Greyblade nodded. There comes a time … “To be fair, Earth seemed to run pretty smoothly for the early decades ExE,” he said. “Humans work … not necessarily well, but perhaps at their best when they can act independently but still cite a higher authority as approving their decisions.”
“It worked during the exile,” Gabriel said moodily. “I think the humans were happier when they could pretend the Gods were real, and interpret ‘Their wishes’ to be whatever they happened to want. When the Gods turned out to have ideas of Their own, like ‘grow up and stop murdering each other’, it all got very inconvenient.”
“We’re moving beyond pure information and into the realms of cynical interpretation,” the Drake remarked.
“But that’s where we live,” Gabriel protested.
Greyblade chuckled. “Due to our affinity with the Second Disciple, the Burning Knights know of Ildar but I never had much to do with her, except for the end of her stewardship and the return of the First and Third Disciples,” he shook his head, almost physically dispelling the recollection. “It was mainly her previous incarnation I knew. The one who called herself Dagab.”
“Dagab the Unintended,” the Drake said. “The one who emerged from the exile and is now remembered by everybody but the Second Disciple herself.”
“Right.”
“Remembered in vastly inconsistent ways,” the Drake added, with a hint of inquiry.
Greyblade spread his hands. “I can’t speak to that,” he said. “Dagab went through a lot. Nobody was particularly surprised by what happened to her.”
“Fascinating,” the Drake said. “So you consider the two different incarnations of the Second Disciple – Dagab, and Ildar – as different people, rather than the same person in different forms?”
“I suppose it’s an easy trap to fall into,” Greyblade admitted, “for those of us who only have one lifetime to spend. I knew the Second Disciple as Doof, then Dagab, and then I knew of her, largely, as Ildar. And given that she’s forgotten Dagab, it’s that much easier to think of Dagab as having been a separate entity.”
“There were a lot of incarnations in between Doof and Dagab, during the exile,” Gabriel said. “She – and he – took a lot of very different identities. It wasn’t hard to think of them as different people, since they were different humans all over the world – even though they all came together into a single Firstmade in the end.”
“I knew the First Disciple as Speed, and Zylow, and Mygon,” Greyblade added. “They had their differences too, but they were clearly the same person, and ultimately shared the same memories. Firstmades are a paradox.”
“Maybe it’s different for a Dragon,” Gabriel suggested. “Living in different forms, which people react to in very different ways…”
“I do get the impression that my associates think of me as two different things, depending on which form I take,” the Drake said.
Ildar did her best to hold things together in the First and Third Disciples’ absence, but things grew increasingly strained in the Four Realms. And it became more and more obvious that Ildar, who remembered the exile and everything before it but not the events immediately preceding and following the unFlutter, was out of patience with the mortals. Heaven, and the Archangelic court that was its primary mortal authority, was out of patience too – it increasingly held itself aloof while Earth grew ever more resentful of alien interference that, in their view, never really did them any good. Even though it almost always did, objectively speaking.
The three Disciples reunited, returned, and tried one more time to unify the Four Realms. Their efforts included further attempts to resettle and rebuild the seared realms … but all of these efforts only resulted in further souring. And the Pinians, perhaps finally beginning to grow up themselves, had known it.
“I can’t really say what happened during those times,” Greyblade said. “The Burning Knights had … other missions.”
By the time the Burning Knights of Brutan the Warrior were called back to Earth, it had already been too late. The Last War of Independence was underway. Perhaps humanity really had decided that the departure of the Disciples had been a test, and that they had passed. Certainly it was one of the cornerstones of the conflict: mortal authorities – alien authorities – attempting to maintain control over the humans’ sovereign world, when Jalah and the Disciples had declared them ready to stand on their own two feet. Or twenty-four billion feet, as it were.
That was how the majority of education systems across Snowhome were teaching it these days, anyway, according to what Greyblade had picked up. And it wasn’t even that difficult to understand. Humans had been given autonomy over their own world, and aliens just wouldn’t stop interfering ‘for their own good’. It was still staggering that it had led to war, and war of such finality. The two main factions, after all, had been the humans of Earth and the non-human but still Pinian-allied residents of the Four Realms. But each individual step, taken separately, more or less made sense. If you squinted.
Sort of like the way HarvCorp beef fabrication looked like a cow, if you squinted.
And the Last War of Independence had ended – and with it, it seemed, any interest the Firstmades might have had in Earth and its inhabitants – on the day the humans had unleashed soul-powered weaponry on their enemies.
THE DRAGON’S HOARD
“And now it is thirty years later,” the Drake concluded, “and you return to the brave independent home of the snowflake in Hell. And you come looking for information.”
“It’s come to my attention that something may be in the planning phases here on Earth,” Greyblade said, and quickly filled the Drake in on the basics of veil physics and the possibility of humans attempting to return their world to exile. He stuck to the same intentionally convoluted version of the story he’d fed Gabriel, with the same justification for doing so. For the time being.
“You believe that humans have found a way to study something inherently intangible, set in place by Infinites – and replicate it technologically?” the Drake said. “Well, if anyone could do it, it would be humans, I suppose,” she looked interested again. “And something in the archives of the Thalaar Institute set off this alarm bell?” she asked. “Told you the humans were working on a way to reinstate the veil?”
“Nothing so convenient,” Greyblade said grudgingly. “If I knew anything specific, I’d have come here with more than just a vague intention of checking shit out.”
The Drake smiled. “I imagine your vague intention of checking shit out took an undignified beating once you arrived here and realised you couldn’t get out of the alien quarter.”
“I had faith that the Archangel Gabriel would be able to bust me out if it came to that,” he said, and gestured around. “This might be even better, though.”
“Let’s hope,” the Drake said, and turned away again. She resumed casually powering up different devices. “So,” she said, lifting up a crystal ball and tapping its top three times, then turning it upside-down and tapping its underside. “Your study of the works of Stormburg of Áea led you to believe that the humans were up to something,” the crystal ball lit up green and its insides churned with vapour, and she set it back on a battered old velvet cushion. “And you think it is something to do with the veil.”
“It sounds pretty unhelpful when you put it like that,” Greyblade said.
The Drake smiled. “Actually not so unhelpful,” she disagreed. “I already know a certain amount about the veil, and the events that the Archangel took part in,” she gestured to some screens, as if they were about to show footage of those bygone years. Sadly, they didn’t – although they did show some interesting aerial shots of buildings more advanced-looking than any Greyblade had seen on his flight in. These were the Chinese city-states on the Old Meganesian border, he suspected, on the frayed edge of the Japanese Empire of old. “The interesting part is, it wasn’t just Stormburg and the Archangel working on this,” the Drake went on. “These are
your main culprits and the ones you probably think you need to look at now,” before Greyblade could question the Dragon’s odd choice of words, the Drake was continuing. “Vandemar Holdings, a subsidiary of Synfoss,” she raised a hand again, “and before you tell me, I already know – the Archangel reliably informs me that this was the corporate dynasty into which the Pinian Disciples were briefly reincarnated, and the Third Disciple did a lot of the design and experimentation in question. A lot of the foundation of current human power and weapons technology is based on Vandemar-Berkenshaw patents. The Pinians helping humanity without even knowing it – fascinating. Most likely they tapped into ancient knowledge or somesuch,” she touched the screen, and the view shifted to a close-up of a great glossy building branded with a familiar world-squeezing logo.
“Synfoss,” Greyblade said.
“Amusingly, they kept the Earth-as-sphere imagery in their advertising,” the Drake said. “It makes them seem rather dated and backward, but it’s also a constant reminder that they’re one of the only human corporations to have survived since the exile, and to have flourished on the Exposed Earth.”
“What do they even do?” Greyblade demanded.
“Well, not an awful lot,” the Drake said. “They’re really just a shell, containing a lot of smaller corporations and extrusions of corporations. They were big, you see, because they held the rights to the Power Plant energy regulators – the converter units – when the Destarion was feeding power to the planet.”
“They had the whole giveth and taketh away thing going on,” Gabriel put in.
“Since the veil lifted, there have been more direct ways to get that power into the Earth grid, and the converters have been put to other uses. Synfoss still largely controls the processes, though. But this is the most interesting part,” the Drake turned, and began tapping screens set up like a shrine around the I-Spy’s gleaming hull. “Synfoss had a little bit of a Demon problem.”
“Demons?” Greyblade echoed, looking from the Drake to Gabriel and trying to keep his tone casual.
“Opposite number to Angels,” Gabriel explained unnecessarily. “Technically in the employ of the Adversary and the dark side of the Brotherhood down in Castle Void, but … well, generally tolerated. They made a bit of a play for power during the exile, when we were all cut off from our chains of command.”
“I remember hearing about it,” Greyblade allowed himself to remark, “but they didn’t cause any trouble after the veil lifted, did they?”
“No,” Gabriel chuckled. “That’s because there was only one left, and he went to ground pretty sharpish when the real powers turned back up.”
“Naturally, the I-Spy is sensitive to anything the Pinians’ opposite numbers do,” the Drake said, “so I get a certain amount of information regarding movements of their minions anywhere more than a couple of hundred kilometres above the Rooftop of Castle Void. The remaining Demon has proven extremely elusive.”
“I understand there were four, at their peak?” Greyblade asked.
“Yeah,” Gabriel replied. “Odium made the mistake of skipping onto the Elevator early in the exile, and got squashed for it. Same thing happened to Fury later on, when the Demons killed the Third Disciple’s incarnation and her sisters went after them. The First Disciple and Fury ended up jumping to the Destarion. That was when the power exchange was set up. I’m afraid I don’t know what happened to the First Disciple after that. I lost them all again. She was either trapped on board the Elevator for the remainder of that lifetime, or she died in the process of travelling there. Either way, she went back into circulation as a new human incarnation, but she did manage to deliver the receiver-converter technology to the Destarion.”
“You never asked the Godfang about it?” Greyblade asked innocently. Gabriel snorted.
“I didn’t even ask the First Disciple,” the Archangel said. “Got the feeling he’d happily go the rest of eternity not talking about it.”
“That does sound like a Destarion story,” the Drake said. “Demon number three, the fledgling Demon known as Troy, was neutralised by the Archangel Barry,” she went on when neither Knight nor Archangel took up the narrative.
Gabriel nodded. “Troy bounced around using his Demon teleportation power for a little while, he soiled a bunch of holy ground on the west coast of Old Meganesia pursuing a confusing vendetta with the Archangel Barry, and they mutually mulched each other before either one could do much damage.”
“The Demon Troy did not cause any lasting problems on Earth,” the Drake agreed. “Which brings us to Mercy, or Mercibald. Demon number four, one of the oldest, certainly the most successful, and the one who had done the most research into the veil and the limitations of the exile. We are not sure, but it seems likely he ventured down the stairs as soon as the Eden Road opened up again, and joined the Darking forces in Castle Void at his earliest opportunity.”
“And good riddance to him,” Gabriel said. “The Second Disciple went after him when the First went after Fury. I never saw either of them again after that – I lost them all, like I said. I had a chance to ask about it once or twice in the early years of the Exposed Earth, but like with the First Disciple I got the distinct impression that it was none of my damn business. If I had to guess – and I basically do – I’d say that old Mercy got the better of the not-quite-fully-Pinian Second Disciple, and she remained basically embarrassed about it ever since,” he looked at Greyblade. Greyblade pretended not to notice, and Gabriel let him pretend. “Still,” the Archangel went on, “we didn’t see Mercy again after that so maybe they took each other out. Or came to some kind of agreement whereby Mercy slunk off downstairs, like the Drake said, and the Second Disciple agreed not to come after him in the next life. None of my damn business,” he repeated in conclusion, “but it really doesn’t pay to make enemies of Firstmades. When it comes to holding grudges…”
“The Archangel has a lot of stories about how he almost talked to the revered Firstmades about things,” the Drake said dryly. “I hope you have some more interesting material.”
“I live to entertain,” Greyblade said in quiet amusement. The Drake gave him another of her unsettling long-toothed grins.
“When the Demons’ network was destroyed, a lot of the veil research was lost – all of it, from what the Archangel told me,” the Dragon continued, returning to her reconnaissance stations. “And yet this is what you think may still be going on, somewhere?” she glanced at Greyblade. “You think some research remained in circulation?”
“I get the feeling you know more than I do at this point,” Greyblade remarked.
“Maybe,” the Drake acknowledged placidly. “I think if anything like veil physics was being studied on Earth, there would be some sign of it here,” she gestured around at her little amphitheatre of surveillance.
“The signs I got were very obscure…” Greyblade started.
“Soul interplay across the reality / unreality boundary and harmonic resonance with ongoing soul-strings, residual Firstmade similarity profiles, things like that?” the Drake said casually, and waved a hand over the crystal ball. A large screen lit up with a seething map of Earth’s continents and seas, illuminated in blue-white with a blaze of the living and dying. Greyblade had seen similar topographies in the libraries of Barnalk Low.
“Something like that,” he admitted, surprised. “How do you–?”
“This isn’t intended for the tracking of populations inside a veiled region,” the Drake said, and tapped a control. The map dissolved into an angry red negative of itself, veins and nodes pulsating unhealthily. “That’s just an alternate setting, for illustrative purposes. Please believe me when I say that if there is veil physics being practiced here, it is strictly amateur.”
Greyblade stared. “What is that?”
“That?” the Drake glanced at the map, which looked more like Hell than any Hell Greyblade had ever seen. And Greyblade had seen a few. “That is the guns. If you have come here to stop anything,
Sir Greyblade of the Ladyhawk, please tell me you’re here to stop the humans’ guns.”
A SMOG OF RUINED SOULS
“You see,” the Drake continued while Greyblade went on staring at the boiling mass of souls – or at least their theoretical expressions in higher physics – as it chewed on the map of the world, “while the risk of some human or other replicating the veil of the Infinites and plunging Earth into a second exile is a serious one, the chances of it happening before the world rots to pieces under us are actually quite slim.”
“Do they know about this?” Greyblade managed.
Gabriel snorted. “Of course they do.”
“The humans are aware of the fallout from their weapons,” the Drake said. “They are even taking steps to contain it … although I am not certain it is having any effect, and not quickly enough. The real question is whether the Firstmades know about it.”
“What?”
“You may not have Stormburg of Áea’s innate communion with the Disciples, Sir Knight, but you have something even better,” the Drake said. “You are friends with the actual Disciples.”
“She’s right,” Gabriel pointed out. “You were battle buddies with them through the liberation and the Worm Cult’s second invasion and the Slumsville Wind and all the rest. Don’t you get invited to Pinian Derbis to swap war stories anymore?”
“Don’t you think that would have been my first stop if it was the case?” Greyblade asked, treading carefully. “Why would I come to Earth when I could just ask the administration what’s going on down here?”
“I did wonder,” Gabriel said. The Archangel was entirely too shrewd, but Greyblade reassured himself that he was unaccustomed to conversing with a Burning Knight. “What happened in Capital Mind?” Gabriel pressed. “That’s where the Disciples are living for the most part, isn’t it?”
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