport faster by taking a skimmer, but where was the grandeur in that? Instead, she rode her mount at the head of a column of exquisitely dressed and armored knights. Every banner fluttered, every power-sword and power-lance was set to zero-a setting that caused the weapons to run with plasma but which would do no injury if accidentally touched. It was a power level reserved for parades and the like, which was exactly what this was.
Lavender City was built within a natural canyon. Long and gently curving, the deep cut in the stony crust of Ignis Glace was one of the most thickly inhabited regions on the planet. The canyon was built in a two-third’s sunlit region. By virtue of being surrounded by higher land, the city in the shadowy depths of the canyon was given light and warmth by the sun, but not burnt by its continuous smoldering red eye. Likewise, the icy storms of Nightside had been gentled by the time they reached this far sunward. As a result, the city in this cleft among the rocks was forever cool and lush with growths. Permanent shadows stained the rocky walls around it.
As it was a center of culture for Ignis Glace, even Nina was entranced by the city’s uniqueness. There were rows of shops selling fine things only the richest merchants, or nobility with the best lands, could afford to buy. Nina had never been in either of these categories until recently, but she forbade herself to go on a shopping spree now. To do so would play directly into Duchess Embrak’s icy hands.
And so when she arrived at one end of the canyon and glided along its length, following the cobbles of Queen’s Highway, Nina was more plainly dressed than her escort. She carried no banner, and wore neither plumes nor jewelry. She wanted to appear businesslike and ready for battle. She had chosen this dress partly because it suited her, and partly to prevent Duchess Embrak from displaying vids of her wasting funds. But she also did it to impress her father, who she felt sure was aboard the small ship that had finally arrived. She knew her father was above all else a practical man, and she wanted to seem to be as similar in nature as possible upon their first meeting as two adults.
Internally, Nina thrilled as she rode, playing out the drama of the moment she met Lucas Droad in the flesh a dozen times in a dozen varied scenarios. What would he look like? He’d be old, but not as old as he should be. He’d fathered her in his late thirties with the then young, lovely Olivia. More than two decades had passed since then, but she figured with all the traveling he’d done between the stars he’d probably appear to be in his early forties still. Due to time dilation effects, he would have aged much more slowly than she had.
When she finally reached the spaceport, she found the ship was quarantined, as was often the case with rare unofficial visits from out-system. This quarantine was stricter than usual, due to the supposed imminent arrival of alien invaders. It was an understandable precaution, if a frustrating one. The only good thing was it gave her time to gather her knights at the gates of the spaceport. Her honor guard stood at attention behind her when the hatches were finally opened on the disappointingly small vessel.
A dozen other notables jockeyed for a spot in line when the Nexus officials finally allowed them into the ship’s landing pit. There was plenty of room, as it was built for much larger craft. Rather than dismount and be seen as grubbing with the other nobility, she sat her mount in front of her hundred knights calmly off to one side. The others cast doubtful glances at her. Some twittered, particularly the courtly girls from better families. They were future countesses
and duchesses from the deepest valleys in Twilight. Their skins were fair and unscarred, as they’d grown up sheltered in the best climates and the least dangerous regions of the world. Nina ignored them. Let them gawk and whisper. She was above all that nonsense now. She led armies, rather than frittering about, creating digital sculptures to transmit to possible suitors.
The hatch finally opened, and yawned wide. It was oddly dark inside. A flashing of lights not unlike the arcing of a power-sword shone in the background. Could something be wrong with the ships lighting?
A wisp of vapor rolled out next. Dark and noisome, it caused those who stood closest to step back, holding their fine, patrician noses. This wasn’t encouraging either. Nina sat her mount sternly, however. The only hint of her concern was a growing frown upon her face.
The old knight Hans leaned close to her. “Are we certain this is a Nexus ship? Seems more like a smuggler’s scow.”
Nina ignored him and continued to stare. She did not want any distraction to prevent her from laying eyes on her father at his very first appearance.
Finally, a figure did appear at the top of the ramp. It was a male, unfamiliar, but distinctive. He was armed with a sheathed power-sword at his side, and his hand rested easily on the pommel. He had a shock of long black hair and an equally dark mustache that drooped at the corners of his mouth. The moment he saw the waiting crowd, he seemed to puff up a bit, pridefully. With a vague smile and watchful eyes, he swaggered forward and down the ramp.
The first man was followed by a woman. She looked attractive and capable. She wore a Nexus officer’s uniform and her hand hovered near her pistol. Whoever they were, these people seemed paranoid.
Nina, like the rest of the crowd, soon removed their attention from these two and turned her eyes back to the hatch. Surely, someone of importance was to emerge next. Neither of these two looked to be of high birth. Where was the diplomat, the official in charge of the mission?
Finally, a third figure did emerge. He was tall and thin. For a fleeting moment, Nina’s hopes were roused. Could this be her father? From a distance-but no, he could not be so gaunt. And the eyes-they were the shifting slits of a stranger. This third man to walk down the ramp appeared trepidatious and-odd. His hands fluttered at his sides, and-what was he doing now? Sniffing at the countess who greeted him with a traditional wreath of vines?