《Mourners, Abednego, Persistence》 An Inductive Proof ¡°Why do unwinged people like flying about in the air so much? It seems inefficient to extend journeys by an entire additional dimension.¡± -Quote attributed to Molly Nonakufa, founder of the Third Path Philosophy of Aidenism The human watched his younger brother make an undignified jink in his swoop, and for the first time in almost two years he laughed from deep in his chest. His spouse noticed, wryly intrigued, and did what it did best: challenged him. ¡°The other team has no slightest measure of skill.¡± Any victory won in this arena is the outcome of a glorified exhibition match. ¡°Maybe our Louis has become a man of condescension.¡± If they¡¯re going at it this hard and long, either it¡¯s a very near exhibition match or my brother is as good an actor as anyone I¡¯ve ever seen. ¡°Perhaps all of them have done so?¡± Focusing on one person, no matter how significant, is against the very spirit of the game. ¡°If that is the case, excellent!¡± Funnily enough, that¡¯s not quite so bothersome to me. At that, Seroku Adz Tataki Ba¡¯fus huffed, and it reclined farther in its seat. Its broad long arms slid down its flanks in an arrangement of supreme poise, and the four eyespots lined up on its vaguely feline face fluttered along with its vaguely feline ears. The grayish sepia color of its scales meant it was one of the few creatures in the high-placed box whose color changed not in the slightest as the drowsing sunlight caught it with a full broadside. Its four meter height meant that very few people could have possibly obscured it from view anywhere in the maypoling arena. The high box where it and its husband both resided meant that its actions would be noticed. The changes to the culture of Pennat Gate over the recent years meant its retention of dignity reassured the hardline classicists, and its permitting itself a certain emotive relaxation reassured the growing numbers of foreign-born residents. Next to his Lady, Sebastio Artaxerxes laughed. Adz¡¯s frustration with the ¡°games of nobles¡± had actually been greatly improving, along with its skill, over the past year. Like all udod aodod, its mind was to the human mind what a train was to a groundcar. If he asked it about the statistical likelihood of the maypoling teams¡¯ successes, it would produce numbers with greater than thirty-two-bit precision accuracy without ever touching its Monolith connection or other personal utilities. If he asked it about the most recent changes in relationship between its home estate and nearby neighbors, there might be as much as a twenty second delay in it providing a coherent response. In any case, though, the human knew his ¡°wife¡± would tell him exactly what it really thought with absolutely no deception. Lord of an entire Yrdkish estate or not, for that Adz was more than merely priceless. He surveyed the entertainment underway. In the wake of the carnage of the Western Sunrise, he¡¯d taken to eschewing any sort of disguise for how Caladhbolg (or Malumortis as it knew itself), the semi-sacred object which had subsumed his right arm, had changed his appearance for the slightly macabre. That meant that, in all likelihood, a fair number of the audience were watching him instead of the action. Some probably came to the event specifically for that end, like a fallflat waiting at an oasis for an unaware stipp to wander close. Those hoping to get a chance at offing one of the most controversial Lords of Yrdky alive, though, would have to contend with supermaximum security. The black-garbed armsmen who stood behind Lord and Lady stuck to a training regimen of Herculean strenuousness. Of course, the lack of success for prior wetwork missions of that stripe probably helped make up the mind of many a would-be kingkiller. However, it wasn¡¯t exactly hard to find him, either. Many copycats aped the orange segment running from the rightmost third of the skull, down arm and shoulder, and ending at his waist; most of them adopted small liberties like having ears on both sides of the head. Usually, the effect was achieved with a subcutaneous media layer or a simple illusion spell. Even so, the little red gems embedded in his right temple and the center of the back of the hand, once adorning the basket hilt of a sword, glinted with an ethereal light that made them hard to mimic. The solid gilded orb of his right eyeball, however, had an uncommon something about how it played and darted. Distinguishing it from mere look-alikes didn¡¯t take magical assessment. His presence at the event served a couple of different purposes. First, he had a vested interest in watching one of the players in person, for the first time that year. Second, starting at a time four or so years prior, he¡¯d finally accepted, or realized the truth of, Adz¡¯s opinion of his public image. Who had he been? A guardian, an idealist, a weapon, a person with a streak of faint cruel enjoyment in pulling the weeds threatening Pennat Gate¡¯s blossoming mission and people. He was something that one loved in a protective father way, but with that love came fear, that the protective father might strike his get as he went about beating off the gryke-rushers threatening them. Yes, when one manages to save a vagrant child from the predations of the world, and take them in as one¡¯s own, that child will love their guardian in their own way. But unless they have potent evidence otherwise, that child will still cherish a fertile grain of fear at the memory of their protector¡¯s wroth. Sebastio needed to get out, and beseengetting out, among his people. Not because he needed to shatter a presumption that he thought himself perfect; on the contrary, he¡¯d published more information on his own flaws in the first year of his reign than most Lords saw over their whole careers. He needed to regularly reassure his people, his new people ¡°imported¡± from the gem in particular, that he was hard, but not a monster. But those ruminations were distractions. I need distractions from my distractions about as much as Crippled False needs help keeping the peace in Rhaagm: if so, then only from someone far superior to me. said Caladhbolg in its psionic voice, and Sebastio chuckled inside. The miscellaneous talents he¡¯d inherited as part and parcel of his bodily inheriting the small-god-like artifact included a few which made it easy enough to watch the proceedings without the assistance of scrying or telescopic functions. Down in the arena proper, the two four-player teams showed off their style by making the cool and skillful look calm and effortless. The Seventh Step team had very effective control over most of the maypole¡¯s lower two thirds. Their dives and turns came and went, so sharp and quick their ornithopter wings almost set the air to bleeding. The Fifth Step team of which Louis Artaxerxes was an integral member had left not a centimeter of pole unpapered above their line of confrontation. The frieze-rippled wood peeked out sparsely below that point, but occasional strips of red paper also slashed down over the yellow sea. The scoreboard had a small but undeniable margin in favor of Seventh Step. As things stood, the match would be over in the duration it took a human to walk around the arena¡¯s highest level. Louis and his team had that much leeway to make a few more well-placed passes. The trick, like with non-synthesized cooking, marriage proposals, and kicking off civil wars, was timing. Somewhere between the onrushing wall of well-done failure that was the clock and the zippy fast-twitch muscles of the opposition¡¯s rebuttal lay a sweet sweet optimum. Louis Artaxerxes found it. Pulling a fresh papering swatch from his dispenser, Sebastio¡¯s adopted brother quickly slapped one end against the meter-thick maypole. In so doing his left wing actually tapped the pylon, making him shudder and wobble for a moment before he began his plummet down the hundred meters of its length. That little mishap was enough to throw off the rhythm of the lower-hovering team¡¯s defensive rally. As the first of the paper¡¯s four attach points stuck to the pole¡¯s surface, Louis began swinging out into the empty air. When he was close to ten meters from the maypole, he suddenly played out an extra-long stretch of paper. The excess began twisting about, trying to follow his movement despite the firm hand of gravity and air resistance. His wings¡¯ mechanical advantage meant that he didn¡¯t have to worry about the drag throwing him off unless he held most of a full sixty meter swatch unsupported. He swung and doubled back, throwing down the second and third attach points of the colored banner with somewhat less than ideal placement. Instead of a beautiful rhumb like most of the other strips, Louis ended up leaving a meandering uneven squiggle in his wake. It didn¡¯t cover nearly as much as a straight even papering, and in fact it even went over a good part of an earlier red swatch as well. But it also denied most of the effectiveness of Seventh Step¡¯s counterstroke. A sturdy assassin, expecting the paper to be played to its fullest length, had begun an ascending run even before Louis had placed his second attach point. Her own arc was formulated to end where the human¡¯s started. While that was still a manageable feat, the early juke in the red paper meant she¡¯d be wasting more than half of the swatch before overlapping his contribution no matter what happened. She offset this a bit by diverting to layer on top of a bit of a very early red contribution, untouched until that point. That exchange rapidly evolved into a three-on-two volley, two more rising yellow roads being laid down, one of them immediately halved by a red remise. The other yellow stretch carved all the way up to the top of the maypole, adhering to its sticky lip. That team¡¯s dut coach seemed to lose his mind in a fit of enthusiastic approval. One of the two defending Fifth Step contestants cut across the yellow invasion immediately and with lukewarm success. Each crew whittled away cautiously at the encroachments of the other. For twenty seconds, things devolved into primitive lunges and posturing, each side doing its best to make the other overcommit. The balance had shifted still further toward Seventh Step, but not in anything close to a decisive level. Most of the crowd was voicing an appreciative and highly partisan support for one side or the other. remarked Caladhbolg in the chest-thumping reprieve, using Sebastio¡¯s mouth. His lustrous eye glinted as his voice grinned without showing a single tooth. The entity sharing his mind and body had long since become something like a dissociated but fraternally similar personality, or even a particularly strong mood. In fact, aside from voice modulation, it was difficult for most people to tell them apart. Adz made a wheezing udod aodod snort. Its leg-cables twined together in bemusement - being seated, it didn¡¯t have to worry about its humor tipping it over. It wasn¡¯t most people, and yet it considered the artificial interloper just another part of its husband. The Lord of Pennat Gate then noticed some subtle signal, either sent or picked up by the final member of Louis¡¯s team. There was a thin head-bob, much like an Earth Standard sideways nod. Then a shift in center of gravity sent the man, a naufer with a stereotypical graphic of a raptor flapping on either side of his helmet, twisting away from his defensive post. One of his hands already gripped the end of a paper swatch even before he began his dive. Dangerous; a single hand occupied for long deprived a maypoler of almost half of their mobility, and losing that before the apex of a sweep often ended badly. As he played out the first paper, he set himself on a beautiful helix trajectory, and stiffened his wings. That part was necessary because he shortly reached back with his other hand, and grabbed the catch of the dispenser. Sebastio noticed the pattern of light above the dispenser as this happened, and his face went slack with concern. The naufer then proceeded to do something which resulted in half a million different kinds of edits, replays, simulations, and two music sensories being derived from the spectacle in the course of a single day. Wheeling in an incredibly tight spiral, using only his legs for stability, the man wound both strips side-by-side all the way around the maypole almost thirteen times. The move - gutsy and dangerous - drew the response of the whole opposing team almost immediately, but their response was too little, too late. The twin streamers of red covered nearly a full meter¡¯s width between them. If it had been one paper swatch, or they had gone straight down the maypole, that would have been one thing. The angle and closeness of placement spurred Seventh Step on to take very drastic action. The assassin made an attempt to physically collide with the naufer and cut his gambit short. It was a not uncommon end-game tactic. If two contestants ran irrecoverably afoul of each other, the maypoling equipment¡¯s inertia sumps would keep them from harm. An Ullos container around the cylinder-shaped playing field - what people called a nanny net - would also prevent the plummeters from squashing spectators. However, maypoling had no substitution, and players unskilled enough to be swatted from the skies were so obviously unforgivable scoundrels that they had to be permanently kept from re-entering the action for the protection of all involved. Unfortunately, arguments of the merit in removing players for the full duration of a thirty-two-minute match didn¡¯t do much good for anybody if those making the attemptmissed. One of the other Seventh Step fliers obviously panicked. That was the best explanation for why the slimmest of the four tried to make a big hooking loop to the post¡¯s top. He gained altitude and pulled away from the thing for twenty meters, pushing his ornithopter¡¯s engine as hard and fast as if Hssi itself gave chase. The whole way he was hounded by both Louis and one of the other Fifth Step players, and the holding pattern amounted to as much of a distraction as a dut in an Aidenist convent. The remaining two Seventh Step players swept up in a flurry of contrarian spirit, plastering their own strips in a zigzag that caught a good portion of the Fifth Step daredevil¡¯s progress out in the cold. Their precision cancelled some thirty percent of the new red wave. Unfortunately, about seventy percent of forty eight square meters of paper still radically shifted the balance to Seventh Step¡¯s favor. Moments after spinning out the end of his strips, the naufer passed under the bottom of the maypole, dropped to the nanny net, and bounced off the photostatic structure just as the clock returned to its rest position. Light flickered up and down the maypole¡¯s length: once, once again, once more. ¡°The red team has claimed victory this field, this day,¡± thrummed the arena¡¯s announcer eidolon. Each person present usually latched onto the production of a favored commentator among the severalthousandcivilians present who made their names in doing just that for sporting events. As such, it was the first thing the announcer had said since kicking off the match at the start. A ten-meter platform pushed up from the ground, rising until it drew up several meters short of the maypole¡¯s bottom face. With a little persuasion amongst themselves, both teams managed to reach the platform¡¯s top with something like civility. By long tradition, they all saluted east, symbolizing respect for the Lord who made the event possible.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. By considerably lesser tradition, far more proprietary observance instituted during the hexadecade following the Western Sunrise, and the coincidence that he actually resided that day, they also turned and directly saluted Sebastio as well. By the fingernail grip of his own respect for tradition, the Lord accepted the gesture without protest. ¡°Have these played well?¡± asked the announcer. ¡°YES!¡± roared the crowd in every conceivable manner of speech. By very simple and very highly-respected tradition, this was where the host Lord (Sebastio, in case he hadn¡¯t been paying attention to the fact that they were in a Fifth Step earldom of his own estate) replied with an eye toward the game¡¯s satisfactory nature - or the converse. By and large, the people of Yrdky took all their games seriously, inter-estate battles and otherwise. It wasn¡¯t that poor skill was worth a scourging and eternal shame, but poor sportsmanship was almost at that level. That had, in fact, generated some contention with the people of Pennat Gate shortly after his own victory. Now here was the sticking point on his opinion in the matter: the naufer who¡¯d won the day for Louis¡¯s team had blatantly broken the rules by tampering with his paper dispenser. The lights along the fabricator units of each player¡¯s dispenser told the players and audience both how long their users had to wait before being allowed their next dispersal of fabric. It was a simple but effective measure at countering all kinds of trickery and tactics that would otherwise lie on the border between half a hundred kinds of technicalities. That was fine. That was good. Except when undertaking his spectacular two-handed dive, the man had pulled a second paper swatch while the sequence indicated he had a few seconds before it ought to have obliged any grabby hands, whether with five digits or eight. More worrisome, it seemed that the effort and skill to alter such hardware at all was nearly the same as the effort and skill involved in doing so without leaving sign. Almost evidence that the infringement wassupposedto be discovered. Of course, all that meant that Sebastio¡¯s dutiful tendencies should have directed him toward making the observation that, since ¡°playing well¡± inherently involved not cheating, and cheating created the conditions of the Fifth Step team¡¯s victory, they had not played well; QED. The offender¡¯s identity¡­ complicated that assessment. The naufer in question had taken off his helmet, freeing abnormally long ears from the divots running back along its length to make wearing it a bearable experience. Based on the approving commentary he was picking up over the fora set aside for Pennat Gate¡¯s sporting events, Heggad bet Lesredat bet Niner bettin Heggad the Grand had the reputation of an admirable and handsome specimen. One very enamored individual described him as ¡°wonderfully fecund¡± among other things, several seconds before a moderator¡¯s ban-hammer laid down its justice. Possibly that had something to do with the evident fact that he or his progenitors had benefited from a gene for albinism. Possibly it was the cosmetic vanity of scars crosshatching his snout, though fairly consistent rumor placed some of them as genuine trophies from hunting expeditions. Sebastio, being the na?ve innocent romantic soul he was, guessed that the man¡¯s political ties played a not insubstantial part. Heggad¡¯s grandmother had been comfortably bound for many years with a certain Gernasot, esteemed chief minister of intelligence for the whole estate of Nor¡¯ridge. Gernasot, as it happened, was one of the more partisan critics of Sebastio¡¯s reign. Not so much for who he was, but for what he represented: a whittling-away of Yrdkish tradition in a time where so much else had been taken from Yrdky already. As it also happened, the woman was correct in her opinion that Sebastio corroded counter-productive designs of Pennat Gate¡¯s entrenched culture. Following the rebuilding required by so many estates after the Western Sunrise¡¯s invasions, certain habits had to go. Being a Lonely Lord - one whose estate owed no direct fealty to and received no protection from the more affluent ranks of Republic Lords, living out on the edge of Yrdky - Sebastio was already poised to throw grit into the gears of accepted norms when he¡¯d taken the opal throne. The estate¡¯s present insistence on disregarding normal schedules for Fountainist pilgrimages, on grounds of ¡°allowing greater exposure for those involved in keeping cross-cultural peace, if they don¡¯t wish to be expelled from Pennat Gate,¡± rankled profoundly. The continued eschewing of Yrdkish war games as a means of resolving conflict, except in a few obviously maleficent cases, made the estate something like a pariah. At least Gernasot had some level of reason in her opinions, though. Lord O¡¯Casey shared Gernasot¡¯s misgivings about this upstart Artaxerxes, but proved even less cerebral in his distaste, distrust, and general dislike. One might think that being a banner-bearer, fundamental in helping a whole society to survive an extinction-level holocaust, provided the man who was part sword some degree of immunity from political pettiness. One would be wrong. O¡¯Casey¡¯s constant worrying-away at the political specie of Sebastio and Tuoamas, and their ¡°fractured throne,¡± might have been two parts ambition to one part fanatic caution, but the man was lionized for his ability to lead, not for hislogos. If Sebastio gave the match his blessing, and the people of Nor¡¯ridge produced evidence he¡¯d known about the illegal conduct (since he in fact did), it would form grounds for a slight against his character that he really, really didn¡¯t need. It would obviously come from favoritism toward his sibling. Favoritism was natural and unavoidable for most thinking things, but if he actually obliged that favoritism when justice was required instead, then on what other issues might he willing to compromise his integrity? And - with the power now condensed in his estate - what kind of omen was it when a Lord risen to his profile began to show a feebleness of the egalitarianism-centric morals he¡¯d originally championed? Of course, he might claim innocence of the infringement, but even if that wouldn¡¯t shrink him in his own mind, there were probably a few people planted in the audience as supporters of Nor¡¯ridge. Surely between a few of them, the proper footage existed to conclusively show Sebastio taking note of the faulty dispenser. Conversely, the familial position of Heggad meant that actually accusing the fellow of cheating was no different from passing judgment on a relative of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s golden child. Doing that, however accurate his claims, would get him lynched in Gernasot¡¯s propaganda mills. Oh, eventually things might get ¡°set right¡± and reveal the Lord as both honest and accurate, but that was the kind of taint which legal absolution couldn¡¯t exactly banish. The same could be said of pretty much anywhere that Nor¡¯ridge had influence to wield - and that covered a lot of places. An ugly business. Furthermore, an ugly business with the same outcome regardless of whether Heggad had compromised his hardware or it had been done by someone else. But why now? Then it hit him. The gathering of Republic Lords in Sixmonth, three and a half months into the future. Yrdky had seen but one Lordsmoot in the last hexadecade, an event attended by the most miniscule portion of Lords and their retinues. A larger gathering, in time of peace and (relative) stability, would make an excellent breeding ground for discontent. With Lord Tuoamas - and he was LordTuoamas,beloved and familiar with his subjects, despite his eccentricities where the Maker¡¯s works were concerned - such an event would only have served to improve relations with other estates and their rulers. Lord Artaxerxes, being the icon that he was, could produce his own kind of fervid charismatic response¡­ but not with such reckless patriotic approval. His evocations were more the territory of a cult of personality, not the sort of inarguable improvement to reputation a true-born citizen of Yrdky could coax from such a crowd. For a moment, Sebastio felt that part of himself which revelled in pain hoping for a massive-scale confrontation, almost howling for release. It would be a wonderful cathartic cleansing to devastate those who would impugn a collection of asylee-citizens. A vast portion of the estate now resided as a result of the so-called Pennat Gate Haven Edict, a group of people who¡¯d been welcomed into the estate¡¯s arms because they literally had no other safe place to call home. If a collection of petty jealous nobles wanted to do harm to such helpless petitioners, he¡¯d gladly destroy the destroyers first. He shook inside. No. Destroy only what¡¯s absolutely necessary, preserve the rest. He opened a direct channel to his Lady. On the one hand, he blessed himself for making the decision to consult with the udod aodod who was his co-regent, the unseen third point of the trifecta holding up his new home¡¯s order. On the other hand, he ought to have contacted it sooner. {Adz, I noticed a problem with the dispenser of our star player.} {Did you? What sort of problem? How did it catch your attention?} Curious, concerned. {It was compromised.} He sent a package of his observations to his Lady, highlighting the light pattern on the side of the dispenser. Once he would have felt a bit uncertain as to how his observations would translate. Not in the sense of drawing forth the same perceptions. Cross-species adapters for sensory content had addressed the topic of going from two visual pickups to four, or losing the ability to perceive color, in ages long past. No, he was more concerned with how well he could convey the vector of his reason and suspicion. Once, that would have been a legitimate concern. After more than sixteen years of marriage, though, two creatures began to lose their doubts in each other¡¯s comprehension. Discomfort? Not always, but that was also true of the once-security-consultant and the once-designer. {The timing and context make me think of the ?lthlant Goldspire-Traders conspiracy. Very clever. Very dishonest.} From Adz, ¡°clever¡± lay at roughly the pinnacle of the ¨²danese stele of admiration; ¡°dishonest¡± was nearly its antipode. It had some pride in its quality as a simulation designer, after all, and getting legitimate requirements from a client was the only way to achieve perfection. To the Lord¡¯s great fortune, Adz¡¯s ambition was never short of perfection, and its capacity to cope with disappointment was profound. {What one is that, exactly?} asked Sebastio. His instant attempt to identify the event met a hundred hundred references to something either identical in name or so close as to make no difference. {Back in the nineteenth epoch; battle was done between Hide Mountain and Ffenuu Ffenuu Smith. It ended poorly.} He sensed that the udod aodod expected him to get his answers from the Monolith. However, his Lady had too much insight to avoid asking its input. That was one of the reasons why we got married, after all - aside from politics, a relatively irreverent personality, and the adorable way it tries to avoid saying ¡°I¡¯m ALSO a huge follower of Eihks Richard¡¯s work¡± outright. {Enlighten me.} {Hide Mountain¡¯s Ninth Step nobles disliked the direction their estate¡¯s leadership was headed. Ffenuu Ffenuu Smith was fresh from the yolk of their charter, and had a great need for prestige. A Duke of Hide Mountain, who I regret to admit is an adoptive ancestor, approached Ffenuu Ffenuu Smith¡¯s Lord. To the credit of Lord Ansey, she¡­ but that is not important. She and a group from Hyde Mountain tacitly agreed to make war on each other several times, the Duke¡¯s side narrowly throwing the battle in each instance. Soon, Lord Ansey had herself a reputation for excellence in warfare and several estates eager for treaties, and Hyde Mountain¡¯s cabinetry managed to convince their Lord to back a number of necessary changes in policy. Of course, had things worked out otherwise and the offenders get caught, a cry of libel would have just as surely earned the lesser party some sympathy, and the greater some suspicion. The¡­ extreme bribery taken to anesthetize the presiding Lawmaster¡¯s conscience probably would have helped as well.} Deliberate sabotage of a noble¡¯s own Lord. That was like Sebastio, a Rhaagmini by birth, taking an oath before Crippled False in vain. There were some, jioji and dagachas and ftalw and aarls to name a few, whose kinds held very different hereditary concepts of honor - but the human model of that virtue, no matter how alien at its presentation, somehow seemed to make sense to pretty much everybody. Did that mean it was followed all the time? Oh, yes, and there was no such thing as vagrancy in Rhaagm, and the Aidenists had finally brought peace to the whole circle of creation, and anentropic physics had been made universally legal. But violations on the scale of what Adz was describing¡­ {That information is more than sufficient to draw up a number of accounts of the matter, but please continue, Lady.} {The estates involved both belonged to Lonely Lords, and back then the rules were more lax for Lonely Lord estates. Both of them could make use of more advanced weaponry for their conflict than we use today: solar lenses, Saint Peters, gray goo warheads, and so on. Hide Mountain, and Hide Mountain alone, neglected to do so - despite the fact that they had enough Saint Peters to void every complex machine for half a billion kilometers in every direction. As it happened, one of ?lthlant¡¯s martial nobility was in the region, and noticed the manifests of each estate¡¯s munitions. She eventually reported the altercation¡¯s abnormality. If you consult those accounts, they will probably agree that without that noble¡¯s observation, the Eighth War of the Goldspires probably would not have happened.} {... Lady, it goes without saying that your parallel makes me unhappy.} {Lord, your job is not to be happy, it is to better your subjects¡¯ lives.} {As it is yours to advise. I do not think I thank you often enough for how frustrating you are.} Adz gave an impression of amusement, as though Sebastio was mostly kidding and had a scrap of perfect severity in his statement, instead of the other way around. The Lord of Pennat Gate came back into his body, considering the different ways the game might resolve. After a short pause, his hand-that-was-not-a-hand tapping an arrhythmic beat on the air, he opened his mouth to reply. At that moment, he got a different direct channel request shoved down his throat. Scuffing the frustration from his bytevoice, he accepted the connection with Magdod Bartimaeus, and dove once again into his cerv-mesh. {Lord Artaxerxes!} {Magdod, I told you that I am Sebastio to you, now and always. I have vacillated on many issues in my mind¡¯s confines over the years; so long as we are in private, that is not one of them.} {... Sebastio, Kallahassee and I have found some problems. Some BEAST problems. Please stop by as soon as you conceivably can.} {I have a bit of a situation here, Magdod. Is it life-or-death?} {It might be much worse than that.} Well, absolutely nothing was going to be easy today. ¡°It has been years since the competition when Pennat Gate last changed leadership,¡± Sebastio said to the crowds. ¡°This was less happy, and more entertaining.¡± He gave a reassuring look to Louis, and only after the younger man met his eyes did he also give him a smile. The hubbub died horribly, like someone had put it out of its misery after leaving it kneecapped and without medical assistance for two days. ¡°WHAT¡¯D HE SAY!?¡± screamed a lone Rhaagmini voice, New Armisian accent so thick it could only have been from a genuine out-of-towner, probably incapacitatingly drunk. ¡°Questioning our Lord?¡± seethed a ragathencider voice. ¡°Why so foolish?¡± Its pheromones couldn¡¯t reach all the way up to the box, but Sebastio guessed it was emanating a stew of disgust and anger. A trumpeting whinny came from an executioner somewhere. The game¡¯s participants traded concerned looks. There was a sound suspiciously like glass shattering from the first floor of the arena. Sebastio turned to Adz. ¡°I need to be going,¡± he stated. ¡°Where?¡± Adz asked. ¡°Business with Kallahassee and Magdod. Purple business.¡± Both a mild curse and a factual statement. ¡°Very well, then I shall accompany you.¡± ¡°As you wish, Lady.¡± He stopped, and looked up at the udod aodod as he stood and turned to the high box¡¯s exit. ¡°You were right: all the players have turned to condescension, I should think.¡± They both left the arena just as something barely short of a riot broke out in the arena¡¯s spindly building, armsmen clearing a path to Sebastio¡¯s Lordly gemshipWalkerwhere it awaited their pleasure. On the way out, a polling spirit that manned the towering structure¡¯s northern arcade kiosk was informed that the Lord had only a single complaint about the venue. That complaint had to do with the fact that the maypole¡¯s exterior depicted his own face in endless repetition. When asked how it might be improved, he told the spirit that the images should either show him with less nobility of bearing, or be changed to something else altogether. The spirit tried to ask him something else as he strolled out across the golden lawn to the gemship¡¯s starboard door, but it was drowned out by the increasing sound of opinions. As the gemship¡¯s portal was about to close, Sebastio noted the strange man with an incredibly greasy mustache watching from the arcade¡¯s safety. A strange man named Hereld Upswitch who he¡¯d last seen very shortly before marrying. A strange man who was absolutely not the friend of Lord Artaxerxes, not the friend of Pennat Gate, and maybe not the friend of thinking existing creatures. Upswitch was, among other things, in the direct or indirect employ of certain Beings of Old. Sebastio absently considered, for the thousandth time, for which Olds other than the illustrious Target he himself was acting as unwitting agent. Sebastio prevented the locking ofWalker¡¯s door, looked right at the sour man who¡¯d basically told him off for wanting to marry his Lady. This was one of the few people he¡¯d gladly rip to shreds at the slightest excuse, and not merely bestow with excruciating punishment. Showing enough tact to avoid getting ripped to shreds, Hereld Upswitch did nothing. Sebastio abused one of the privileges he¡¯d received in return for his good judgment of surviving impalement by legendary sword thing: a security loophole. Caladhbolg¡¯s first gift to its new corporeal vehicle¡¯s inhabitant, aside from continued life, had been that of information. A very interesting public key, which brought a prompt when one passed it to one of the connectors that cerv-meshes borrowed from the Maker¡¯s design of the central Monolith servers. If one had an additional private key - as seen in the weapon¡¯s many bags of tricks - the prompt allowed all kinds of interesting things like breaching the security measures which kept a person¡¯s direct channel connections consensual. Sebastio forced open a connection to the man, and his bytevoice was as level and clean as any Earth Standard doctor¡¯s instrument table. {Hereld, you once advised me on my long-term relationship prospects. As a returned favor, I have a bit of advice for you.} There was a delay of about a millisecond without response, which was to normal cerv-mesh communication times what an average atom was to an average elephant. {Yes, Lord?} asked a mockingly obsequious voice, which to its credit had only the barest tremor at such a violation. Sebastio snorted. {If it is the last thing you do, get rid of that mustache.} He allowed the gemship¡¯s door to close. ¡°What was that?¡± asked Adz from its seat. ¡°Hereld Upswitch,¡± replied Sebastio, without needing to look at his spouse to see its numb anger. His fleshy hand tightened on the air for an instant, as though it were Upswitch¡¯s neck. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sebastio turned, and made a quick gesture of annoyance. ¡°He¡¯s too stupid to be stupid, and I¡¯m smarter than that,¡± he drawled, slipping into Bequastish to quote a Rhaagmini clich¨¦. Well, so be it. They¡¯d need far more than intelligence soon enough, anyway. Choking On Numbers ¡°When you have a problem, blame numbers. You will always be correct.¡± -Ast aaned proverb The reaching-fellow Seven Plus Two Minus Three Times Three, or Seven as it was known in an abbreviated capacity, stepped through the hole in Home and into a new place. It didn¡¯t concern itself with why the hole had appeared, or its purpose. It wanted to visit the new place and had to go through the hole to do so. The hole lay lower in the priority of interests than what, and why, the new not-Home place was. The new place was not dark, or hard underfoot, or possessed of trees of flesh. It was soft and straight-edged. There were people around as well. Not fellows like Seven, but the same kind of things as Friend Essie. One came up to Seven¡¯s shoulder, and the other not quite so high. One had very light flesh, and the other one¡¯s flesh was even lighter. Both were covered in the same type of cloth that Friend Essie wore. The people were on the other side of a stripe, dividing a small room in half. The lighter one had a long pain-hurling thing in its grasp, and it was aimed in Seven¡¯s direction. When Seven tried to go over the stripe, it found that it couldn¡¯t. It placed one large finger against the place where it met the ground, and it felt a pressure resisting its movement. Its finger bent back against empty air when it did the same thing higher up. It looked at the finger¡¯s front. It looked at the finger¡¯s back. It looked at the people, who were looking up at it. ¡°Why is this?¡± it asked, doing its best to mimic the sounds of Friend Essie, when it taught Seven and others. The long pain-hurler hit the ground with a clack while the peoples¡¯ eyes got very large. They started making a lot of noise, then no noise at all. They considered each other. They considered Seven. ¡°... You¡­ can talk¡­?¡± said the taller one. It took another step back. ¡°Yes,¡± replied Seven. ¡°Yes,¡± murmured the shorter lighter one. Both of them looked at each other again. The tall person came closer, but not nearly close enough that Seven¡¯s nails could have reached, even without the invisible barrier baffling it. ¡°You are a person, yes?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Seven responded. ¡°How do you speak Rhaagmini?¡± That was the name for the sounds Seven and others had learned, Friend Essie had said. ¡°We learn from Friend Essie,¡± Seven replied. ¡°I learn very well.¡± ¡°Amazing!¡± exclaimed the short one. ¡°The discovery of¡­ of¡­ I can¡¯t think of anything that compares; maybe the first formulation of a tuning field?¡± ¡°A bit too far there, dear,¡± the tall one said, slowly, lowly. It turned back to Seven. ¡°Who is Friend Essie?¡± it asked, as though it were afraid Seven might be hurt by loud questioning. A matter that Seven had pondered often. ¡°Friend Essie is like you,¡± it said, pointing at the tall one, then the short one. ¡°Smooth and light. Little eyes. Strange feet-hands. It came to us a time ago. Appeared in Home, and we learned from it. First it used a pain-hurler on us like what you have there,¡± it noted, transferring its finger to the object on the ground, ¡°but it eventually stopped doing that.¡± It had been trying to learn something from the two before it, but it now forgot what that was. The two looked at each other again. ¡°Essie. Esmrald Qlikiss?¡± the short one asked. ¡°No. Ridiculous! How could she have survived?¡± ¡°¡®Time¡¯ is a very different prospect-¡± ¡°-in the Purple. Yes, Magdod. Uuugh, but this whole thing¡¯s more uncomfortable and creepy than getting a mesh inserted. I really, really hate schlrikts.¡± ¡°It¡­ It¡¯s not nice, Kal, but think about how important this could be. What if all Beasts everywhere are becoming sapient? Maybe it¡¯s not ¡®exciting,¡¯ but this is so much bigger than those Count conjoinments.¡± ¡°That¡¯s debatable, I think.¡± The tall one turned to Seven, and pointed into the air. At the terminus of its forefinger appeared an image, the size of Seven¡¯s head. Depicted there, moving slowly and with different cloth on its body, was a figure Seven remembered. ¡°Is this Friend Essie?¡± asked the tall one. ¡°That is Friend Essie,¡± confirmed Seven. As it did so, it experienced something. Friend Essie had often talked about things called ¡°emotions¡± that sounded very odd. Wantings that didn¡¯t correlate with survival instinct, wantings to interact with people and ideas in specific ways. Maybe that was what it had in its breast as it watched the strangers and the picture of Friend Essie. Some manner of a thing was twisting inside and rising up toward its head, something that compelled it to keep looking at the picture even when Seven knew what that picture showed. ¡°Do you know where Friend Essie is now? Can you tell us about her?¡± asked the shorter one, coming closer. ¡°Is she still around?¡± Each sound came with a little bounce. ¡°Friend Essie remains with Three Times One Minus Four,¡± Seven replied. ¡°Three remains where it has always resided in Home, by the Gravel Pit.¡± It turned to point through the hole between Home and the new place. When it came about, it saw that there was no hole back into the hard dark realm it knew so well. There was a wall, and no sign of Home at all. There was the new place and nothing else. ¡°If the hole I found were still here, Three would be that direction.¡± Seven pointed. ¡°Ah,¡± said the shorter of the two. It suddenly jerked. ¡°Is something serious?¡± Seven asked, turning to watch the tall one. ¡°Not precisely,¡± it answered after a short delay. ¡°I just contacted Sebastio,¡± the short one said to the tall one. ¡°If this isn¡¯t something he¡¯d be upset about not knowing, I¡¯ll eat a live squawk and wear its bones as eyelid piercings.¡± ¡°Ahh¡­¡± replied the tall one. It slumped just a bit. ¡°I¡­ well, I wish you hadn¡¯t done that. The man has enough worries.¡± The short one started coming closer to Seven, and the tall one hissed. ¡°Magdod, stop!¡± ¡°I¡¯m nowhere near the Ullos container, Kal. No need to worry-¡± ¡°I lost you once. Then I lost you again at Gursral. I might still breathe if it happened a third time, but I couldn¡¯t survive it again.¡± The shorter one turned, face twisting up violently. ¡°Pleeeeeaaaase,¡± came from the tall one, and it made Seven watch it very carefully. ¡°Okay,¡± the short one said, softly, and stepped away quickly. Seven remained still, watching the people and waiting to see what else they might do, not truly hearing the other noises they made. Most of those they were already making were unfamiliar anyway. Instead, it considered that long pronouncement. It was some kind of thing to be mined, something that was good, but which might hide a great deal of bad deep inside. Eventually, though, it was drawn to a section of wall that flew apart, round and huge and smooth. It faintly resembled the way that Home¡¯s many byways sometimes opened up or closed, making new ground and sky where there was none before. Through the new opening came, first, more sounds. ¡°... Argyva, if anyone ever openly questions your dedication, I or your Lord will make sure they regret it for a long time thereafter. Now, kindly make sure nobody comes down this wing of the complex without us knowing about it. This area is already under sensitive-level monitoring, but our purpose may require additional circumspection.¡± Then came more people. One was taller even than Seven, and had lots of flagella in two bunches below its waist. On seeing another short one, Seven¡¯s survival instinct instructed it to move far back into a corner. The arm of the new short one had yet another person in it, and that person was made of murder. The new creatures chattered at the others in some noises Seven could not decipher. ¡°Rhaagmini, if you please,¡± said the tall one. It dipped its head at Seven. ¡°We have a thinking, speaking Beast.¡± ¡°Crippled False,¡± breathed the new short one. The attached murder-person shifted, but did not attack. ¡°... You are serious?¡± came from the really tall one. It had little feeler-things in bunches on its face, a little like eyes, moving back and forth as its head turned. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly what I would have expected,¡± added the new short one. Every smallest sound out of that person drew Seven¡¯s attention with immediate totality. It peered up at the reaching-fellow. ¡°It¡¯s also troubling. Troubling, curious¡­ slightly embittering. Congratulations, you¡¯ve cleared off my schedule for the rest of the day. From one furnace into another.¡± ¡°What is-¡± began the old short one. ¡°What are you called? Or do¡­ people have some way to identify you?¡± ¡°I am called Seven, or Seven Plus Two Minus Three Times Three. I am a reaching-fellow of the people.¡± ¡°Incredible,¡± said the really tall one. It looked to the old short one. ¡°What led to this?¡± ¡°We were looking at some trace data pertaining to our mutual friend, and all those Beastly fusions. This fella came traipsing along and, well, look at it.¡± ¡°How is it even speaking? A schlrikt does not have lips.¡± ¡°THAT¡¯s what you want to know?¡± came from the new short one, looking up. ¡°What it¡¯s using to form syllabic constructions?¡± The old short one shook itself, and considered Seven. ¡°My apologies, Seven. I¡¯m called Magdod.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Kallahassee,¡± said the tall one more quietly. ¡°I am known as Adz,¡± said the really tall one. Seven watched the new short one, who vigorously scratched at one arm. ¡°If you please,¡± it eventually said, ¡°call me Lord. Some people call me Sebastio, but that¡¯s not right for now.¡± ¡°Friend Lord, tell your other person to not destroy me,¡± said Seven. The people gave a variety of reactions. Friend Lord took a languid step sideways, head tilted. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Tell your person in your arm to not destroy me. It is against my survival instinct to not inform a person that I aim not to be destroyed.¡± Friend Magdod and Friend Kallahassee began talking very quickly. Friend Adz stared at Seven. Friend Lord tapped the arm-that-was-a-person. said the other person through Friend Lord¡¯s body. Seven made a keening noise. ¡°Now¡­ guess how our Beast friend learned Rhaagmini,¡± said Friend Magdod, sparing a tiny look at Seven before stepping close to Friend Lord. ¡°Go on, guess.¡± Friend Lord¡¯s face moved around a good deal. ¡°You know, there¡¯s basically what might become a moderate-level blood feud with Nor¡¯ridge getting kicked off by coming here. Given how much Rhaagm wants to get at me, that¡¯s not great. So if you¡¯re going to wallow in it, then yes, here¡¯s an admission: I don¡¯t possess unlimited petty knowledge, which puts me in the rarefied bucket of absolutely everybody.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just¡­ unbelievable.¡± Friend Kallahassee turned around the room, hands on the back of its head. A foot stomped on the long pain-hurler, and it abruptly made a sharp high noise. Bright bickering miasma flew from it at great speed, bounding from the wall, missing Friend Adz by the width of Seven¡¯s nails, and swatting Friend Lord in the side. Friend Lord¡¯s cloth turned hard and crystalline and cold. It staggered sideways, caromed off the wall, and then flowed to the ground. An instant later, it flowed back upright, in the flexible manner of a sewing-fellow.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Ow,¡± said Friend Lord in a low voice. It brushed the cloth where it had solidified, and the cloth began to crumble away. Just as quickly, it began to recompose. ¡°I cannot imagine why you couldn¡¯t just use a quadratic accelerator if you needed a reliable firearm.¡± ¡°I¡¯m SO sorry-¡± ¡°Don¡¯t start. Don¡¯t tell why you have a very awkwardly modified magicannon just hanging around. Just tell us what made you bring us here.¡± Friend Kallahassee and Friend Magdod looked at each other yet again. Friend Magdod eventually breathed out before it continued making noises. ¡°You know the conspirators who said they were coerced into helping lay the Monolith low, back before we got our new sun? Lecnellecnlelnecec? Doris Ald?¡± ¡°The Ganymede traitors and their accomplices?¡± came from Friend Lord. That fifth person spoke out, and it made the very nails quiver in Seven¡¯s fingers. ¡°Well, by some absolutely incalculable odds, Esmrald Qlikiss either is or was until recently a survivor of the Purple, and she seems to have taught some of the locals her native tongue.¡± ¡°What?¡± A soft glow suddenly came from Friend Lord, and for the first time Seven wondered whether it might in fact be Foe Lord. It turned toward Seven, glowing from head and hand, and stepped closer. In fact, it moved directly through the barrier which prevented Seven from exploring the room on its own. ¡°Is the person who taught you to speak still alive?¡± Friend-Foe Lord looked up, and Seven decided that telling about Friend Essie was possibly beneficial to its chances of survival. ¡°Friend Essie continues teaching us at the Gravel Pit, in Shine Backward.¡± Friend-Foe Lord stopped seeming so dangerous for a moment. ¡°What is Shine Backward?¡± ¡°Shine Backward is one of the people¡¯s gathering places, with houses and orchards, in Home.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t even begin to think how to deal with this,¡± said Friend-Foe Lord as it stepped around in a small circle before going back out of the unseen barrier, looking over at Friend Adz. The glowing from head and hand had dwindled once more. ¡°We¡¯re presumably talking about some kind of infant society of Beasts. Do you have any insight, Lady?¡± Friend Adz observed Seven, its tendrils lowering it slightly as its hands kneaded the air. The shiny thing on its neck glistened. Its four little eye things moved rapidly. It lowered farther and looked at Friend Magdod and Friend Kallahassee. ¡°How did you arrange this visit?¡± it asked. ¡°Made a type nine event, opened up the entryway, and like I said - we got our friend here arriving less than ten minutes later. If you¡¯re asking how we knew to expect¡­ this, we didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°And have there been any attempts to do harm?¡± ¡°None at all. If anything, our guest seems phlegmatic, even timid. Actually, no; not timid, just removed. It¡¯s been not so much curious as generally passive. In fact,¡± said Friend Magdod to Friend-Foe Lord, ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s shown any kind of noteworthy ungoaded reaction outside of when you showed up.¡± Its finger brushed across the top of its head. ¡°If it intuitively knows something about Caladhbolg, then that¡¯s a whole different mess to consider.¡± said the fifth person with Friend-Foe Lord¡¯s mouth. Friend Adz moved closer, one arm swinging gently. ¡°Seven, Home is where you come from, correct?¡± it asked. ¡°Home is Home,¡± answered Seven. ¡°Ah. Yes, well, that makes sense. Do you need sustenance?¡± Seven didn¡¯t know the significance of that sound. ¡°Sustenance, what is?¡± it replied, tilting its head as it looked Friend Adz up and down. Friend Adz grew still for a moment. Eventually, its eye things began moving rapidly again. ¡°Sustenance is what one consumes to persist. Do you need to eat regularly?¡± That was another of those things Friend Essie had explained. ¡°It is good to eat of trees of flesh. It is not a need.¡± Friend Adz slithered back along the ground, pointing upward and tilting toward Friend Kallahassee and Friend Magdod again. ¡°Well, assuming that you can keep this place sufficiently proof as a holding pen, then it might be good to gather some of our better minds for an extended interview, and see if we can locate other specimens of the same kind.¡± Friend-Foe Lord¡¯s fingers oscillated like the edges of a sewing-fellow. ¡°An excellent notion. Lord Tuoamas has now been provided notice of this little discovery, and he¡¯s currently telling the most close-lipped of the nobility. Five or six minutes at most before we get company, and then this little gathering¡¯s going to see a lot of¡­¡± Its fingers stopped. ¡°Agh.¡± It looked up at Seven. ¡°I was about to say we¡¯re going to catch some eigenflak for basically holding a person against their will, but we¡¯re dealing with an intelligent Beast here. This is disturbing territory, outside any precedent that comes to mind.¡± Friend Magdod¡¯s arms went vigorously upward. ¡°We¡¯re talking about entities that can¡¯t be killed unless you deliberately cause them major physical injury whilst some sentient mind associates the very attempt with reticence and regret. I think we¡¯ve been in disturbing territory ever since we found out about the critters in the first age.¡± Friend Kallahassee leaned close to Friend-Foe Lord. ¡°I know I¡¯m well beyond surprising at this point, anyway,¡± it said quietly, watching Friend Magdod. Friend Adz pushed past the others, and picked up the long pain-hurler from the ground. ¡°Let us prepare for a new age with some modicum of safety, shall we?¡± it said, placing the object down on a flat even surface near the stripe. ¡°There will be enough trouble in due time without shooting any more of the nobility, as things stand now.¡± It bent down over Friend Kallahassee, who rubbed its face with both hands. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve been on the hunt for more of those half-Bennosuke abominations. They¡¯ve been worrying ever since they started coming around with even more mutations. We need to slow the things down, and - for your information, Lord - we need them slow, preserved, and whole. I¡­ ever since we found that stalker hybrid with a human head, I¡¯ve had nightmares. What would you suggest? Again, apologies.¡± ¡°To be blunt, I think my Lady deserves your apologies more than me,¡± said Friend-Foe Lord, jerking its head back at Friend Adz. ¡°But no more magicannons. If you need assistance to set up a killbox or hermetic chamber, I¡¯ll oblige you.¡± It turned toward the place where the wall had opened. ¡°Ah, there¡¯s Lord Tuoamas now.¡± It exhaled, and twirled deftly to Seven. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t feel too much anger for this in due time, Seven,¡± it said softly. Seven¡¯s head cocked. ¡°Anger, what is?¡± it inquired. Friend-Foe Lord made a small sound, a sound like what Friend Essie made which it said was good. It was a bubbly ripply sound, not harmful precisely, but also a sound to which one had to pay attention immediately. ¡°Well, if you don¡¯t know what anger is, then that improves some things, and makes others worse.¡± The opening appeared again, and a person wearing far more cloth than any of those already present strode through with a click-clack step. It had three more of differing sizes following close behind, but those three stopped as soon as they caught sight of Seven. One, with horns as well as a thicker and much taller pain-hurler, whispered something quiet and intense. The pain-hurler came up to point its nose at the reaching-person¡¯s middle. Seven¡¯s middle bowed to try and evade the little packets of pain it would soon allot for its personal malefaction. Noises from the extremely-clothed person suggested a countermanding of the action. The horned person replied, obviously indicating that all the involved parties should be moved outside of the room. Friend-Foe Lord¡¯s arm person evidently weighed in with gusto as the person¡¯s limb virtually exploded. One moment, Friend-Foe Lord stood closer than all the rest, facing the room¡¯s opening, just outside the odd barrier. The next, that limb sprayed into weaving tendrils which immediately spanned the width of the room, weaving and braiding into an impenetrable net. The whole edifice had no seam or feature, reaching from ground to the top of the room. Whatever the others might wish to do with Seven, they would have to go through Friend-Foe Lord¡¯s arm person first. ¡°Rhaagmini, if it please you, Lord Tuoamas. Also¡­ don¡¯t fire on our guest, or we may lose an irreplaceable learning opportunity.¡± That came from Friend-Foe Lord, who may have been Friend Lord after all. ¡°Lord Artaxerxes,¡± said the clothed person who must be this Friend Lord Tuoamas, ¡°you are saying it converses? In the Parsed City-State¡¯s tongue?¡± ¡°Indeed, it¡¯s self-evidently cogent. We¡¯ve been talking for a little bit.¡± ¡°Lord Tuoamas-¡± began the horned one with a hurried voice, but it ended shortly. ¡°Blue, stand down.¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas sounded as forceful as the convulsions that wracked Home during the changing-times. A moment later, Friend Lord¡¯s arm person retracted, and the new solid wall became nothing more than an appendage once more. The horned person raised its weapon once more as soon as the more physical of Seven¡¯s barriers vanished, but that drew immediate action from Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°No, Armsman. You will listen to your principal. I cannot distance you from my guard, but I can make sure you are relegated to petty duties.¡± As with so many other sounds it had heard in the gathering, the precise meaning of this statement escaped the reaching-fellow. However, it felt its fangs ripple in uncertainty. Whatever Friend Lord Tuoamas was conveying to its associate, the wielder of the incredibly long pain-hurler made a low runnel of toothed noise, and let the nose of the implement rise beyond the point of danger. ¡°Now,¡± said the person after it advised the bearer of arms, ¡°what exactly is going on, and what am I to do about it? More accurately, what do you wish that I do about it?¡± ¡°We ought to do something affirming the intelligent nature of these new fascinating, strange creatures - in particular, Seven.¡± ¡°Seven?¡± ¡°The Beast¡¯s name. No, don¡¯t begin about protocol, Lord Tuoamas; there¡¯s no book on how a person is supposed to introduce an acquaintance like this. And besides, the nonexistent book¡¯s about to get drowned with my follow-up suggestion. Lady, I¡¯d ask you to forgive the suggestion, but it¡¯s not simply overeager, it¡¯s outright stupid on several levels.¡± Friend Lord tilted its head at Seven. ¡°We should consider adopting some more new blood.¡± There was a silence like when Friend Essie had showed up at Shine Backward, its strange form stumbling over the ground of Home¡¯s joining byways. When it had arrived and let itself be known, begun to bestow that collection of sounds and articulations by example and then lesson, no fellow made any noise for a long time. When Friend Lord Tuoamas spoke, it was softer than the gentlest of Home¡¯s jagged winds. ¡°Do you have even the slightest idea how many people will be screaming for your head if you so much as joke about something like that?¡± ¡°If it is half as many as protested the acceptance of the Iar-Ninety-Deg people two years ago, the answer will be ¡®infinitely more than preferred,¡¯¡± said Friend Adz, who had moved to one side. It leaned over Friend Lord. ¡°This was not part of the discussed considerations. If you insist on going out of your way to endanger yourself, Lord Artaxerxes, we must talk in great depth soon.¡± ¡°No?¡± said Friend Lord, stepping back and considering all those in attendance. ¡°We raised the idea of an extended interview. How about this: we keep our friend in an ¡®interview¡¯ consisting of an examination of conduct over a firm fixed period. If anything suggests failure of the enterprise, we abandon ship.¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas scratched its head. ¡°In principle? That might have merit. In practice? How eager do you think people will be to embrace the same sort of creatures which massacred their families, friends, and countrymen?¡± ¡°I¡¯m personally open to the idea. Even so, bring it before any ministers and cabinet members you trust to be objective. Talk it over. But don¡¯t require them to come to any consensus for at least the next two hands. I plan to spend that long in the company of this special individual; that ought to at least bring the knee-jerk reaction quotient down to ¡®extraordinarily prejudiced.¡¯¡± Friend Adz moved away from Friend Lord with a writhing twitch. It started to make sounds back, but the arm person came upright, between the two. ¡°I won¡¯t force you to share in my privation, Lady. That would not only be immoral, it would void the validity of the whole experiment. But know that I will take chances I think worthwhile. After all, that was how Pennat Gate came to be where it is today.¡± At that, Friend Lord Tuoamas looked away, brushing its small mouth with a hand. Friend Adz made a very low sound indeed in its chest, its fingers convulsing. ¡°I could not refuse such a thing, Lord. Not if you chose to so subject yourself. Your¡­ experiment lies in a fair medium between minimizing civilian exposure to a known peril, and maximizing the proportional opportunity for making actionable observations. It is against my better judgment, but your judgment had proven surprisingly fruitful in the past.¡± ¡°How can we be sure this thing is safe?¡± came an incredibly high screeching voice from one of the other pain-hurler wielders which had arrived behind Friend Lord Tuoamas. It hadn¡¯t attempted to train its weapon on the reaching-fellow, but the creature had kept part of its body unmoving that Seven suspected might be its head, and therefore might have been intensely observing Seven the whole time. ¡°That¡¯s part of the experiment,¡± replied Friend Lord, and then it bent toward the reaching-fellow with a ferocity unrivaled by even the direst of ur-fellows. The creature was there by the much taller Friend Adz, and then with a crack like every part of Seven¡¯s house had been shattered all at once it stood directly in front of the reaching-fellow. It glowed from both the arm person hand and its face once more. Also, a snapping hissing sound came from it, and small jagged strands of light darted up and down its form briefly. ¡°Seven, shall you attempt to harm me, or any of those to whom I might introduce you?¡± Seven took a long step back, its talons tapping the hard ground. ¡°I shall harm in the pursuit of my survival instinct,¡± it replied. Many noises came from the others, and for a moment it seemed like every weapon in the room would shortly be expended on the reaching-fellow where it stood. That arm person raised again, though, and the fingers of that hand lengthened. They went around Seven¡¯s throat, wrapping tight and strong. Seven didn¡¯t budge as Friend-Foe Lord raised itself on tendrils of extrudate descending to the ground from that same hand, its small eyes coming level with Seven¡¯s own. said the arm person with the mouth below the small eyes. Imperative. A demand-which-needs-to-be-met, as laid out by the life-giver. ¡°That is as it shall be,¡± replied Seven to the command, as it could and must. That made Friend-Foe Lord stare very closely for a long time. ¡°... Eh?¡± eventually came from one of those watching; it must have been Friend Kallahassee. ¡°Seven,¡± said Friend-Foe Lord, looking over its shoulder at the others, ¡°you will not cause harm, nor allow harm to befall those about you, until I countermand this dictate. Is that understood?¡± ¡°That is understood, Friend-Foe Lord.¡± Friend-Foe Lord¡¯s face moved rather violently. Its neck tilted to one side. With a sinewy fluid motion it deposited itself on the ground once more, releasing the neck-fastened tendrils. ¡°Ah. That will become very difficult to parse very quickly. From now, call me Lord Artaxerxes.¡± ¡°If that shall be correct, Friend-Foe Lord Artaxerxes.¡± That face bent again. ¡°Good.¡± Friend-Foe Lord Artaxerxes walked back into the crowded bunch. ¡°There you go, armsman. If there¡¯s any indication that our Beast guest will renege on its word - and I¡¯ll be spending the duration with overclocking engaged in perpetuity - it will be killed.¡± The whole figure shivered momentarily. ¡°That is a promise.¡± Friend Adz stared down at it as it approached, looked up at Seven, looked at Friend Lord Tuoamas, looked behind it at the closed opening in the wall, and made a chittering noise. ¡°Argyva,¡± it said. The opening reappeared, with another person very slightly larger than Friend-Foe Lord Artaxerxes standing there. The new person possessed several weapons, though it held none of them at the ready. ¡°I will petition you for sainthood by the end of this year if my husband still lives,¡± Friend Adz told it. The figure continued watching without any indication that it was a creature rather than a very strange-looking rock formation. Eventually, the opening shut again without it having said or done a single thing. Going Outside Requirements Analysis ¡°Those attacked by a Beast of the Purple will suffer sorely until cauterized or amputated. Wounds rot and destroy those who receive them without fail if untreated. An atemporal force, or power, always plagues those who so perish. If they have a stored copy of their gestalt elsewhere in existence, it will become distorted and marred. If they are a distributed intelligence, able to shuttle themselves to different hardware before their mechanical form expires or part of a collective such as a culture-mind or hive-mind, that expiry will catch up to them regardless in the fullness of time. If they are undead, they shall subside even so. The very few exceptions to these trends almost exclusively contain deities of one kind or another. The unexaggerated danger that these Beasts thus pose to all things which might be called thinking is the reason for our institution¡¯s founding.¡± -Excerpt from The Primer of the Rhaagm Minuteman It is an unspoken axiom across all intelligent creatures¡¯ societies that unexpected overnighting guests usually stick to the adhesive surfaces of mind and memory quite effectively. This is doubly the case when the guests in question have an utterly alien view of the world around them. Trebly the case might be if a guest¡¯s capacity for homicide is known, and that capacity is great. For these reasons and many more, the Lady married to Sebastio Artaxerxes had had several sleepless nights of late. More surprising, in fact, was that it managed to reach that Land of Nod at all. Surprising, perhaps, if one didn¡¯t know the trust it had in the man whose eternal sleepless vigil had been devoted to observations of and very rare talks with the creature known as Seven. A special kind of surprise is reserved for the particulars of finding an unexpected overnighting guest in their natural (or otherwise) habitat, outside of the thoroughly artificial habitat of one¡¯s own home. Adz stopped on the smooth gold-paved promenade, contemplating the vista laid out before it. It didn¡¯t quite know what to make of the last several hands. Three Onedays had passed since it and its beloved Lord had met with Kallahassee and Magdod, some of the very few people still interested in an academic sense in the part-human part-Beast dregs even now wandering the Purple. Oh, there were more than enough with interests stemming from an exterminator¡¯s mindset, but those who wanted to apply that knowledge to the Purple in a greater sense had little traction in comparison. That only made it all the stranger to see a trifecta of Beasts hovering around and staring at a greenware rosebush in the nearby public orchard-garden. A stalker, a schlrikt, and a dallier were all waiting for it to do something. Ah, no; the respective labels for their kinds, according to the strange entities, were ¡°brunt-fellows,¡± ¡°reaching-fellows,¡± and ¡°sewing-fellows.¡± Already, Pennat Gate was making fascinating inroads to some burgeoning society of Purple denizens like the bush-watchers. They had been waiting since just after dawn, and three hours later none showed any inclination to leave. They weren¡¯t interested in the slightly panicky crowd accreting around them, or the couple of unconcerned finches that waved around the nearby oak. In all honesty, the protective holographic cordon on the scene seemed to be more for their benefit than that of the civilians. According to its forebears, Naosin Osa had had maybe a millionth of the intrigue now part of the designer¡¯s everyday life. Adz probably wouldn¡¯t have stopped to gawk unless the soiree was on the way to its next appointment with Earl Footstone and Earl Stuttgart. Probably, but the sheer clogging mass of some hundred people foisting themselves upon the Beasts - and wasn¡¯t that a strange thought - would probably have forced it to detour anyway. In any case, it lingered, taking note of the most unwelcome and least beloved celebrities seen in possibly the whole history of the estate. The schlrikt, about two hundred eighty centimeters tall, was in fact the one which had introduced itself as Seven. It had left the living quarters of Adz and its Lord with close-following supervision early that morning, and evidently gotten into no significant trouble since. Lanky and smooth, the creature¡¯s squidlike head had six massive fangs erupting from the front of its face, hiding its round fishy mouth. Its dot-pupilled gaze had a lambent stillness that could have convinced the unlearned it was some ebon statue. Sets of partially-bared claws, keen as the sharpest cleaver ever honed when they extended with that distinctive sound which lent the breed its name, suggested otherwise. The extremely occasional twitches it made offered contrary proof. Three Times One Minus Four, the dallier, had an utterly fluid outline. It possessed the malleability of any ragathencider, but a far lower viscosity - like oil mixed with ink, a living puddle slightly larger than the bush it examined. Unlike the others, it had no constant features of any description except for small gnomon teeth which slewed around its form, and a single perfectly spherical golden orb-eye. The creature never truly stilled, and tendrils of its composition reached out periodically to approach the bush, then perform an intricate dance that never actually touched the leaves. Each such display was unlike the previous. Unlike the others, Three seemed to be gleaning something new about the bush¡¯s operating system¡¯s function over the course of time, though very slowly. In fact, it seemed to be the only one of the triad to actually pay attention in any meaningful way to the rubberneckers. Neither of the other two had much to say about the third Beast. It was even flatter and longer than the others of its kind, putting it roughly on par with Seven¡¯s dimensions if it placed itself prone. A mess of mismatched onyx body parts crawled over each other: front legs from some gout-ridden lizard, hind legs like so much bone, torso in the shape of a coffin, forward-facing eyes almost falling off either side of a knife-thin top jaw, a mandible as square as any pane of glass. The only thing so far learned about the creature was a designation of ¡°Four¡± that may or may not have actually qualified as a name. They were the first Beasts to have joined the increasingly mixed family into which Adz¡¯s home estate had been transforming for years - not as pets, but residents. Honorary residents, and the edges of that honorary nature were too many to count, but residents nevertheless. They had proven themselves entities of rational if erratic sapience. Adz itself had proposed the change in the name of acclimating the still-gobsmacked populace to the idea of Beasts who didn¡¯t necessarily warrant automatic and total destruction. Given the variations of ¡°This is the worst idea since Fallow Srid tried to censor the legacy of the Olds¡± writ across the watching ranks, the idea had the same sort of backhanded merit found in Sebastio Artaxerxes and Tuoamas Pennat sharing the opal throne. Unfortunately, many still questioned the idea of possibly importing Beasts as civilians. I want to live at this Pennat Gate place, too, and now they might turn me away because some massive childlike but frightening thing took up my seat in utopia - is that fair? Should I be asked to try and secure a place for myself in this overcrowded world, when the institute priding itself on being a sanctuary for the homeless is giving out my ticket in the name of politics? The Beasts didn¡¯t really seem to understand any of it, but Artaxerxes and Pennat had levered their collective reputation quite heavily on being a free republic. If any nation in existence would offer a fair deal for the things which no longer went bump in the night, potential future displacement of citizens or no, it would be the one which Adz called home. Another harbinger of the unhinged pace of changes strode over to Adz, pushing aside those few people whose tails and legs and suchlike had the poor luck to exist between her and her destination. Since the Fountainist commander Hwolu Satna¡¯s bravely-fought demise in the opening salvos of the Western Sunrise, the vestments of leadership in his gypsy police caravan had passed by popular support to the gnoll named Gorar. Now, any and all cohorts of Fountainists had permission to stay in Pennat Gate as long as they desired, rather than being forcibly ejected to travel elsewhere at the end of the year. That disrupted the regular pollination schedule embraced by many Yrdkish: Fountainists pick up and drop off customs, subtle changes become embraced by their local domestic peacekeeping counterparts in the Sledgecraft Guild and martial nobility, changes trickle down to the hoi polloi, Fountainists move on, repeat. The idea was to keep a portion of the greatest talent from getting too attached to one loyalty, and competitively pursue better ideas and inspirations on the topics of warfighting and peacekeeping. Lord Artaxerxes wasn¡¯t the only one who thought that was a good idea which should simply no longer be a required observance. However, he was the first to advise his estate¡¯s leadership to make vociferous alterations in policy on everything from contractor relations to traditions so old they transcended ritual and became sacrament. Accordingly, the troupe of Fountainists now effectively in residence at Pennat Gate since six years past had developed a decidedly friendlier relationship with the locals. This wasn¡¯t the first venue where the gnoll and her people had been the predominant cooks in the kitchen of safety. The Beasts had already exhibited a devil-may-care attitude of going where they wanted and investigating what they wanted. When the handful of Beasts had decided that they wanted to go on an unplanned walk that morning, the Fountainists took babysitting duty upon themselves, and had been actively plotting ways to keep the peace in the sight of as many suspicious personages as possible. Gorar actually seemed to enjoy the unplanned way they went about nearly everything. From what Adz had heard, the woman¡¯s own life had been pretty much as unplanned as a life could be, from birth to whimsical decision to join the Fountainists. The real surprise was that she¡¯d decided to uphold the order of law and establishment in the first place. As it glanced around the garden¡¯s splendid greenware beds, Adz marked a handful of other people wearing the infrared-and-peridot sashes of Fountainists leapt out from the noise, keeping an eye on the mob for subversive elements and the elementals bent on controlling said elements. Of course, udod aodod couldn¡¯t naturally see color - another of the things they evidently shared with the newly uplifted Beast clade - but Adz¡¯s species had been undergoing radical artificial changes ever since the immortal Eihks Richard had brought them into the extrafacetary fold. ¡°GOOD DAY, LADY!¡± greeted Gorar as she came alongside. Adz¡¯s ears twitched, but it didn¡¯t rebuke the gnoll for something she didn¡¯t even seem to realize she did. One thing about Gorar: if she ever tried to apply herself as an agent of espionage, she would probably manage very nicely until the first time she needed to whisper something. Every person in a hundred meters with working auditory sense analogues, and a few of those that didn¡¯t, could triangulate that not-quite-scream without a problem. ¡°Commander,¡± replied Adz, giving the gnoll a pleasant look as her crazed grin turned happy instead of mad. ¡°How fare the special guests? Any trouble?¡± ¡°SO FAR THEY HAVE AVOIDED STUPIDITY!¡± Gorar reported. ¡°PEOPLE HAVE BEHAVED THEMSELVES! JUST CONCERNED AND CURIOUS!¡± A reasonable enough response to the upheaval of late. ¡°Well, make sure things stay calm as best you c-¡± Adz cut off as a sharp sequence of gasps came to its attention. One of the onlookers had gotten it in their head to investigate the midnight forms of the bush appreciators. He had drawn close, and in doing so drawn the interest of Three. Now, Three had moved in and wrapped parts of itself around the nobly-dressed forithka. Its single leering eye scanned the gelatinous flesh of the noble from a distance of perhaps eight or nine microns. ¡°Bleeding scattered flesh,¡± breathed Adz. ¡°Statement: preferred is assistance!¡± said the forithka with very admirable control. He sounded a bit put out and not at all like he was literally in the grasp of something that could render him as permanently dead as Aiden with the application of a few teeth. ¡°Curious person,¡± said Three in bubbling clicking Rhaagmini, ¡°why is there clearness of flesh?¡± It flowed around the noble rather than turning him in place, gauging what it was that it held. It pushed its eye about, either looking at or trying to see through the translucent meat of the forithka¡¯s arms. ¡°For the love of God, do something!¡± flashed across the bush¡¯s length in such rapid order it was almost impossible to detect unless one were looking right at it. The resident eidolon or eidolons obviously felt at the breaking point when surrounded by potentially violent creatures that could kill digital personalities just as easily as meat-locked ones. In less than two seconds, there were at least a dozen different kinds of armament being brandished in the direction of the creature, the other creature, the other other creatures, and the shrubbery. Adz had learned from the past hexadecade to activate its overclocking at the slightest provocation. Compared to human reaction times, it wasn¡¯t anything worth mentioning. Compared to unaugmented and unmedicated members of its own kind, it had fast twitch abilities lying eight or nine standard deviations from the mean. The suite of defensive facilities it had inherited as a Lady of an estate was second to very few. Those very few included such people as the nine armsmen responsible for the safety of an estate¡¯s Lord, and the newer ranks of their fellows recently instituted for the benefit of Tuoamas Pennat and Adz. However, Adz had a great deal of mass-energy to expend if it so desired, and the ability to set up tuning fields of virtually arbitrary size with no appreciable delay. After the fragmentary instant in which it debated the best use for its talents, it selected a hermetic chamber function. The utility had a single purpose: to banish a quantity of complex spacetime and its contents to a time-out until the enactor otherwise saw fit. In the evolution of the scene, though, Adz was saved the trouble by two intervening forces. As a result, its overclocking was dialed back to five-subjective-seconds-per-objective-second from one-subjective-hour-per-objective-second while it watched. The first was a Sledgecrafter in the hard press of the crowd, either assisting in maintaining public order or just happening to be in the area. The woman abused her folding privileges to move adjacent to the bush and its critics. Then she threw down a broad diagonalization jitter that would have been right at home in the repertoire of a Rhaagm auditor. Expanding the affected personal-defense region to encompass the Beasts and the forithka noble as well as herself, the Sledgecrafter basically constructed a small sandbox in which the Rochambeau sequence describing the rules of her local reality lay in flux. Granted, the fluctuation was limited to within a very small neighborhood of Pennat Gate¡¯s normal functional physics, but by causing the dictates of temperature and pressure and inertial conservation to change up and down a few percent, several billion times a second, any force crossing the barrier found itself effectively neutered. A single chem-pistol bullet from the crowd crossed the threshold of the blurry field of space, but didn¡¯t reappear on the other side. Several of the audience voiced their displeasure, and the instigator of the shot got the brunt of an Eighth Step Duchess¡¯s glare. The Duchess in question obviously had a relationship of some kind with the forithka being inconvenienced. The second was Gorar herself. She had leapt from the level gilded path up the big step to the garden with every hair on her body standing out straight. From whatever subspecies of gnoll she might hail, they obviously had a very pronounced ability to posture, and the effect was like a beige and chocolate star giving off ropy flares en masse. A very cranky star gifted with sufficient decibels to be considered lethal at ten paces. It might have been the sheer bellows power of her lungs that immediately cleared a lane from her to the diagonalization jitter site, but it could also have been the heavy tactical barb-launcher she¡¯d decompressed from her personal effects. ¡°THE NEXT PERSON TO EMPLOY WEAPONRY OF ANY KIND WILL FACE CHARGES!¡± she hollered with lips drawn back from her teeth. The barrel that she kept pointing groundward might have inspired someone or other to protest an open display of hypocrisy, if the size of the barrel didn¡¯t argue otherwise. She managed to carry her barb-launcher one-handed without difficulty, despite the fact that it was roughly the size of Adz¡¯s arm, as she trotted toward the vaguely discernable shrubbery, Sledgecrafter, and civilian. The firearm was an exquisite testament to why unintegrated, physical tools of belligerent demolition still found employment in the extrafacetary territories, even in places not as tradition-bound as Yrdky. To the udod aodod¡¯s eyespots - and the aesthetics of many others as well - the beveled prismatic shape of the tube had a delightfully ugly frankness to its mangled maroon faces. It possessed, in the not-quite words of a great Earth Standard comedic writer, a right end and a wrong end, and those on the wrong end had a very powerful compunction that they wanted to be virtually anywhere else. The designer had in fact felt inspired the first time the Fountainist had happily shown Pennat Gate¡¯s Lady her favorite toy, and its savage profile would probably influence a prospective housing project that was still in the pipeline. In fact, it had set the Lady on looking into the blueprint¡¯s designers. ¡°Maybe we should listen to the officer who is doing her job?¡± inquired a dut who was fleeing the scene as rapidly as four tiny legs could push it, eyes all pointing backward without its hobbling gait slowing for an instant. The display was perhaps the most prudent thing Adz had witnessed all day. ¡°Do you now value your incumbent citizens even less than you have in the past?¡± An aaned with the approximate dimensions of a rake was pushing, or trying in vain to push, through the nucleus-dense crowd toward Gorar. His voice and crest were stiff enough to stand upright under their own power, even if relieved of their connection their owner. Adz didn¡¯t fail to notice his thick Gebedetsian accent. Gebedets, longtime ally of Nor¡¯ridge. Interestingly, despite the upper-nobility style of his garb, he didn¡¯t seem too keen on perpetrating any traditional conversational dueling matches. Someone evidently had a point to make, and wanted to make it very fast. ¡°I lost fifteen ancestors, two siblings, and my daughter in the Sunrise,¡± the man continued. He seemed intent on whipping up popular support of some kind. ¡°These creatures need to go back where they belong, no matter how intelligent they are supposed to be!¡± ¡°GO AND LODGE YOUR COMPLAINTS WITH LORD TUOAMAS PENNAT¡¯S STAFF IF YOU ARE SO WORRIED!¡± shot back Gorar. The gnoll¡¯s tiny stump of a tail was switching madly back and forth. ¡°THESE ARE RESIDENTS OF THIS ESTATE! IF YOU MAKE ANY THREATENING OVERTURES TOWARD THEM THEN YOU WILL UNDERGO UNPLEASANT CONSEQUENCES!¡± ¡°Allah, but she is loud,¡± said a short person to Adz, from just beside it. The creature was one of the many civilians now part of the estate following its efforts to take in refugees, asylees, and the otherwise disenfranchised in the reign of Sebastio the Effulgent. Race? One with which the udod aodod hadn¡¯t been acquainted, and it had no time to remedy that deficit. The barrier containing the involved parties simmered down, revealing a Sledgecrafter and a noble. Forithka nervousness manifested in a spectrum of ways, the pinnacle being a sort of rapid teething the air, and the man¡¯s pointed chompers managed to stop just short of vibrating out of his translucent head. The Sledgecrafter had evidently negotiated an exchange with Three for its subject. Adz had to keep itself from laughing when it glimpsed the kernel of a metal bullet being rolled around in the dallier¡¯s grip like a pellet of milk teeth on a dealer¡¯s counter. The Beast had an evident fascination with the flattened and blackened face of the bullet¡¯s rear. A nice touch, that, like with the planning out of a great simulation: take each setback and turn it to mitigating the next setback in part where possible.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°... that there is a difference between being accepting and being fatuously solicitous,¡± the woman was telling the man in a stern voice. Her grip didn¡¯t quite deform his flesh, but it obviously wasn¡¯t going to be released easily either. ¡°Now, I will have to ask you to go and purchase an upgrade to your practically applicable wisdom somewhere else,¡± she added as she almost dragged him out through the perimeter. ¡°Mommy, why is that man sad?¡± asked a tiny human child in the crush of slowly mellowing onlookers. Gorar swept a hand out in a ¡°get back¡± gesture, and she obviously had about half a toothache¡¯s irritation in reserve before she began ushering the crowd away from the spectacle with a fusillade of hurt spikes. ¡°ENOUGH! NONE OF YOU ARE BEING HARASSED OR FOLLOWED WHEREVER YOU GO! GIVE THESE RESIDENTS THE SAME COURTESY AND LEAVE THE PREMISES!¡± The furious aaned either couldn¡¯t make words reach his brain or he was determined to be the single most annoying person in whichever company he found himself. He pushed his way through to the front of the crowd. A very noxious personality made the people in his way try to step aside and admit a thoroughly unpleasant whiner. ¡°It is astounding, how little the people of Pennat Gate care for the welfare of their children and comrades. It is even more astounding how brave the fractured throne is when-¡± ¡°Citizen, you are on the very cusp of ¡®too far,¡¯ and breaking that barrier will put you in the care of one of the estate¡¯s First Step dukes. If the martial nobility wants to do horrible things with you, they have every right.¡± The gnoll had moved while Adz wasn¡¯t looking. She stood with both feet planted like tent pegs, gun extended like the least subtle pointing finger in the world, less than two meters from the aaned¡¯s position. Her eyes had gone almost circular with rage. What genuinely disturbed the udod aodod, though, was the fact that Gorar¡¯s challenge had been quiet. Not like a person spent after a long debate, or like a whisper of snow in a dry field; like the sound of rope descending around a neck. Sensing the manyfold-increasing aura of danger around the man, most of the civilians in the vicinity became un-mellowed very quickly. They backed up to a distance relatively safe from magical fallout and ricochets. The exceptions were, of course, a dsaha who watched with a positively feverish intensity, and two assassins who either wanted to participate or just measure themselves against the incoming violence. A wisely cautious Sledgecrafter guided her chastened noble around the scene, passing him off to another of the Fountainists in attendance. The rest of the Fountainists betrayed a variety of agitation. Any thoughts about the Beasts examining the shrubbery, and their right to do so, took a back seat for the time being. ¡°I dare you to-¡± began the aaned. He didn¡¯t finish. Gorar folded behind him, and slapped a cuff around one of his arms. The cuff didn¡¯t do an awful lot by itself; however, it projected an extremely powerful tuning field. In all, it screwed up the ability of its victim to accurately fold, and a not insignificant portion of other things one usually preferred prisoners not do. ¡°You cannot-¡± started the man again. His trouble earned him a moderate blow across the back of the neck. He fell to his knees as though he¡¯d been waiting his whole life for the chance to get publicly humiliated and he¡¯d been floored by his dream coming true. Adz still couldn¡¯t understand how some people actually found that kind of thing enjoyable. ¡°MOVE ALONG, NOW. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS GAWKING.¡± Gorar had compressed her weapon to an energy state once more, and brushed the air with her hands. The public moved along fairly peacefully. Aside from the fregnost who could have killed his countryman with his exuberant marksmanship (whose complaint about the sinister nature of Beasts was at least quiet), nobody vocalized direct opposition to the presence of the three creatures. The backward glances and reticence in turning their backs to the Beasts, however, spoke volumes about the slow boil of malcontentment in Pennat Gate¡¯s people. Even so, they left. ¡°I have sought you again, Friend Adz,¡± said a grinding Rhaagmini voice just next to the udod aodod, and it saw the schlrikt had managed to approach unnoticed. Its piecemeal conniptive motions were almost as unsettling as the tiny pinprick pupils in its ten-centimeter eyes. ¡°GET GOING AND SAVE YOUR DIGNITY IF YOU CAN,¡± demanded Gorar of the downed aaned where he sprawled, urging him to his feet with one of her clawed hands. ¡°Hello, Seven,¡± said Adz, also in Rhaagmini. It would have denounced anyone who said so as a lunatic a single month ago, but it actually found little elements of the Beast¡¯s behaviors¡­ well, not comforting; actually, the polar opposite of comforting in many ways. Yet, there was a skeletally basic appeal in the exotic being¡¯s mannerisms that intrigued. Just being around the entity and observing it gave Adz a strange kind of inspiration. The udod aodod had embraced its identity as an editor and co-regent despite its initial misgivings, and its lack of experience as nobility. To learn to become an advisor for its Lord, a person who countered the foolish and nourished the good, it needed various kinds of training weights. It needed failures and it needed successes. It needed the baroque and it needed the oversimplified. The former it had in excess from simply watching the world around it. The latter it found in large part from a Beast, of all places. The mentality of the estates and their Lords, for ages, had insisted that any effective Lord must focus on their rule and put aside matters of family. That had spurred Sebastio¡¯s union in the first place; a desire to ¡°hand back the reins¡± to Tuoamas, and keep the previous Lord of the estate in the highest executive position in all but name, unless Sebastio directly order his replacement. Instead, Adz¡¯s influence with the newest Lord of Pennat Gate had actually strengthened public perception of his efficacy in recent years. The strangely specific vision of becoming a sanctuary for facetary aliens and the downtrodden, and the pervasiveness of that goal, had well and truly seeped into the DNA of the estate; the knowledge of the man, his partner, and his spouse that had made that possible carved out a lasting legacy for the Artaxerxes name. If the addition of a Beast to that stew improved the brew¡¯s cohesion, Adz would count it as righteousness. ¡°You have different cloth,¡± remarked Seven. Its pointed head stared at the Lady¡¯s torso. If Adz didn¡¯t know better, it would have assumed the creature was trying to ogle the slash of its chest orifice, and either changed out the formal attire for something else or added another layer beneath. In actuality, these new Beasts had no interest in genitalia, social mores, or abstruse philosophising beyond a sterile dut-like curiosity. So strange, their dichotomies. Savage and peaceful. Comprehending and childlike. Childlike. That was a thread that the udod aodod felt warranted its attention. ¡°I do,¡± said Adz aloud. At the same time, it tried to think its way back around to its original epiphany. Humans, like many other creatures, were blessed with a broad sophistry: nimble, adaptable, well-suited to breadth-first searches. Udod aodod were not, but with some effort they could work in spiraling circles of the mental that approximated the same effect. The Lady did so, with the practiced hand of an advisor whose brain was used to stretching in critical directions. Childlike, vestigial, unformed, unrefined, raw - no, not quite, continue. Raw, immature, growing, nourishing, biological, unordered¡­ almost. Unordered, slipping, schisming, shaky, scattered, blank, malleable. Malleable. Malleable. That time when Sebastio leapt up into Seven¡¯s face, choking grasp around its throat, and delivered an ultimatum. The creature¡¯s submission, so obviously feigned. Feigned? When it was the very image of uncompromisable candid simplicity? ¡°Seven,¡± said Adz, ¡°take three steps back.¡± The schlrikt suddenly lost its body noise, stiffened every joint - or every nexus of its body that acted like a joint, at any rate - and then assumed a trinity of bobbing reverse-advances. Afterward, it just stood in its new position of parade rest for about four seconds, with an unchanging focused gaze that made Adz¡¯s eyespots tremble with unease. It didn¡¯t twitch. It didn¡¯t blink. Assuming it was actually comprised of discrete particulate stuff at some level of magnification, it probably came to a complete atomic standstill. Watching it made Adz feel like every heartbeat and every breath was a cascading chaos that started with the udod aodod¡¯s body and would eventually ripple out to the rest of existence, shaking everything to pieces while the reference point of Seven alone remained unchanged. Then Seven¡¯s long digits bent into three-finger fists, and the spell was broken. The Lady¡¯s leg-cables crawled over each other in supremely unsettled restlessness. ¡°Hello, Lady,¡± said a fatherly Fountainist from right next to Adz, and his failure to reckon with the ease of startling an udod aodod meant he might have gotten his everything ripped off. It turned; a familiar human, with hands the size of mitts, a face scarred in intricate ceremonially-ordained squares, and a third eye on the bridge of his nose that resembled the others except for a sclera as green as any fregnost¡¯s coat. ¡°Hello, Mitchell,¡± responded Adz, glancing down at the man¡¯s much-beloved magus caber. The witchlight-covered pylon floated just behind its owner, just as Mitchell had been following a certain Beast for quite some time. Adz almost asked why he hadn¡¯t bothered to step in during the event, but didn¡¯t - he obviously trusted his commander to be more than simply adequate. ¡°Hello, Friend Mitchell,¡± said Seven. That was something else the schlrikt had apparently learned: the idea of salutation and farewell. The udod aodod had recognized the erratic way it employed the knowledge as obviously nonrandom, but it just as obviously didn¡¯t grasp the nuances of when an engagement began or ended. ¡°I do not suppose you have any reason to do me a favor, Lady, but I request it regardless,¡± said the Fountainist with a voice like a brass bell. ¡°I do not suppose so either, unless it is reasonable,¡± replied Adz with the slightest of leg-scramblings to betray its levity. Mitchell¡¯s magus caber floated over to his side, and he placed a hand on top of it. The top-mounted witchlights began to cycle faintly in intensity and color. The man leaned on his shoulder, contemplating some point in the range directly between schlrikt and udod aodod. ¡°Please tell Lord Artaxerxes that we all appreciate the unusual pressures he endures,¡± he said. In silence, he extended a connection request, and Adz obliged. {Please tell Lord Artaxerxes that many hands make light work, and that many hands are apportioned against him. If not now, then soon. Tell him that the greatest danger will almost certainly come from some among his own people.} Adz felt ever so slightly ill. {I shall so inform him,} it replied. ¡°Thank you, dear Lady,¡± said Mitchell with a smile. ¡°Our Lord is such an important part of who and what we are. He needs to know how much we are aware of that fact - even we who are not properly counted among his estate¡¯s citizens.¡± His magus caber dipped under his palm, huddling behind him once more as he touched his heart with his other forefinger. ¡°I do not see the sun, Friend Mitchell,¡± said Seven. It faced West, sinewy body watching the towering shape of the citadel behind whose recurve gleam hid the child of the sun from days past. ¡°Of course you do not see the sun,¡± chuckled Mitchell at the Beast as he turned away, watching his boss carry off a most unwise aaned. ¡°The sun is not meant to be seen.¡± Adz made an ambiguously amused sound, and left for its appointment to discuss Beastkind¡¯s introduction with the three closest-residing Lawmasters. Over nearly a score ¡°steps¡± wherein its leg-cables moved fore and aft in near concert, the clacking of Seven¡¯s claws seemed to intend to follow it to the auditorium. Moments into the experience, the Beast obviously tired of its game, and even without watching, Adz knew the schlrikt had fallen back to entertain some other fancy. Instead, a new set of footsteps picked up the pace, keeping even with the udod aodod, and coming up on the right side. Adz¡¯s eyespots digested the image of Leanshe Etruphana drawing close. It wasn¡¯t a terribly great challenge, seeing that the Lady¡¯s larger size only really lent a tremendous speed advantage in short bursts. The sight of the autumn elf, the very first would-be slayer of Sebastio Artaxerxes, made a fine-scaled ear twitch in both curiosity and cold distaste. ¡°Greetings, Lady,¡± said the shipwright. Her aura had the color of a hearth-fed fire. She didn¡¯t look up at the udod aodod. She simply walked with the purpose of keeping pace. ¡°Greetings, engineer. As strange as it might sound, the antics of Beasts have become routine of late.¡± It is not so much good as an interesting surprise to see you once again. Adz wasn¡¯t exactly leery, but it certainly wasn¡¯t happy either. Its voice showed that it would grudgingly tolerate the terrible planning in evidence by a failed assassination, especially one with a causality sabotage as the headsman¡¯s ax. It would not tolerate such for long, though, and doubly so given the subject of Leanshe¡¯s infamous antipathy. Others had forgiven her in time; Adz would not. A connection request came along. The Lady answered it. {If you are wondering of my purpose, then note that I aim to see this estate remain whole, but under a more traditional leadership.} The Lady would have fallen over from that candid admission of treachery, once, long ago. Now, it was made of sterner stuff. It looked aside, and noticed the engineer watching behind her, looking at Mitchell as though she knew what had been said between him and Adz. Perhaps guesswork, perhaps prophecy, perhaps coincidence, though that last was unlikely. Well. If the opponent was going to pull the gloves off, it was high time to go for the verbal jugular with one¡¯s teeth. {You still hold Lord Artaxerxes responsible for your cousins¡¯ fates,} declared Adz. It wasn¡¯t exactly hard to credit or deduce. Perhaps it should have been just a bit harder to believe the woman had such willingness to undertake such a cause, since the last time had ended with her being put on display for three days minus all of her skin. Udod aodod didn¡¯t have many social interpersonal taboos as a rule: plenty of understanding and propriety, but little utterly verboten. Hermaphroditism made the entire idea of gender a necessarily foreign topic, after all, not matter how well internalized the concept. Even so, autumn elves¡¯ apathy toward popular views of having relations with one¡¯s close relations, revivification of dead family¡¯s personae, internment of the dead, and a hundred other things occasionally gave Adz pause on even considering the subject. Leanshe had no such inhibitions. For that matter, she¡¯d never shown any kind of shame in the attempted murder of her sovereign. {There was never any question of responsibility,} the woman replied, voice stony. {If he had not been involved with the operation for which my family had embarked, I know they would not have died heroes¡¯ deaths.} {So you think it would have been better for an unknown but surely enormous number of people to die, so long as your own kin were not among them?} Adz couldn¡¯t, and didn¡¯t try to, hide an eviscerating disdain at the woman¡¯s morals, differences in phylum or no. The idea was unethical, inefficient, and simply unsustainable as a universal stance. {Can you claim that you truly believe otherwise?} came the level reply. The udod aodod gestured, more than passingly annoyed. {No matter your motives or your current course of action, this is the first opportunity that you have taken to express discontent with your estate¡¯s leadership in a very long time. Why take such an opportunity now, and not earlier? Why not thwart your opposed inclinations under a younger sun?} The autumn elf¡¯s aura didn¡¯t have a chance to change during the dialogue; the whole interaction took effectively no time at all. If that had not been the case, though, Adz thought it might have begun to turn spotted and whorled, a diseased fruit of light. {Because until recently, I yet held onto the hope that Lord Artaxerxes would indeed remain Lord only in name¡­ or that, at some time, he might fade back into the role he originally declared for himself. But that man has a morbid terror of even approaching disappointment.} The engineer stopped, and gave the sense of reorienting her full attention to the designer-turned-politician for the first time. Agitated and tense, Adz waited. And waited. And waited. {I had the inclination to bide my time. I am not impatient. But there comes a time when one¡¯s actions are dictated by exterior considerations. Gernasot mun Cecilia mun Alice munnin Erliseth the Grand and Lord Harrison O¡¯Casey made their intent to defang this estate clear enough in recent days. I have not the means nor the hypocritical temerity to oppose them.} {Ah. You have inferred that they mean our estate ill based on local developments?} Surprisingly enough, no one had approached the armed mine that was the incident with Heggad at Louis Artaxerxes¡¯s latest maypoling event. Surprising in one sense, perhaps. In many others, it was not surprising in the least - no doubt that more than a handful of people had already assembled the puzzle pieces, but didn¡¯t want to commit political suicide by instigating hostilities between Nor¡¯ridge and Pennat Gate. The few people who either wouldn¡¯t have seen the danger of making such a blunder or wouldn¡¯t have cared had other limiters: entities who tried to keep a barrier between themselves and partisan politics weren¡¯t taken seriously, aarls usually recognized that they were unsuited to normal-people politics, wafa had too many other obsessions, and so forth. Instead of any move toward doublespeak, the autumn elf doubled down on the incredibly compromising admissions. {No. I was so told by a little eidolon named Heggad.} It wasn¡¯t quite a snarl. {It turns out that when you voice certain misgivings to certain parties about certain things, you should expect to have your misgivings taken at greater-than-face-value. A little indiscretion, and people think you have managed to suddenly lose any semblance of faith with the establishment.} The not-snarl got harder. {When Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s folk decided that meant it was time to lever a gap into Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s armor, it was not with any intention of informing me, and it became clear that their stars and mine had been tied long ago. And, do you know, I would have happily decided against the mandate under moderately different conditions. But upon thinking of the dictates now coming from the throne under which I have served for my entire life¡­ NO. We have seen the addition of Beasts to this estate¡¯s numbers, and I mount the destrier of grand argument. That way lies madness, and so I shall hope for demonstrations of discontent like today¡¯s, and greater. If Lord Artaxerxes is going to continue tightening his grip for fear of failing his sacred vision of a melting pot, he will be opposed.} Adz felt like it had set out for a months-awaited tenshe, aimed at chasing down a burly fallflat on its favorite Eighth Step preserve, and instead found that a well-meaning someone had helpfully chained the beast to a rock and so ¡°saved¡± the Lady the experience of tracking and falling into the thoughts of the thing. Despite the less-than-expected nature of the truths tossed at it, the udod aodod found that it really only had one question yet worth asking. {Why go through the trouble of telling me all of this?} Leanshe made a little noise. {You were privy to the Engineering Compact¡¯s commission of a scale model of the estate¡¯s entire circuit for the last two hundred years, as of eighteen years past. As I understand it, you held the central role on that project, one of the better productions I have ever seen from eSsonnss Architecture. That was simple in execution, but immaculate in detail. It was also representative of your skill. That sparked an interest in you personally; it showed me that you are a designer worthy of great respect - the kind of respect that deserves more than simple acknowledgement.} Adz¡¯s eyefibers mentally flattened against its face. {The level of trust you bestow upon me - that I will not betray this confidence - strikes me as unlikely. I am a constructor. I build. The advice given my husband meant to prune back on plans of action and grand designs is not something I prefer to undertake. But you have outlined a hundred implicit reasons that erasing you will keep a crop of new weeds out next year} Leanshe didn¡¯t exactly sneer, but she managed to use tone of bytevoice to simultaneously carry conditional contempt, resignation, morbid glee, and something like a plosive-consonant stutter. {I nearly wish you would try. One of the perks of being the pinnacle of an estate¡¯s intelligence community is that the illustrious Gernasot will find no difficulty in planting false evidence of a big brother attack against me. A single word, and they will emulate a picture of me that is as crazy as Eihks Richard. Oh, I will not be around any longer, but you will also provide pretext for framing Nor¡¯ridge as wrongly-accused.} ... What was that? As crazy as whom? As crazy as one of the greatest people to ever live? And if one even thought of attributing that opinion to the debt owed him by Adz¡¯s species¡­ The Lady weighed and measured the shipwright from a silence so deep, lengthened, and hostile that Leanshe Etruphana, prospective murderer and proven if unhappy traitor, eventually made a small interrogative sound. {Well. May you be as the skin eater, as you get everything your heart desires.} When Adz finally left the shipwright behind, it felt not betrayal, but a bleak and unsympathetic pity. It spared very little time or focus for probing the details of such a feeling. A nation of trillions wouldn¡¯t oversee meetings on its own, after all. Times Inconstancy ¡°As we grow, we reproduce. As we reproduce, we extend ourselves to meet our needs. As we extend ourselves to meet our needs, we require larger fields of unused volume in which to plant seeds of self and domain. To keep ourselves from becoming carcinogenic, we must trim ourselves with humility, and curtail our manses¡­ if we wish to avoid planting fields in our very houses and minds.¡± -Not-Fire Empress Lillian Cuorilo, upon being transferred in her entirety from her digital Monolith persona to a physical body Louis Artaxerxes felt his shoulders relax as his arms swung, tramping around the Third Step platform like he owned it. The athlete-and-relative-of-a-noble-but-not-actually-nobility-by-Yrdkish-measurements was dressed somewhere between what he¡¯d seen people wearing for half of his young life, and very heavily ornamented plastic. His eyes were bright, his hair was dark, and his nose was full of the Step¡¯s unmarred springtime. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t remember it being quite this big last time around,¡± he said to Celnn P¡¯mulkes, best friend and one of the several generations sprouting from new arrivals watered in old blood. Rhaagmini was the order of the day, the speech of nations and tribes aplenty from beyond the gleaming high tower that was extrafacetary life. When a people contacted the Big Three, it was a nearly unintentional affront to use something besides the tongue spoken by more sapient minds than any other language. As a result of Pennat Gate¡¯s acquisition of industrial quantities of asylees, as many as one in ten conversations tossed around the estate were inherently offensive to many members of the nobility without even trying. ¡°Oh? So it was what, only the leaders of two million plus-size nations fourteen years ago?¡± Celnn¡¯s eyes peered down at the shorter human from an upraised russet-and-ultraviolet body. He was a mutt of several breeds of zsel¨¦tael. His father¡¯s heritage accounted for the size of his headflaps and his length. The less exotic line of his mother meant he had a wide field of headwool, not the completely smooth body of Python zsel¨¦taels. He had the heart of a lion when the bullets started flying and the heart of a cockroach at all other times. The man also happened to be the only extrafacetary-born in a group of four. The idea of such a ratio would be frankly absurd almost anywhere else, but in Louis¡¯s foster home, it was a more and more common sight. ¡°I wish I knew the slightest bit about what you¡¯re discussing,¡± grumbled Alarusx Iinitosl, winner of the don¡¯t-know-and-only-nominally-care award. She hailed from a facet twenty hops from Cludcludalc, growing up in a highly diverse industrial community with far too many different kinds of smog. It meant the woman - often ended up being a tall dirty human poofball, and not minding it in the least. Her facet¡¯s native culture was well-suited to the high-but-rapidly-decreasing level of emphasis on being properly dignified and obtuse, which fit most of the rest of Yrdky like a tailored glove. ¡°Come on, Al, haven¡¯t you ever heard of a ¡®meeting?¡¯¡± chuckled Louis, hopping a hundred and eighty degrees, winked at the woman, and threw a witchlight out into the field because he could. It flared brightly as it sank into a very carefully cultivated mud hole, disturbing a splattering of mudpuppies and lungfish and fist-sized flies. They almost immediately began returning to their proper places as the witchlight dispelled. ¡°Come on, admit breeze: I don¡¯t think you quite have as good a grasp on humor as you think you do,¡± replied Alarusx. ¡°I don¡¯t think he has a good grasp on much besides his squeaky Earth Standard lingual background,¡± double-replied Celnn. His limbs folded up at his sides as he suddenly dipped to rub himself on the granite pathway, cleaning off some of the grit which came from both Alarusx and the fact of being outdoors. Like a fish, he propelled himself forward and ahead of the others with a single muscular spurt, dusting his headwool off with one of his hands. ¡°No doubt it¡¯s why he¡¯s so good at art.¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s because there¡¯s a thing called ¡®passion.¡¯ It¡¯d be wonderful to teach you, if it could be taught.¡± Louis plucked at the lapels of his vest, and turned to the fourth and final member of the bunch. ¡°What do you think, eGarra? Should we try to educate with words, or just whipping up another masterpiece for demonstration¡¯s sake?¡± eGarra went about in the skin and manner of a human, but his appearance concealed two curiosities. First, as his name implied, he was actually an oleethf conjugated to a hominid body. Second, he had been a happy semiartificial creature rolling about an unusually barren facet on a fat steady wheel for most of its life as a cog in a much greater machine. Until, that was, everything eGarra had ever known met the Ripper. Like with all else that met the Ripper, very little survived. There had been no knowledge about anything like d?mon clusters or the Beings of Old in the oleethf¡¯s mind, or the fact that shortly a great and terrible engine of unmoving and immovable revolution would soon enfold a thousand facets¡¯ worth of others with similar stories. eGarra decided to change species, change his lifestyle, change everything that had made him who he had been for the equivalent of six hundred extrafacetary years, and somehow just wandered into becoming friends with the brother of one of the most topical people to draw breath. Ironically, he made a better human than many humans Louis had met. ¡°I¡¯m going to go with the obvious,¡± remarked the man who looked like a boy not even elevated to pubescence. He tossed his head, throwing back a river of hair that went down to his ankles, and bared his cheek where a tattoo of a face - also covered in tattoos - winked back at the rest of the crew, with a tattoo of a face upon its face, each layer of recursion peeling back to reveal a different portrait with the same outline. ¡°We need to come up with something like that tree with the poet-fire last year.¡± ¡°That was one of the worst ideas to which I¡¯ve ever been privy,¡± muttered Alarusx. She ruffled her feathered coat, giving off a cloud of rank and spicy dust that seemed to come from her very pores. ¡°Stop that,¡± said Celnn, rubbing himself clean again and slipping farther away from the others. He halted his brushing of his headwool for a moment to stare out to his left. The Third Step platform ended a single stone¡¯s throw away in that direction, and past its border sprawled the vaguely cup-shaped form of a Fourth Step platform, a very decorative floating table with miniature models of virally spreading stone castles. Beyond, the indomitable mountains asserted their wordless defiance of the sky. ¡°There was a lot to recommend that project!¡± Louis asserted, walking backward briefly to pointedly watch Alarusx. ¡°A thousand people saw it in the first four minutes, and by the first eight there must have been a thousand estates processing and reprocessing the derivatives and imitators.¡± He laughed, with a faint monomolecular edge of bitterness. The low but ever-present anger in his soul roused itself for but an instant, then returned to quiescence once more. ¡°We¡¯re friends and family of the chosen few; doesn¡¯t everything work out for us in the end?¡± He stopped, and his delightfully accented Rhaagmini lost its boyish edge. Back on topic, children, don¡¯t dawdle. He didn¡¯t have to have Celnn actually say ¡°Stop hating FUN, Sebastio,¡± to hear the zsel¨¦tael¡¯s voice in his head. ¡°The Lordsmoot is going to be the first time so many leaders have rubbed shoulders for at least sixty four years,¡± he pointed out to the dirty woman. ¡°We have a lot of catching up to do.¡± ¡°Indeed!¡± came an ebullient chortle from opposite the pulse-slowing vista. The accent invoked that wonderfully odd place called Ilsabal Square of which Louis had heard a bit here and there, and which had been described as an overlay of numerous variations of aquatic life - possibly on account of the liquid quality of its rhotic sounds. ¡°Good day to you, young sir!¡± said a grinning man with a mustache that seemed like it was slowly colonizing the rest of his face. He favored a long tailed jacket, modestly unassuming bootpants, and a hat which cast a shallow shadow over his features. This last he doffed in a very obviously foreign flourish, tracing the figure of a seven-pointed star. ¡°The boy whom I seek - that¡¯s obviously you!¡± Louis had many strengths in which he rested comfortably thanks to the first half of his life being spent in a brothel. Deprecation of his maturity, unfortunately, threaded the needle of his armored layers. ¡°Excuse me, but I¡¯m thirty two by your years, twenty three by the years from where I grew up, and more than old enough to make my own decisions however you slice it!¡± The man¡¯s smile became a thin-lipped grimace. ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯m sure, and no offense or slight about judgment was meant.¡± Louis felt his eyes roll, and he moved to one side, feeling an itch running the length of his spine. ¡°Ahhh¡­ just let me take care of some business with this guy,¡± he assured them. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too long, I think.¡± ¡°You sure sound confident,¡± moped Alarusx. ¡°Oh, go sit on a hurt spike, Ms. Sunshine! Do you want to stick around and be bored or not?¡± ¡°I thought you said it wouldn¡¯t be too long,¡± came the smugness that was a vindicated eGarra. ¡°He can¡¯t tell time to save his life.¡± Al turned to Celnn at that, a totally blank stare groping at him. ¡°This from the man who once took two hours to finish a ¡®three minute debate¡¯ on the utility of clothing?¡± ¡°You know,¡± said Celnn, eyeing the new fellow with less than total confidence, ¡°we can make more plans about how to instill good sense in Al¡¯s head later. If you need¡­ well¡­¡± Celnn made a forehead swipe to indicate resignation. ¡°Hmm,¡± contributed Alarusx. She obviously intended to pick up the subject again shortly. ¡°I insist that we make those plans immediately,¡± protested eGarra. ¡°Either we take care of it now, or it never happens.¡± Suddenly jerking, he looked as though he¡¯d just remembered Louis¡¯s existence. ¡°If you¡¯re sure, we¡¯ll be over at Celnn¡¯s den,¡± he stated. ¡°Wait, I¡¯d really rather you don¡¯t just go¡± was what Louis abruptly wanted to say - but by the time he seriously considered actually saying it, the triad of acquaintances decided, looking a bit put-out in a couple cases, that an exit wouldn¡¯t go horribly amiss. The athlete and unwilling celebrity frowned as he turned back to this fellow. As time went on, though, his frown deepened. He liked making friends, meeting people who might eventually be friends, or just associating with people who could have a good time even if they had no interest in friendship except for the skinflint kind. That was another thing he and his much older brother had in common; a kind of socialization that wasn¡¯t selfish so much as focused on practical distribution of oxytocin or analogous natural substance. One thing he wouldn¡¯t do was strike up a meeting with someone of obviously questionable quality. His eyes narrowed. ¡°Ah,¡± said the strange man. ¡°Didn¡¯t know if the compulsion there was quite strong enough, or too strong, or if you had some kind of skein which gave you immunity to compulsions.¡± You forced me to scare off my friends with magic¡­ exactly why? The French-born fellow didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d spoken aloud until the other man¡¯s hat went a bit more sideways on his round head. ¡°I need to talk with you, Mr. Artaxerxes,¡± said the strange and very unwelcome man. ¡°If you would do me the courtesy of getting through what I need to say, then please call up security forces. In the potential scenario of my being inadequate to describe good reasons to avoid that, you have my permission to ply some grueling punishment - but I don¡¯t think that will become a legitimate concern. And yes, I¡¯m aware of the gravity of unasked-for compulsions in the eyes of the law. Put that aside for now, please.¡± Hat-man tugged the tall millinery on the top of his head from the one side to the other. ¡°I¡¯m Hereld Upswitch, and a supplicant of yours, young sir. In answer to your unposed question, I¡¯ve some interesting history with the Lord who is your brother.¡± A smile almost as greasy as his mustache grew on Hereld¡¯s face. That hair was a disconcerting departure from the apparent culture of most humans Louis had met in the years since he¡¯d arrived in his new home, who largely - with a couple exceptions, one familial and slightly concerning - treated facial hair as a very lewd laxness of personal modesty if not a slightly eccentric type of nudity. A deliberate statement? ¡°Well, shut up and talk, then.¡± It was the kind of construct impossible to assemble in Yrdkish without extreme levels of verbal sidetracking or outright massacre of good grammar. It was one of the other reasons why Louis chose to use Rhaagmini whenever possible, besides a complete lack of ability to form contractions and a vocabulary that simply couldn¡¯t be anything besides maximally formal. ¡°You¡¯re quite as rude as your brother!¡± observed Hereld. The man¡¯s teeth looked like they were all about to simultaneously exceed maximum survivable pressure with shotgun effect. ¡°We didn¡¯t precisely talk much, but that¡¯s a neat thing I¡¯ve liked about him. He says what he thinks needs saying, and keeps to diplomacy where it keeps the peace, but if he finds himself in distasteful enough waters then he stirs up the whole pond.¡± ¡°In case you¡¯re the only person to visit this estate who didn¡¯t already know,¡± replied Louis with a duck back behind his armor plate, ¡°I spent a good portion of my formative years growing up in a brothel.¡± ¡°Almost enough to make me wish I had the good fortune to spend my pre-manhood with such delightful company.¡± The smile mutated into a close-lipped raising of the cheeks.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°I jest. Furthermore, I go astray from my desired address.¡± The hat went straight once more. Its owner¡¯s head tilted, however, so that the hat experienced no net change in attitude. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked past Louis at the Fourth Step sprawl. ¡°Before going any farther, may the record show that I had the best intentions motivating my actions,¡± Hereld declared, as though such wasn¡¯t a near tautology. ¡°Ah,¡± said Louis. ¡°In my unofficial capacity, a number of years ago I was working for an extremely interesting party. That party was in turn working for an extremely interesting party. If you followed that chain of arrangements up to its precipice, you would¡¯ve found one of those creatures called Beings of Old, although of which I¡¯m not sure.¡± A pause three heartbeats long. ¡°The occupation that I served at that time was that of the sapper, the saboteur,¡± admitted Hereld. ¡°I advised your brother that he would only reach true contentment if he married within a very particular set of bounds that others outlined, and I forwarded to him for his betterment.¡± Hereld did that finger-sideways-across-forehead thing that meant ¡°it is as it is.¡± ¡°Whether that was strictly true or not was immaterial. I had guidance to make the attempt at swaying his future. Failure to comply was never an option or even a contemplated decision.¡± He sighed, stepped a single long stride off the granite pathway. ¡°That was but one member of a thousand-strong herd of machines. Look,¡± he added in a bit more of a humorous voice as he caught sight of Louis¡¯s befuddlement, ¡°I had better start farther back. I had a certain part to play in a much larger system. Plans have been laid by the Beings of Old long before you or I ever came into being, plans with forks more numerous than the facets of the gem. One of the greatest of those plans aimed at the retrieval of¡­ something.¡± A laugh. ¡°That¡¯s almost all I know: ¡®something.¡¯ One of the ancillary plots toward that procurement was distracting some of the major players of life¡¯s dramas with a different procurement.¡± He looked pointedly at Louis, who looked confusedly back. ¡°Caladhbolg,¡± he added. Louis felt his eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. ¡°That was what I was told, at any rate, and of course that was when your brother got himself incontestably entangled, if not sooner than that. As an aside, I also happen to know that the talented atypical boob responsible for the attempted theft of the Maker¡¯s tool - Niall Bennosuke by name - also had several other roles to fill in the designs of certain vested interests. He¡­ evidently disappointed someone, and I suspect, but can¡¯t prove, that the wonderful half-human half-Beast monstrosities that featured so heavily as the invasion forces of the Western Sunrise have something to do with his subpar performance. The fact that that invasion was coming had been explained to me before the fact - along with the fact that many of Rhaagm¡¯s upper management would help bring about a temporary hobbling of the Monolith, at my employers¡¯ behest - but several other points of the master plan made themselves notable by their absence in my itinerary.¡± The smile soaked in a grim iron light. ¡°Let¡¯s say the scope of the event was downplayed by my supplier-of-information. Let¡¯s also say,¡± he added with that iron light hardening to something adamantine, ¡°my understanding of how much or how little Lord Artaxerxes would be able to eke out of the circumstances was likewise flawed.¡± He tapped one temple. ¡°The fact that our shared sun was actually an Old - and that whatever else happened, that Old died - was the filling of the caustic surprise cake for me, I assure you.¡± Louis stared, lips flattened. ¡°Yes. I was aware of most of that. I do have a connection to the Monolith.¡± Louis tapped the box of his cerv-mesh, pulling down his collar to display the slightly-lower-than-usual mount point. He was gratified to see, for the first time, something that wasn¡¯t actually a twisted cousin to a smile on Hereld¡¯s expression. ¡°Ah! I¡­ didn¡¯t know that you¡¯d gotten the operation. I¡¯d heard that you weren¡¯t interested just yet.¡± He actually looked dumbfounded, if only for an instant. ¡°Regardless,¡± he resumed shortly, ¡°the only other thing certain about the greater schemes of my distant benefactors is that, in some part, they succeeded.¡± He turned and pointed. Louis couldn¡¯t tell what he signified at first, but then he distinguished the form of one of the estate¡¯s pet Beasts walking along through a thick grove of straight-branched dogwoods. In bold contrast to slavering feral madness, the creature was following a cloud of butterflies and poking at them every few minutes with its needle-sharp nose. A squad of Fountainist keepers followed at a short distance, one of whom seemed unsure if she should keep the butterflies from being harassed. ¡°The Beasts?¡± asked Louis. He¡¯d seen sensories of what the creatures could do. He¡¯d seen the broadcasts of the streets of Rhaagm all those years ago, with writhing midnight masses working over the redmetal avenues and pathways. When Sebastio had told him about the scheme to adopt some of the most evil things of which he could possibly conceive into the estate¡¯s home, well, Louis had argued. Actually, he¡¯d raved; memories of monsters that had killed literally more people than Louis could count dancing in his head. The only thing Louis had actually done that long-deceased day, a mark which made him something of a child mascot, was survive. A single one of those Beasts (or at least part-Beasts) which had since begun to infrequently appear in uncontrolled type nine events - those things which incorporated the body of a tall pale-skinned human man - had managed somehow to make it all the way onto a Second Step platform. The Second Step platform, it happened, also contained a very young Louis Artaxerxes¡­ who¡¯d received a present of a decorative sword only two days prior, and thought his new gift was better than the thirty one chromosome gene treatment he was only just beginning, better than his arriving in a new place far from the pain and misery that was his home facet¡¯s France, better than most nearly anything he could name. It was an icon, a talisman to help him feel that he was no longer powerless over his own destiny. He wouldn¡¯t really comprehend how miraculous the milestone was until much later, a boy who was about seventeen extrafacetary years old managing to slay something that turned strong warriors to mewling infants. He¡¯d seen a creature that screamed throbbing teary imprecations of the world loping along, deleterious and frenzied and desperate to commit sins which had no name. Without possessing the knowledge that his shiny toy sword¡¯s blunted blade couldn¡¯t possibly do anything to a person of normal fleshy composition, let alone whatever the creature rapidly approaching with murder in its eye was, he¡¯d struck. And yet, as Louis slashed his blade across the ambiguous biology with morbid terror nearly choking him, he felt on the one hand a greater compulsion to be elsewhere than he¡¯d ever felt before, and on the other a visceral need to kill. The thing he felt through his physical hands was the parting of something the consistency of pudding filled with iron shavings. A clawed hand swiped out at him, wearing spined knuckledusters of evil energy. Just as he¡¯d later learn how lucky he was to defeat the entity at all, he later realized that he almost certainly couldn¡¯t even have been revived, had the creature done him even apparently minor injury. But it missed, and he didn¡¯t. There was a terrible sound, and then a terrible quiet. Two minutes later as the thing dissolved, consumed with wonder at what exactly he¡¯d just done, Louis had raised the sword in the air, screamed as only an adolescent boy with rage-filled panicky catharsis truly can, and been seen doing so through word-of-mouth sensory sharing by a quarter of a billion people in less than half an hour. That little incident made a boy into a man, and a man who hated Beasts almost as much as he didn¡¯t know what to think about them. So, yes - he¡¯d argued. He¡¯d argued profusely against the introduction of Beasts to his new homeland. He¡¯d eventually stopped arguing, but Sebastio probably didn¡¯t know whether it was a result of passive surrendering acceptance or true acceptance on behalf of a trusted figure - and neither did Louis. He looked up again at Hereld Upswitch¡¯s bared teeth, head vibrating slightly. ¡°But¡­ why?¡± asked a Louis Artaxerxes with questions rapidly fork-bombing his brain. ¡°Why did I do it? Why am I telling you all of this? Why are any of these plots underway?¡± ¡°Just give me answers!¡± roared Louis. Distantly, he saw one or two strollers in the distance turn to examine him from their examinations of the duck-footed Beast, and a maintenance eidolon¡¯s attention had been directed his way from the outburst as well. He cared not in the least at that moment. Hereld¡¯s smile became more saturated with grease than ever. ¡°Well, let me ask you: are you the kind of person who enjoys being betrayed? Are you a ftalw, appreciative of sentient interaction because it gives you exposure to creatures with feelings? Are you the same kind of sad and unfulfilled person who feels satiation by simply being a podium on which others can build? Or are you one who burns on the inside?¡± Once upon a time, Louis would have leaned back from the sudden bolus of vitriol rising in the other man¡¯s throat, felt that he needed to squeeze out a few drops of emotion and apologize for bringing on such a display. But he¡¯d hardened. He¡¯d learned that he was but mortal, and that even his adoptive brother had taken too much responsibility on his shoulders at times. He¡¯d felt the kind of strength grow into his bones through the years which needed laughter to cover it up, because on the inside he was made of lengths of metal, left after the house they supported incinerated around them. And at times it made him a creature of erratic and potent passions. ¡°Yes,¡± replied he, and he didn¡¯t smile. ¡°There you have it!¡± said Hereld. ¡°I made one stipulation, had one condition, on my service to those Beings of Old who went and poked their little holes into the lives of every creature great and small. I won¡¯t tell you what that was, and if you ask you¡¯ll only get lies. But they listened, they considered, and in the final accounting they spat in my face.¡± That smile had hooks in it now. ¡°Now, they want to smooth over the places where people like your brother inconvenienced their final designs, and made their grand machines falter. So regardless of what Lord Artaxerxes wants or needs, I¡¯m going to do what I can to make sure that what they want doesn¡¯t happen. I heard from a little birdie that the beginning of a plot to frame Pennat Gate for a political incident - something like the cheating going on in that maypoling match featuring the illustrious you not too long ago - is going to be the first wave of an aftershock. Certain people don¡¯t think the field is level enough after the festivities, and so they want to reduce you to a once-interesting-but-now-quaint name, to bring your home down¡­ by fire or sword or treaty.¡± Cheating? He didn¡¯t get any closer, but he suddenly got very quiet and very intense. It struck the French immigrant that just maybe he was snakes-for-socks crazy. ¡°They got their Beastie friends. They may have gotten some other things out of their little power play that I don¡¯t know - in fact, I¡¯m sure of it. But they didn¡¯t get that sword, or the opportunities it presented, or a clean sweep with their carnival attractions¡¯ invasion of Rhaagm and Bequast. I will personally see their ambitions trampled in the mud. And you, young sir, can help me.¡± ¡°Really?¡± came a nonchalant voice from Louis¡¯s throat. ¡°You can help me by firming the earthworks of your brother¡¯s ambitions, your own past, and the future of your estate. That¡¯s why plots are now underway to discredit the lot of you, and overturn the tables of transient enterprise. Watch Nor¡¯ridge, and those among your own number who have reason to hate. And keep an eye open while you sleep; that¡¯s when killers and kidnappers most prefer to strike.¡± Louis quirked a brow. He couldn¡¯t quite avoid a smidge of darkness in his own tone. ¡°Why tell me all this? Why not the Lord?¡± Hereld Upswitch¡¯s eyes flickered like magnesium torches. ¡°If you have to ask, then you still don¡¯t understand. At this stage, I couldn¡¯t talk with that man and not make my disdain of him clear. I couldn¡¯t get him to listen. I hate him, I hate you, and hate everything that can possibly be hated to an extent which even the oldest and bitterest of dagachas can only envy. But I hate them the most by far.¡± He abruptly stood, and it was like a switch engaged. ¡°Good day, young sir. Survive, poison your adversary¡¯s wells, and tell your brother that enemies of enemies are, at least, relatable.¡± Louis watched as the man spun on a heel, kicked his shoes together, manifested skids on his legs, and began powering off into the distance. He didn¡¯t turn back, and his hat somehow remained on his skull despite the best efforts of a countervailing wind. Did that make this the weirdest day of his life? Not even in the top twenty - maybe not even the top hundred, depending on how one categorized that extended bender in virtual space he¡¯d enjoyed upon turning twenty five. But ominous¡­ ominous, it had in spades. ¡°If Sebastio¡¯s already met that freak, I hope he didn¡¯t just neglect to mention the incident.¡± Louis eventually got around to failing-to-neglect-to-mention the incident of that afternoon to his Lord, but only after he spent an evening sanding smooth the edges of his malaise with well-met company. ¡°Hope you all have some fun, even if it¡¯s just accidental!¡± was the only thing he remembered saying to them, and that was possibly because it was the last such thing. A slightly numb meandering back to his abode later, he collapsed on his bed-pad. Edward, his pet stipp, made a¡­ well, some sort of noise on seeing his master come home, about ten seconds after Lewis walked by. Edward eventually waddled over, and like usual began making alarmed hooting sounds as he got lifted off his little stipp legs by the furniture¡¯s invisible kinesis. The light of day was just beginning to drown in the shallows of the sky¡¯s dark ocean. Louis idly patted Edward on the part of his face just between the little creature¡¯s eyes and fat proboscis. He debated waiting, came to a consensus that he didn¡¯t want to go through anything more that evening, and tossed out his own decision. He requested a direct connection with Lord Artaxerxes, and the delay in it being answered was nearly nonexistent. {Hello, Louis,} came the voice of Sebastio, both strange and familiar. {How are you doing?} For a moment, a realization that had orbited around Louis¡¯s brain more frequently over the last several years revisited. His older brother very rarely made any kind of attempt to truly happily emote. He¡¯d become a no-nonsense serious man since the third move to interrupt him - and thus show Pennat Gate¡¯s political limp-wristed inefficacy - but one of the constant exceptions came in the form of Louis. Sebastio was indeed a peg, as some of his detractors claimed. Not that he was used up, not that he was on the losing side of incredible struggle. No, it was because he¡¯d survived much, and it showed. His voice didn¡¯t exactly smile through the link, but compared to most of his public addresses it was less like stone and more like strong supple glass. {Hey,} the French native replied with a small and unwilling grin. He didn¡¯t bother appending ¡°Lord¡± anymore - despite the fact that familial ties had no innate meaning as far as attaining, improving, or even just remaining at a stable position in the nobility. He¡¯d had it made clear that it wasn¡¯t a necessary observance for the youngest Artaxerxes more than enough times. The grin vanished. {Do you know a fellow by the name of Hereld Upswitch?} Louis asked, a tad more heavily than he¡¯d intended. The first rejoinder was a sniff. The second was {I assume by your question that you met the man in person, then?} Louis felt himself suddenly swelling. {I did. He was an absolutely lovely person, I feel extremely comfortable about our initial run-in, and the fact that I was warned about this delightful diamond of a human being reassures me greatly.} There was a long and profound sigh. Sebastio sounded disappointed, at least as much in himself as in his sibling¡¯s outburst. {Allow me to give you some background, then. Hereld first met me within the first half of a year of being on the throne, and told me in no uncertain terms that I had better put my lifelong trust in someone besides Adz.} {Incidentally, he mentioned that,} Louis quipped, very slightly cooled down. {Then perhaps he also mentioned that he has been a most wanted man ever since, and that he and I have only been reacquainted again in the last month. If there had been an infinitesimal chance that he might have come around yet again after mucking about with marital commitments, you would have heard very quickly indeed.} A short pause, like the intake of breath, before Sebastio resumed. {Since you have met, then it sounds like you have already put it together that that man is very dangerously unstable. If you can possibly avoid it, Louis, keep far, far away from Hereld Upswitch and everything he represents. He absolutely had the support of some Old backers. Does he still? I cannot say.} After another pause, the Lord continued. {Gods alive, but this must have been how Nessro felt when trying to get me to settle down, while Father was off making the world a better place. At the time Hereld and I crossed paths, you were too young to understand how the social mechanisms of the world truly work. I could hardly have pointed out the danger and then expected good results even several years after; the opportunity had already passed, and we couldn¡¯t court more things going wrong than already being confronted. Even so, it was indeed irresponsible to not mention the man at an earlier time.} {If I find out anything more about him,} Louis answered after a short delay, {I will pass on word.} {As shall I,} answered Sebastio. He sounded less contrite than solidly set on doing better; like he always eventually got around to sounding. Then: {Goodnight, little brother.} Louis continued rubbing Edward with a knuckle, the stipp making little surprise noises every time he was touched, just like every time since he¡¯d first become associated with the bird-fruit-thing. He wondered if there would ever be a point that being called ¡°brother¡± by a man older than his own blood grandfather stopped feeling weird. He wondered if there would ever be a point where having an udod-aodod-in-law like Adz that was a score times older still, forthright and occasionally nice as it was, stopped feeling weird. He wondered if there would ever be a point at which knowing that he could now summon magic to his fingertips stopped feeling weird. Perhaps more important, did it really matter? Bully Ol’ Boys ¡°Every person to ever be deserves life, and life abundant. For all those who would otherwise die broken or fall to pieces in the wasteland of the gem, the Yrdkish estate of Pennat Gate offers succor.¡± -The Pennat Gate Haven Edict, as first paraphrased by the Parrot of Rhaagm Sebastio Artaxerxes didn¡¯t sleep anymore. That made it difficult for him to wake up, per se. However, he moved through life in a kind of cycle, using his nights to catch up on major information from around the whole of creation, organize any correspondence requiring the attention of Lord Tuoamas and the other decision-makers of Pennat Gate, ponder the big questions of life, and other inanities. More recently, he idled in a documentarian¡¯s observational slump, watching the schlrikt he and his Lady had taken in like the ugliest feral qinp imaginable. Lying on his massive bed-pad¡¯s cushioning force, the Cambrian human caressed Adz¡¯s head, following the curve of an ear. A shallow smile trickled across the fractured topography of his face as the ear of his other half quirked, the lipless mouth tightened, the leg-cables loosened their weave by an iota. The gorget it wore to mark it as a Lady of Yrdky caught the light with a beautiful twinkle. He was so keen to make sure the world knew how deeply he respected the udod aodod¡¯s opinions and schema that tenderness and public life had pretty much taken on the respective aspects of oil and water. It was just one of the ways that his marriage diverged from its original design. Where he¡¯d hoped it would make things easier to appear a concerned but too-busy-caring-to-meddle Lord, he now hoped it would serve as a meticulous tapping on the gauges and meters of governance. To the credit of Lord and Lady, that part seemed to be successful. I¡¯m the spitting image of decisiveness, he laughed inside. replied his third half, for perhaps the thousandth time that year. I¡¯m aware they are, Caladhbolg¡­ Malumortis¡­ Yes, I can make decisions and live with them. It would just be nice to look back and have a tenth the confidence in them as everyone else seems to think I have. It would be nice to not have absolute foreknowledge of enemies provisioning themselves for grappling this upcoming Lordsmoot. Line item: consult Adz on likely difficulties posed by Leanshe Etruphana - check. Line item: same, Hereld Upswitch - check. Line item: categorize methods by which the aforementioned persons of interest could defend or besmirch Pennat Gate¡¯s sanctuary-cum-melting-pot mission - to do tomorrow. Line item: inquire with Earl Rophiel Tybek as to how the artistic accrediting negotiations were going with the estate¡¯s undead stewards - check. Line item: discuss with Lawmasters, ministers and Lord Tuoamas the ominous declaration from Lord Naomi Galt of ?lthlant that her estate was ¡°interested in becoming very closely acquainted¡± - check. Line item: decide what statement to offer on a thrice-life-size pyrite-and-exotic nude sculpture of himself and Lord Tuoamas, presented as a gift from the estate¡¯s newest rescues - very shaky check. Line item: meet with Kallahassee and Magdod and their rapidly-expanding team of researchers for organizing Beast-related documentation - to do tomorrow. Line item: make plans for meeting up with Francis ¡°Bugbear¡± Pickering for the first time in years - check. Putting a mental marker down in his agenda, he requested that Telmbian, the digital personality steward of his estate¡¯s executive pinnacle, notify him of any work which fell too far afoul of normal, and ¡°woke up.¡± A kiss on Adz¡¯s forehead was perfectly acceptable in the bedchamber, and his spouse¡¯s mostly sleeping form twitched a bit, happy in those affections reserved by extrafacetary human culture for the thumb-and-forefinger-circle-sized collection of one¡¯s deepest-loved. He looked up at Seven in its far corner of the bedroom, a bit tickled at how entranced the Beast was by a child¡¯s toy. The toy in question was a generalization of the Towers of Hanoi called the Pagoda Trains; seven posts for ¨²danese stelae instead of three for¡­ towers, a single sprawling length of cord instead of annuli, and shuttlecocks threaded onto its length in a pattern not quite as old as God. The schlrikt had made a little cuboid nest of woodplastic against the corner, a tiny roofless house over whose walls it stepped to enter the civilized world, and exit to some alien place no non-Beast could really understand. It drew threaded shapes along their rails, the faint witchlight picking out its painstaking manipulations with a strange grace. They¡¯d tried to offer it a bed-pad of its own after some time, but apparently a place of rest wouldn¡¯t do if it wasn¡¯t the load-bearing corner of a building. Sebastio smiled, eyes slimming. This is where the world ends, and I begin: a place where all may know, for this moment, peace. The Lord¡¯s first feeling as the day closed down, the fifteenth hour rolling around again to the zeroth, was a sense of contentment at the few stolen minutes delighting in the small innocent pleasures of being. The Lord¡¯s second feeling was a gritted-teeth grin of anticipation at the mountainous challenges lumbering over the false Yrdkish horizon. The Lord¡¯s third feeling was a bit of concern as Caladhbolg drew his attention to a couple of anomalous folding events that weren¡¯t supposed to be happening just above him, inside the living quarters he shared with his Lady. The Lord¡¯s fourth feeling was a warm red-rooster crow in his soul as he realized an assassination attempt was underway, and assassinations begged for violent response. {Argyva,} he sent to the leader of his armsmen, {there are going to be some rude people arriving shortly. I insist on dealing with the ones here myself, but would appreciate your making sure that no others are positioned to do horrible things to this estate¡¯s subjects.} After so long with him repeatedly proving that he was bad enough to dispose of threats to his personal safety, the Lordly armsmen of Pennat Gate had finally surrendered to the idea that certain other people benefited more from their attentions. Overclocking engaged, the Lord darted over to the sleeping udod aodod. {Adz,} he sent, forcing open a connection to his Lady. He got a groggy quarter-coherent reply, even with the protracted time for thinking made available by dint of accelerated brain activity. This is the point in the action sensories where the heroine chins the hero, then kicks him off the disk she¡¯s piloting into a sun for his own good, or some such. Well, it was good to be a horribly selfish person for straightforwardly selfish reasons, for once. {You would only get in my way,} he told his Lady, {so this is for your own good.} The fact that he¡¯d actually said ¡°for your own good¡± sank into his brain about three seconds later, and made him want to tunnel into his own navel in shame. Something in his tone also sank into Adz¡¯s brain. In relative terms, it came awake and aware very rapidly. {Sebastio!} The bytevoice sounded a bit like the few times Iggez Artaxerxes came home from business, found his son had done something horribly immature, and metaphorically began to put a woodmetal rod across his son¡¯s backside. {No time.} Sebastio rather rudely killed the connection, leaned forward, and kissed the udod aodod full on the mouth. Despite such a wonderfully intimate act, Sebastio merely felt a candle flame being pumped around his veins. He didn¡¯t say ¡°I love you¡± or ¡°be safe.¡± He simply shredded Caladghbolg¡¯s length, lifted Adz with the orange strips, flipped his Lady upright, and virtually threw it none-too-gently out into the moon-and-witch-lit hall. The udod aodod, still clad in bedclothes, slid along the floor, leg-cables trailing out in its wake. The shutter of the door clamped down on the sight of four eyespots splayed wide. A small thought ran through both him and his body¡¯s trespasser. Caladhbolg voiced it. I¡¯ll have to apologize to Argyva later, but I don¡¯t expect or intend to die. A fractured second of a glance into the corner where Seven dwelt. He found the Beast strangely endearing in its own way, but it was not going to get tossed out of harm¡¯s salt-grinder blades in any case; no time, no opportunity. It¡¯ll be fine. Especially if it stays down. One person popped into being just above the door to his room, two meters over the top of the door and adhering to the wall there with some sort of stickpad boots. Why one would bother with such measures was unclear at first, then he realized the person in question had the coal-and-amber attire of a Not-Fire warrior. Used to wildly different rules of engagement at every conceivable level. They wouldn¡¯t employ radiant arms, or distance-independent magic. Not-Fire¡¯s idea of ¡°honor¡± in war, even subterfuge, would play to their victim¡¯s benefit. Hopefully. He reached out his right palm, and beckoned. The freshly-transported person found their adhesive ripped open by a tractor beam, rapidly spinning off their perch and downward toward his inhuman hand. When they got into range, Caladhbolg ate them. The first of several targets gone from infiltrating to neutralized in an eighth of a human heartbeat, he pivoted on a heel and pointed at a second, larger collection of atoms transposing themselves with someone¡¯s distant staging area. This time it was a jentrillian, of all things, armed with a quadratic accelerator and a mean look on his face. Based on the wonderful tool of stereotyping, Sebastio guessed this one would be the easiest to pump for information. Just as the man raised the weapon and prepared to fire, the Lord beat him to the punch, and flicked out a single finger to send sixteen piercing flechettes through the most major vertices of his thin body. A small utility supplied by Caladhbolg followed to keep the man conscious, unmoving, and unsuicided. He flew back against the wall, pinned and bleeding, and hung with his long head flattened against the morning-gray surface. One of his fat green eyes stared from the side of his skull with a strange hate-absent glare, the witchlight next to his neck making it look like his other peeper had been plucked out and repurposed as extremely tone-deaf fixture decoration. An inaudible disturbance of air to his left, and the sensation that he needed to be elsewhere. He kicked off the floor, dodging a pohostinlat who swung his shiver knife just as he folded behind the Lord. The blade instead sliced through the odious holojector for Sebastio¡¯s least-favorite piece of art in existence. Priceless relic or not, he felt a little twinge of satisfaction when the virtual landscape flickered and died. He then felt a bit of puzzlement when the man tried to follow up with his wrist spurs instead of stabbing with the implement specifically built for combat. What was his plan, envenom the Lord before interrupting him? Sebastio actually didn¡¯t know for certain that his own cerv-mesh would still prevent that offensive deployment of folding tools that its users called ¡°slivering,¡± though Caladhbolg would probably have something to conclusively rebut such tactics. His folding module had been compromised in some sense by his transformation, and forced him to find interesting ways around the problem of personal long-distance transit. In the absence of the ability to repeatedly superimpose oneself partially over another person¡¯s volume and disperse them one minute layer at a time, a last-instant fold in the middle of a blow was usually a deciding strike in a confrontation. The human¡¯s special circumstances shrunk such inarguable uses of martial physics to the realm of the annoyingly effective instead, even when they successfully carved out bits from his physique. Sadly for the pohostinlat, Sebastio-and-Caladhbolg¡¯s workaround of the folding issue was a sort of¡­ shattering of the spatial axes whose grain ran perpendicular between him and destination. Unlike foldings, it was a very loud method of movement, not dissimilar to a lightning strike - less on account of air crushing back together after a superheated flash and more segments of physical continua being given a slap across the face. Also unlike foldings, the implicit personal tuning field around every possessor of a cerv-mesh, which prevented so-blessed people from slivering each other or folding onto the borders of similar tuning fields, didn¡¯t actually prevent him from using his little trick on people and stopping halfway through them. One metal-tasting indoor thunderclap later, a Sebastio¡¯s-head-shaped chunk was missing from the front of the pohostinlat¡¯s armor and the attacker¡¯s own face. The pattern continued downward, and one of the pohostinlat¡¯s legs had a calf put right through it. The disconnected shin toppled to the floor, while the relocated bits and part of the old owner¡¯s armor also fell to the floor in their new coordinates a meter or so away. No explosions or sudden conversions of mass to more interesting stuff, but the opening of an unsurvivable percentage of blood vessels and a decent number of vital organs provided more excitement than desired in any case. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered past lips dripping onto his beard, and wondered exactly what he meant a moment later. Drenched in the cuprite-rich blood of one intruder literally to the front of his scalp, flecked with bits of gore from another, the Lord turned to the other three members of the team, two of whom were - appropriately enough - assassins. His right arm flicked off a good deal of fluid, and an orange light suffused the room as Caladhbolg assumed a long pronged shape. Electricity began arcing madly between the terminals. ¡°I would ask you to not do this,¡± he told the watchers, ¡°but we know how this must end.¡± His one pupil set in the orange flower of his left iris expanded to the size of his thumbnail, and when he grinned, the needle teeth on the right side of his jaw almost crossed the gap in his lips. lowed a voice of ossified metal and mind that set blood sublimating. And he hated how much he loved it. The assassins at least recognized that their situation was their certain end unless they could drastically change the mathematics. Thus, certain provisional laws that ordered the death penalty for misuse of Rhaagm¡¯s miraculous technology had to take second priority over right-now survival. Both deployed their d?mon clusters, clouds of distorted space and femtotech brains bookending Sebastio in rapid order. In response, the Lord extended his supermatter fork, and gestured violently while he fired a sequence of pings at the bundles of death that would have burst the bandwidth of any finite-throughput network. Disrupted and assaulted by exotic forces, the clusters were torn asunder, though they began spinning up new members almost immediately. Sebastio felt needles all over for a moment where his skin began to dissolve, before orange substrate flowed over the afflicted portions of his flesh. He wouldn¡¯t die from cluster digestion with his stupendous resilience, but it was the second-most-unpleasant thing he¡¯d ever felt in his life, after his long-ago causality sabotage accident. Astoundingly fast, the hudenot among the remaining assailants made a rippling hurdling river of their body. The bundle of tentacles flowed over the six meters separating them, exploiting the placement of two podia supporting scrollwork treasures of ages past, and began wrapping around the human while trying to fillet him from the shins up. Sebastio growled as he looked down into eyeclusters protected by translucent ceramic faceplate. His atypical gift of bioelectric manipulation came into play again, then; a hundred plus amps apparently couldn¡¯t overload the hudenot¡¯s protective measures, but obviously sufficed to disorient the creature. Then he bent his arm, shimmed it between the meters-long stretches of tentacle and his hip, and Caladhbolg became a razor-sharp saber. Lengthwise separation followed. A destabilizer construct knife the size of a human femur suddenly went through a human sternum, drew itself up toward his head, and stopped at about the point of his clavicle. It was the kind of insult which normally resulted in instant interruption, or at least forced the victim to use their pain dampeners to avoid becoming a broken weeping humped mess. In Sebastio¡¯s case, it wouldn¡¯t be fatal, but it was really, REALLY distracting. Instead, the victim pulled most of a hudenot¡¯s torn muscled form from about his waist, and whipped it around his shoulder at the assassin who¡¯d folded behind him. The reward was a meaty report, like a terrible accident in a medical operating theater. The antimatter blade¡¯s hilt fit into Sebastio¡¯s hand. He pulled it free with a sound that would have cost him sleep if he¡¯d actually still been capable of slumber, and hurled it at its owner as he spun. Broken facial chitin managed to dodge out of the way with contemptuous ease, considering the man¡¯s eyebars seemed to have been damaged from getting beaten over the head with the corpse of his former comrade. Having not killed the man immediately, the Lord found himself further annoyed at the milspec recovery augmentations his backstabber apparently possessed. About a tenth of a second, and the slumped gaze straightened out with a crack, while the exoskeletal profile became whole once more. The profuse amounts of hemolymph cleaned up instantly. Unfortunately, the man then summoned another weapon to his person instead of folding away and reassessing the situation. As he raised the ripmapper, the point of the saber replacing Sebastio¡¯s right arm lanced his center of gravity, then sliced upward through the sagittal plane of his head. Removal of the blade caused the freshly deceased to topple forward, until the Lord¡¯s heavy boot knocked the form backward again. The corpse fell atop the majority of the hudenot¡¯s remains, and suddenly the stench of mortality seemed much greater in the glow of the room¡¯s witchlights. The final capable assailant looked, for just a moment, like she might have fled, dishonor of failure or not. She was saved the decision when her target sent her a slug with a six hundred millimeter caliber as a token of respect. The monumental force managed to overload her inertia sumps and spread her out over a region about five meters long, a meter wide, and averaging about two millimeters thick. However, before she was interrupted, she plucked a breaker box - a device both small and extremely useful for emergency evacuation scenarios - and threw it. The object shattered against the wall just behind Sebastio. The breaker box had a very sensitive mechanism inside which threw open a simplex connection as soon as it activated. Even as the simplex connection was identified, traced, and chopped to pieces by the estate¡¯s type nine Willabarm event countermeasures, its work was done. A cube of space about the size of a human-built lavatory had been exchanged with the air filling the equivalent volume from one distant point (presumably located in a Not-Fire headquarters, but no time to check) to the hall outside Lord Sebastio¡¯s bedroom. The morphite that had been occupying that distant region came along for the ride. The Beast had a slightly shorter time to get adjusted to changing scenery than its summoner. Sebastio replaced the cannon barrel terminating his right arm with a saber once more, and lunged across the short distance with another whiplash crack. Whether it was because Caladhbolg itself managed to supply the ambivalence toward doing its foes harm that was normally a necessary part of killing Beasts, or a miraculous feature devised in the mad mind that was the Maker¡¯s, the weapon¡¯s wielder found it possible to slay them as easily as if they were any creature of the field. The prickle-backed form surprisingly reminiscent of a bipedal silkal, from relative proboscis length to exoskeletal geometry, had enough opportunity to loose a single fluting whistle before it was run through. Sebastio didn¡¯t know how, but just seeing the thing told him it was quite different from Seven and his estate¡¯s other new residents. The creature flailed once, jostling its killer, and collapsed. It promptly assumed the color and texture of the floor. As it slowly died, though, its original black coloration and shining eyes returned in waves that had fits and starts, weakly gravitating back toward its pitiful disguise. Each time, it became what it truly was a little more completely, until it eventually reached the stillness of expiry and began to dissolve. The human stepped back. The human breathed. The human made a little squeak deep in his throat. ¡°This is not a good thing,¡± said Seven from behind him, and the schlrikt sounded mournful. With all hostiles minus one interrupted, the d?mon clusters tormenting Sebastio could receive his full attention. He disposed of them, breathed out a sigh whose exhalation of pleasure was obviously profound, and took a turn about the high-ceilinged confines. It looked somewhere between a Southsea gangbanger crime scene and what he¡¯d found at the Gursral Corner apartments when Count finally went off the deep end, but less profulgent smatterings of midnight ichor. The Cambrian decreased the rate of his overclocking a bit, thinking on the obvious topic with great fervor. First, who was the beneficiary of trying to knock off the Lord of Pennat Gate? From a hard currency kind of political school, well, no one. If the population of Pennat Gate suddenly moved to New Armis to become a bunch of street performing harlots in the next three days, the expertise and craftsmanship of the lost souls could get replaced inside of a hand. If one considered the symbolic or ideological aspect instead, then the list suddenly got very long indeed. Being forced to get re-lifed, and return to leadership without Caladhbolg as part of him (and God knew he wouldn¡¯t survive another go at fusing with the entity¡¯s housing), would do very bad things to his legacy¡¯s image. Little point in dwelling on that topic overlong. Second, why use Not-Fire recruits to do the job? Much easier to resolve. The whole cultish dedication to Yrdky¡¯s estates thing made them far more reliable than any alternative. Come to think of it, Sebastio himself probably had a few billion or trillion people off in that madhouse of a society who worshiped him as something like the avatar of some Bacchic god. Deniability came with that package as well. A legal fiction, and one obvious as a fiction, but saying ¡°Of course they¡¯ll listen to a person from Nor¡¯ridge when he tells them to murder someone¡± was gauche even at the most placid of times.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Third, why the- He stopped. The introduction of the Beast had a hundred tangents all its own. His survival of a causality sabotage, extenuating circumstances or not, was long-established public knowledge. No matter that maybe five percent of the populace still had a death grip on conspiracy theories surrounding the occasion, the historicity of the occasion lay well above question. Any team trying to insert itself as a covert long-knife mission probably had to be planning to use something besides knives or guns or thermal thaumaturgy. A morphite would have seemed like an acceptable alternative, perhaps, if one had to choose some other method for trying to kill a person previously unkillable. He quickly reconstructed what he thought was a plausible program outline for events, from the perspective of the intruders. Expectation: the Lord¡¯s armsmen can detect incursions, but it might take at least one or two minutes for something to be done about it, depending on a plethora of factors. Expectation: automated defenses are obviously in place, but a small six-person team might be able to slip under notice. Expectation: get into position, put a morphite where it has a chance at sticking the man between his ribs¡­ and it might easily look like one of the estate¡¯s new ungodly pets went berserk and shivved the person some yet considered the thief of his estate¡¯s throne. Well, there were still plenty of holes in that line of thinking. The armsmen of a Lord, for example, were roughly on par with Rhaagm¡¯s mannequins in the field of martial competence, and not expecting them to be waiting on the far side of a fold. In fact, drawing only on the years of experience Sebastio had accrued as a security consultant, poking at systems and subsystems designed to thwart exactly these sorts of scenarios, there were more than enough holes to sink pretty much any boat built out of those boards of the mind. Of course, the number of known variables compared to the number of unknowns weighed heavily in favor of the idea that something was just outside his understanding. If this came from the same people behind Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s recent efforts, maybe this too was supposed to be observed. Maybe some interrogation of a questionably-loyal agent would clear the air. There was no doubt, though, that the incident represented more than a semantic disagreement between powers of state. By these small pushes is the barrier between self and world broken, and one¡¯s soul thrust into the fire. A clowder of helpful types came rushing down the hall leading to the throne room with a spate of surprisingly orderly questions, while a couple folded directly into the abattoir. It soon became crowded enough that some of the observers¡¯ cerv-meshes gave little warnings, telling them that someone had tried to coincide with their physical coordinates and been denied, before the guilty parties folded to a slightly different location and succeeded. Among them were Argyva, whose utterly immutable quiet competence was a thing of beauty, and Gorar, whose competence was equally magnified in those realms which didn¡¯t require subtlety. For a moment he wondered at the influx of assistants, until he remembered that he¡¯d done his little trick twice. There probably were a few thousand people around the close-to-ground levels of the citadel whose sleep or duties had been neatly hamstrung by the sound of murdered murderers. ¡°HOW MANY WERE HERE?¡± asked the gnoll. She had her ears folded back, and her nose was bent in distaste. A few odd looks were sent her way when she didn¡¯t end her interrogative with a title, but compared to the looks afforded the bloodbath they were spaghetti in a tangle of hudenots. Several people tried to forcibly treat the Lord for medical needs. They were refused. The state of the remains before them suggested that was a sound course of action. Sebastio pointed as he spoke. ¡°Six in total, plus one morphite. Not one of the residents, they brought their own. The jentrillian on the wall is still alive, and may know something of value.¡± He quickly described the mechanisms used to keep the assailant in place and placated, and how to remove them. ¡°You should only find evidence of five intelligent attackers, sorry to say.¡± ¡°We found nothing to concern Lord Tuoamas, though one individual scoped out your brother, Lord Artaxerxes.¡± Argyva¡¯s contribution surprised Sebastio a moment. Then: ¡°When did you know they were assailants?¡± It didn¡¯t show externally, save for any empaths who might have been on the scene, but the Lord¡¯s stomach rolled inside his belly. The thought that he might have reduced a collection of suspicious but innocent people to so much jam was absurd both in a factual and speculative sense. Even so, the flash-and-burn instant that it managed to remain intact between his ears - his ear and the symbol scribed on the right side of his head - was a thing of shining sepulchral horror. When it left him, the sensation of relief almost brought him to tears. ¡°Unannounced entry within the personal quarters of a person who was surely expected to be indisposed. Stealthed unannounced entry. It was not exactly the pinnacle of epiphany.¡± The reply would have been biting if not for the little scratchy rope that seemed to be crawling up his larynx. That tiny feeling made him, for the first time in his life, not merely angry with but hateful of himself, with the damnation of every Hell ever envisioned. ¡°Lord, are you-¡± started a voice behind them, before hitting a wall of perception. Sebastio saw Adz stepped halfway through the bedroom door. The Lady¡¯s eyespots were rapidly assessing the situation, and between the smell and the shapes made vague by violence (mercifully or otherwise) and even the occasional sound as guts settled into shapes they weren¡¯t meant to keep, it probably wouldn¡¯t have the appropriate words at hand for a while yet. No, wait. The udod aodod was staring at Sebastio¡¯s back. He turned a little, and saw himself the jagged claw of a morphite sticking out of his ribs by the vertebral transverse processes, even as its stump melted into boiling energy. Now, THAT might actually really kill him. ¡°Oh,¡± said Argyva in something like a conversational tone. ¡°That is bad.¡± His right hand coming back to extract the pointed thing, Sebastio drew out the claw as carefully as possible. When it came free, he tore open the garment to examine the gaping wound with some trepidation. A deep wound. If his organs had begun to succumb¡­ But there was none of the indigo-blue steaming rot that slowly ate away everything. No sign that cauterization would be required. Nothing to cure. Of course, he¡¯d set his d?mon cluster on peeling away the tissue bordering the entry wound momentarily. For the moment, though, Sebastio felt his expression change at the miracle, and looked up at Adz as he pointed out his untainted if currently mutilated flesh. ¡°See,¡± he said a bit shakily. ¡°Nothing to worry about.¡± Then he collapsed unconscious for the first time in over sixteen years. Eventually, the human came back to himself in a strange place. He blinked. He sat up. He started. He stared. ¡°WHAT IN GOD¡¯S NAME IS GOING ON!?¡± he demanded of one of the two people sitting on wooden boxes and watching Sebastio Artaxerxes with most ardent interest. Which one he was addressing, he left up to them, because he didn¡¯t exactly know which deserved the most attention: the person he¡¯d met twice before and who left an even greater mystery each time, or the person who had wrought the weapon now flesh of his flesh and who made ¡°legends¡± seem like the nice old fregnost lady down the hall. ¡°Come on now, keep it down,¡± said the Being of Old called the Maker, a smile on his mouth sharp enough to cut every throat to ever depend from a head. ¡°It¡¯s a library.¡± The Maker had the exact appearance that graced a plethora of portraits in the Parsed City-State. His hair was closer to a hair-colored dust on his scalp than actual plumage, his dark eyes had a child¡¯s mischief, his nose could replace a ship¡¯s rudder, and his skin was white. Not ¡°white¡± after the tradition of many a so-misidentified person of Earth Standard Caucasian heritage, but the color eventually adopted by skeletons after they¡¯ve been left in a desert and aged until bleached, then yellowed, then bleached again. His clothes were a striking blue shade, wherever they didn¡¯t feature symbols that read ¡°Something Into Most,¡± if one knew how to look at them. On one of his shoulders sat a cat, and by the solidity of its perch it might very well have been born there. The Being of Old next to him was that man named Target. The man in question wore black-and-red striped clothes, except for where a gray scarf cradled his neck and its twin curled about his waist like a rope belt. His dark skin had a uniform shade everywhere save his right eye, where two circles, one small and one large, orbited it with livid rose hues that came nail-bitingly close to the sclera on its inside edge. His gun was particularly interesting because, like many mathematical problems of sufficient complexity, it was nearly impossible to conclusively describe but quite simple to correctly identify: somewhat bent, somewhat smooth, somewhat truncated. On that perfect gun rested one hand, tapping a secret ringing tune up and down its metal. Not nearly as sweat-inducing, but almost as curious, was the setting. Sebastio¡¯s perspective lunged back several times in sudden heart-lurching screeches. First, he and the two people looming over him, like fallflats wondering if he had any life yet to be squashed out, were in a kind of a plaza. Then he realized that the plaza was an open square in what he could only identify as a¡­ well, a library, lit by vertical cables of ethereal intangible light. Shelves starting five meters to his left, shelves starting five meters to his right, arranged in rows that fanned out in every direction. They were stuffed with books. They were stuffed with storage bricks. They were stuffed with cloth-and-rope tomes written in tongues of tactile memory. They were stuffed with graven obelisks and smeared shards of painted glass and fossilized sounds and - in one case that leapt out like an acorn in a sack of diamonds - a highly tattooed human skin stretched over an emphatically nonhuman skeleton. As Sebastio realized the wealth of storage on display, the actual scope of the place began to sink in. The shelves didn¡¯t just go off into the distance; distance left perception behind before he could see the terminus of the sea of literature. Looking higher, he realized that there were glass floors, connected by vitreous spiral staircases made for giants, scarring the air at regularly spaced altitudes. Higher levels of each shelf were accessible by higher floors, and yet higher levels by yet higher floors, and¡­ He looked straight up, and an ancient scrap of poetry ran through his brain: Fall upward, ye Rhaagm sky. There weren¡¯t any clouds, there weren¡¯t any opaque horizontals. Bookshelves of varying sizes just went on up into infinity, a strange grappling of unbounded space by a bounded mind. It was a feeling sparingly familiar to any person who glanced an instant of complete absence of traffic on Rhaagm¡¯s greatroads: looking into the distance, and looking, and looking. That was the kind of beauty that caused a peculiar reaction in those who possessed inner-ear gyroscopic orienteering (such as primate-like entities), a border crossing between existential delighted wonder and gut-flattening nausea. Sebastio fell onto his back, momentarily overloaded. ¡°Hi again,¡± said Target. ¡°I¡¯ve been seeing you a lot.¡± ¡°You¡­¡± Sebastio cut short his reply. He started about six different questions at the same time, stopped, and stared in silence at Target, who - against all reason and logic - happened to be the most familiar thing on hand. The Maker¡¯s look turned pensive. He scratched the head of the cat without looking, the recipient¡¯s demeanor not changing in the slightest, save for putting both ears back to allow better front-of-head access. ¡°I bet you-¡± was as far as the Old got in his slightly smug monologue before he was interrupted by more paper than Sebastio had ever before seen in his life. With absolutely no warning, a flock of literature - books primarily, but many other eccentric media - came flying out of several lanes on the left side; a tide reaching at least twenty meters straight up into the air. Deafening and self-propelled at speeds that should have set all involved inflammable material alight, the air was churned by hundreds of thousands of volumes which emerged into the open space of the plaza, and made a hairpin turn directly away from the three seated people. It went on for a lot longer than one would have thought possible, words and words and words all flying by so fast that identifying what tongue they transcribed was an impossibility, let alone actually reading any of it. With just as little warning, the verbal river shrivelled up. A single lagging red-bound tome of improbable proportions had to take the curve a bit awkwardly, nearly helicoptering the cat off the Maker¡¯s shoulder, and then it swam or flew or shot off into the depths of the library after its fellows. ¡°I bet you have a lot of things you¡¯d like to know,¡± said the Maker, no acknowledgement of the break in conversation at all present in his tone. ¡°Let¡¯s get the basics out of the way. Number one: you¡¯re dreaming.¡± Sebastio raised the hand-that-was-not-a-hand, then set it back down again. ¡°Unfortunately, given your noggin¡¯s reformatting by my dear Malumortis, and your subsequent permanent insomnia, we had to improvise on the ¡®sleep¡¯ side of things. Suffice it to say that a bit of a favor to one person on that count, and another to the guy responsible both for watching over this place and also that.¡± A thumb jerked at the hurricane of text just now disappearing around another bend. ¡°He¡¯s got a knack for dreams. Number two: you aren¡¯t presently being met in person by any of my colleagues because - and don¡¯t take this the wrong way - the current difficulties presented by meeting in person outweigh the benefits by quite a bit. Right now, we have a significant number of other issues requiring our attention. VERY IMPORTANT issues.¡± The Maker set one hand on a knee and tapped out a perfectly timed rhythm. ¡°That brings up number three: you have been an excellent pawn. We want you to not die so you can keep being an excellent pawn¡­ so you absolutely must not try to go to the Purple.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± escaped the Cambrian¡¯s lips. ¡°Not masterful psychology,¡± chipped in Target. The Maker¡¯s hands rubbed the head of the cat and his own head at the same time in opposite directions. ¡°Your regime shows interest in the new developments in Beast-kind. You¡¯re personally hoping to learn more about the possibility that a Rhaagmini war criminal survived long enough to teach them to think. An expedition into the Purple isn¡¯t much more ambitious than taking an estate by storm. Or rather, it wouldn¡¯t be.¡± A shift forward on the box, as a shadow passed over the Maker¡¯s face. ¡°The place is now a point of even greater conflict than it has been in a long, long time. If you want to investigate the claims of Esmrald Qlikiss still being alive, you¡¯ll find out that she is. Or you might; shortly before or shortly after, another one of my Old friends will pop you like a balloon.¡± A quick frown. ¡°How do you know we¡¯re planning¡­?¡± A trailing squirt of a sentence. One side of Sebastio hit himself for asking, another told him to give himself a break. Even so, the Maker¡¯s single jerky eyebrow-lift was like having the sun reprimand you for not appreciating it. The eye below that brow fell to the gemstone embedded in the Cambrian¡¯s right hand. Ah. Once-magic-sword and magic sword creator have some kind of connection. ¡°Your operations have a logging priority rating of ¡®exceptional,¡¯¡± was the voiced reply. Frankly, the fact that the voice came from the cat, and that it was precisely the same as the Maker¡¯s own, didn¡¯t phase the Lord in the least. ¡°What Clive won¡¯t say,¡± remarked the Old as he poked the cat¡¯s head with one finger, ¡°is that you¡¯re currently saddled with the fallout of a magnificent Pyrrhic victory. Those new friends who have the ability to learn, who aren¡¯t just animals, if you will, arose from the application of a certain thing which we in the know call the Device. Before you ask, THAT is the result of having a bunch of people decide that the name you give a specific thing is important, but not agreeing on what that name should be. The object is powerful enough that I literally cannot make a meaningful comparison to give you an accurate scope - don¡¯t let it concern you for the time being. Now, these uplifted Beasts represent a whole new rank of game pieces in the competition which we in the know call ¡®life.¡¯ In any case, all of that falls under the heading of what we consider quite important. You¡¯re close to the action, so you get more heavily surveyed.¡± A short pause wherein the Maker¡¯s hands went behind his back, and Target did something to his gun. Whatever that something was, it resulted in the weapon becoming a different weapon, like those fregnost chainguns with the really flimsy-looking shafting - if the chaingun in question had barrels the size and shape of a human head in profile. It was quiet for a minute. ¡°You know, you could¡¯ve shown better timing than making me collapse on the floor of my residence, immediately after an attempt to take my life, in a pool of other people¡¯s blood.¡± ¡°Let me express my deepest sorrows,¡± said the Maker, plunking his chin down on one fist. It was quiet for another minute, except for the susurrus of another flock of books taking flight in the distance. ¡°So this Device thing made the new Beasts. Why did it make those half Beast, half human things as well?¡± On this point at least, Sebastio felt less like he was some idiot, and more like he just hadn¡¯t gotten the Monolith message. ¡°Not the Device,¡± replied Target. ¡°Technician West.¡± The name remade Sebastio¡¯s every nerve ending into razor wire. It was a name he¡¯d heard from Caladhbolg, during the millions of subjective years they¡¯d spent together on the wrong side of a warping of time, that day Leanshe had attempted to ruin his temporal state. It was not a name with nice connotations, according to what little history the entity could supply of its owner. Target noticed the reaction, and made an approving face. ¡°Truly awful man. When Count failed to return with his designated prize-¡± The gun he held brushed at the air in the direction of Sebastio¡¯s conjoined entity. ¡°-he was repurposed for more concrete ends. As a template. Those slightly older perversions of Beasts with your old friend¡¯s shape built into them were a pet project of his.¡± Sebastio shivered, memory¡¯s icy caress biting into his veins. Fields and fields of screaming faces, grafted to scuds, spewing corrosive filth the color of starless night. Ending them had been perhaps an even greater mercy than he¡¯d thought. That it had been necessary was a whole new level of failing someone¡¯s needs. ¡°So the Western Sunrise was essentially one Old¡¯s science project,¡± he said. For the first time, the Maker sounded angry. He didn¡¯t remedy a misunderstanding, he rebuked a fool. ¡°The Western Sunrise was the direct result of a time-buying ploy and warning flare on the part of a dearly beloved friend. He died in the name of restoring the Device to its rightful place before it could be used to do any more damage.¡± Sebastio wondered at that. Even now, it seemed almost unreal. Nowhere in the many libraries made or updated after Fallow Srid¡¯s folly, nowhere in any apocrypha of which he was aware, certainly nowhere in the treasures left behind by the blue-clad man before him for Rhaagm¡¯s countless generations, had there ever been mention of an Old ceasing to be. ¡°I saw the archives of that¡­ person who died on the Sunrise. The one with the feather.¡± He didn¡¯t really know what other words to say. Target¡¯s face suddenly locked up like a safe. He coiled his neck scarf around himself an additional time, turning slightly. ¡°Yawning Kris. May his children clasp his memory to ¡®em forever ¡®n¡¯ ever.¡± The Maker¡¯s face clouded, his shoulders hunched, and his hands folded in preparation for doing work most terrible. ¡°That man volunteered to warm my city until the end of time, and his sacrifice will not go unremarked,¡± the Old said with hair-raising deliberation. Every syllable had been cut from the void of silence with a knife. It was the sound of someone who stared at a planet¡¯s tallest mountain, and determined that the best way to demolish it involved tugging a moon out of orbit. His eyes turned back on the Lord before him. ¡°Our society¡¯s past, though, is none of your direct concern. Indirect, of course, is a different matter. Of our number, you only need worry of the influence of our most-recently deprived member - a once-intimate of Technician West called Ms. Nightjar.¡± Another name that sent shudders through the Lord. ¡°She was the agency we may thank for the birth of your new friends, and the agents once in her employ are likely to be among the primary agitators of your opposition in their turn. Among them are a few you already suspect. A few others, like your old chum Leanshe Etruphana, aid their cause under some amount of duress.¡± Sebastio wanted to complain, or respond, or something. He wanted to give some assurance that he would do his best, that he wouldn¡¯t disappoint. Those eyes, though. They did not say, ¡°Convince me.¡± Those eyes said, ¡°Go. Do. Believe.¡± The Maker eventually cut those mesmerizing orbs over to Target, breaking the spell. The gunman put his weapon aside, and it became a pistol as it left his grasp. He rolled a shoulder, and snatched something from the weapon - a magazine, Sebastio thought at first. Then he saw his mistake: it was¡­ a salt cellar of abraded metal. Target spun the thing on one finger, an effortless deftness bringing it to gyrate just beside the man¡¯s head. He leaned back a bit, tilted to favor his busy hand. When he spoke, his lips gave forth easy conversational syrup, just as they did when he¡¯d given Sebastio a gift on their first meeting, and advised him on tracking down and dealing with Count on their second meeting. ¡°So. Don¡¯t go to the Purple. Watch out for nasty characters. Live to be a great figure of the past for the far future.¡± Sebastio eventually up-signed. ¡°And take good care of my son,¡± added the Maker, a vulpine grin stretching his lips in sudden sarcastic levity as he looked at the red gem in the Cambrian¡¯s hand. Sebastio gave his mouth a second to clear of his cohabitant¡¯s use, then set it firmly. ¡°I¡¯m okay at building a nation and leading it, but only really great at two things: breaking stuff and hurting people. If things take a turn for the awful¡­¡± His voice dropped, four parts severe, one part hopeful, one part shameful. ¡°I¡¯ll do what needs doing to keep the peace.¡± ¡°Keeping the peace,¡± said the Maker, chewing at a thumb. ¡°A wonderfully intricate economy. I think you¡¯ll come out ahead.¡± He looked at Target. ¡°Talking of exchange, we need to turn out our time for a different kind of money at this point,¡± he said. It was obviously a signal of some kind. Target abruptly seized his salt cellar, and made a face at the Lord. ¡°Mayhaps we¡¯ll meet again. If not, then let your meat be ever savory and your bread be ever blessed.¡± Before he could have possibly blinked, the dispenser served its purpose and dispensed a cloud of something at least salt-like directly into the visitor¡¯s eyes. It was painful. Fortunately, returning from a disturbed dream to the care of one¡¯s spouse is a uniquely comforting feeling. Sebastio sensed several things quite quickly on reawakening in his room. He was swaddled in Adz¡¯s arms, a pose nearly opposite of ¡°dignified.¡± The position he¡¯d been obligingly contorted to assume was facedown with his shirt removed, exposing his anterior. Any remaining viscera had been expunged, leaving the room almost normal - discounting the absence of an eyesore simulation, and numerous places where walls and floor had been scarred. Over by the wall where hung the still-living intruder, he saw Gorar and two more Fountainists. One of them had an uncomfortable look as he questioned Seven about events. The gnoll and a pohostinlat were collectively wrestling with some amount of frustration. He heard the pohostinlat inventively curse someone for knitting a Ktarebte machine into the intruder¡¯s brain in such a way that it ruptured and irrecoverably reimaged his memories as soon as they¡¯d begun probing. The jentrillian claimed that he was a simple mason, in a confused plaintive voice, and it could have easily been the truth. His innocence, sadly, was far less so, remembered guilt or not. Judging from the way the estate¡¯s chief physician was standing beside Sebastio and wearing a sterilizer gauntlet over one fist, he¡¯d probably gotten a partial debridement of his back as standard procedure for Beast assault. The skin certainly felt stiff enough. He was about to protest the treatment when a hitch ran through him, and he coughed deeply. It startled Doctor Xianchi into a lurching backward step. The debate about the surviving assailant broke up, and the other few knots of conversation came unraveled. From Adz, the only reaction was a brief freeze, and then lifting him into a wordless hug. An encircling embrace may have had very ambiguous connotations in extrafacetary human culture, suggestive of different kinds of assault. In this instance, though, no one criticized the Lady who clasped its Lord to it, eyespots closed as impenetrably as the heart of the devil, softly whispering. No one would have had the spirit. ¡°Thank you, dear Lady,¡± Sebastio said, hoarse in more ways than one. Despite an embarrassed look or two, he lengthened his artificial limb and clasped his spouse about the torso. He didn¡¯t really consider how his placement put him directly next to Adz¡¯s chest orifice at first, and by the time it did become a consideration he¡¯d mentally moved on. Adz still wore a shirt, he wore a shirt, they weren¡¯t tearing each other¡¯s clothes off, it would be fine - though he secretly felt sure at least one of the Fountainists would be keeping a sensory of the occasion to ogle at a later time. He and the udod aodod quite efficiently disentangled themselves despite speaking not a single word between them, audible or otherwise. When he turned, Argyva waited at the edge of the bustle, watching with her usual silent competence. Their gazes met. I can only guess how terrible your angst could be, Armsman. I promise I won¡¯t put you through that again. Sebastio rotated the arm with which he¡¯d been born, and sighed through pinched teeth. ¡°Doctor, are there any remaining problems with¡­?¡± An abbreviated gesture at the Cambrian¡¯s spine¡¯s left side, which said ¡°potentially lethal paranormal injury¡± far more eloquently than words. The Doctor blinked rapidly, sterilizer gauntlet spooling down. ¡°No, Lord. The site of the wound was clean, if quite deep. The, well, foreign body penetrated the diaphragm, but - if I am honest - your biology is still largely a mystery. No medicinal attention was necessary, or indeed possible, once the supermatter from your modified anatomical portions began treating the injury.¡± Xianchi cleared his throat. Before he could continue, Gorar interjected with her characteristic septum-ripping volume. ¡°WE HAVE FOUND A COMMON THREAD BETWEEN THE ATTACKERS,¡± declared the gnoll, her leather-bound feet rapidly patting over the gray floor. Between two clawed digits she brandished a crystalline globe wrapped in woven rope and strung on a necklace of cast-iron links, containing a non-Euclidean shape of brass and wood and hardened effluvia. The shape moved, but only about a vertical axis, and in discrete rotations of two and a quarter radians. It was the symbol of the Lesser-Greater Sifters of Cubic Ganglia, granted to its members after they passed the rigors of the Mysteries of the Maker. ¡°Good. That is an excellent start. If anything else might lead somewhere, please follow it. Two of the attackers used d?mon clusters; see if you can track down anything from their registration records.¡± Sebastio took the thing from Gorar, held it in his left hand, and compared his filled palm with the orange shape of his empty one. ¡°Crippled False. The only thing we need is a bunch of actual cultists on our backs.¡± Friends and Stupid Decisions ¡°BREAK THE WALLS DOWN! THEY HIDE GOBLINS, AND THE GOBLINS LIVE OFF OUR GOLD!¡± -Sanni, Sanni Juhinmkoltspee¨¦ee¡¯s Journey From All Phantastes To All Madness, Act IV Seven, as usual, remained in a corner. Its head cocked to one side, watching the proceedings. In this instance, Friend Lord Artaxerxes had told it, the reaching-fellow had to accompany the others to the gathering. So far, the experience had been intriguing. The place¡¯s size made it possible to house all eight or nine people (discounting Friend-Foe Argyva, whether or not one included the person made of murder attached to Friend Lord Artaxerxes) without trouble, even considering the wealth of growing things running rampant and intruding on the structure. Stone and open space and leaves and fruits. Not one tree of flesh, but Seven had slowly gotten used to Friend Lord Artaxerxes providing it with flesh not taken from a tree. A lack of trees of flesh no longer caused it to seek them out in vain. For that matter, Friend Lord Artaxerxes had said that Seven was free to return to Home if it ever desired, but so far it had not attempted to negotiate such a scenario. Numerous chairs and not-chairs had been arranged over a rocky ground - a ¡°floor¡± - for use by all those present. Seven didn¡¯t use one, of course; it saw no reason why it should. Almost all the others did, though, save one of the strangers and Friend Lord Tuoamas. Friend Lord Artaxerxes and Friend Louis sat next to each other, one with arms folded and one with hair spraying every which way. Beside them, Friend Lord Tuoamas looked over the scenery as though it were not a familiar sight. Across a short wide table from them were four strangers. At least, that was what Seven thought; it knew which ones were called Friend Bugbear and Friend Sun. From Friend Essie¡¯s explanation of the concept, everyone it knew was still something vaguely close to a stranger. But it at least knew the names of some of them, and that satisfied it in part. The ones whose names Seven did not know occasionally glanced toward it, at the others, and about the unwalled structure¡¯s surroundings. Seven found the sight more than merely interesting. From their vantage near the top of a tall hill, that thing these people called daylight just barely crept between the terminations of a tree reaching overhead. It grew a long way away; by how its friends had taught it to measure, its base was fifteen hundred eighty two and sixty three hundredths meters away from where Seven stood as measured in a straight line. If one simply measured at a static altitude, the trunk of the tree lay only thirteen hundred ten and twenty nine hundredths meters distant. From what it had so far learned, the fact that the tree¡¯s boughs stretched overhead, reaching at least twenty four hundred fifty two and three quarters meters from the trunk in every direction, made it considerably larger than any other tree the reaching-fellow was likely to see in this place. Wisps of light quivered in the branches, varying in size from much larger than Seven¡¯s own height to the width of its nails. All across the forking crooks swept long jagged sprigs of paper, patterned with extremely complex symmetries, and occasionally little hutches hanging between, housing birds and weelees and squawks. Below it all sprawled a tangled tiered collection of stone houses, like Shine Backward, yet fundamentally different. No fellows hunched or swam or flew between them, and yet these different people had an unusual bearing that was exactly as unfamiliar as all the rest. The reaching-fellow thought that the word Friend Essie had used that first day of arriving at Shine Backward - ¡°beautiful¡± - was something it understood now, looking over the sight. Perhaps it also understood a little of that nebulous thing it had heard called happiness as well. The idea of standing and watching the way the birds swung about, the way the large swaths of tree flowed in the wind, the way that the daylight touched things and seemed to make them come alive. Even though it wanted to see and understand so much more of its surroundings, it didn¡¯t strike it as necessary to go and learn rather than absorb what it now beheld. ¡°Well, it¡¯s a good day to do business,¡± boomed a deep voice. ¡°It¡¯s also a good day to convene with family and worthwhile associates.¡± Seven turned to the speaker, hands flexing and relaxing. Friend Bugbear, the second-largest of the strangers, approached Seven¡¯s own height, and had a funny flat portion of its face covered in something. That something included a little shining thing where an eye would have been. Seven wanted to investigate that something. However, it had learned that there were times and places at which a person who wasn¡¯t a fellow might violently resist such investigations. It had learned to ask whether this might be one of those occasions before engaging in scientific research. In any case, it could wait. Friend Louis made a little pleased sound. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again, Bugbear.¡± Friend Louis looked up at the fuzzy figure next to Friend Bugbear. ¡°And you¡­ Big Sister.¡± Friend Sun, who was shorter than Friend Adz, but no one else which came to mind, scuffed round hooves on the ground. The creature had been seated half a meter to the side of Friend Bugbear, and possessed claws, large completely dark eyes, and horns covered in glittering metal. Seven wanted to touch the glittering metal, but that was another of those things about which it should ask before attempting. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again as well, Louis,¡± said Friend Sun, shifting on a stool that was too small, and yet which seemed perfectly appropriate. ¡°And you¡­ Sebastio.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes made a gesture at that. ¡°To you two, of anyone, I am and will always be Sebastio.¡± A hand waved. ¡°I don¡¯t care who hears; there are some bonds that are as deep as blood. If you were Yrdkish, it might be a different story, but you aren¡¯t and it¡¯s not.¡± ¡°Yes, well!¡± said one of the strangers Seven didn¡¯t know. ¡°I ¡®ope I¡¯m no¡¯ the only one ¡®ere lookin¡¯ forward to thin¡¯s makin¡¯ sense again soonish.¡± It was the same kind of person as Friend Lord Artaxerxes, Friend Lord Tuoamas, Friend Louis, and Friend Bugbear; a kind of person whose unit of measure was a ¡°human.¡± The person had more cloth than flesh in evidence, and many metallic implements which dangled from its garb in clanking clusters. ¡°I as well,¡± said the extremely short person, standing on the other side of Friend Bugbear. The extremely short person was covered in a much thicker fuzzy layer than Friend Sun, as well as having a single stretch of cloth descending from its middle. A long tail flicked out from under the cloth, switching back and forth. It turned to Friend Bugbear, large eyes blinking rapidly. ¡°I¡¯d like to stop having to¡­ rely¡­¡± The creature began making yowling moos, and an occasional sound (words, they were called words) that Seven recognized. After several seconds of this, crescendoing into wild flailing of limbs and screeching pleas, Friend Bugbear placed a hand on the creature¡¯s head, between its tall pointy ears, and said things that weren¡¯t words. It sounded like something very large and very heavy falling. ¡°Hang on,¡± said Friend Bugbear. ¡°I¡¯m not great at gift-of-gab - I¡¯ve only had the license for four years - but it should reapply cleanly as long as nobody breaks my concentration.¡± ¡°If there is one thing I have learned of you, Mr. Pickering, it is that you and your illustrious wife have bona fides above question,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°Why, thank you, Lord,¡± said the large human. ¡°I aim to please, but let¡¯s not be too hasty in praising my quality until we come to a resolution.¡± The hand on the short creature¡¯s head glowed, and then quickly it began to speak understandable words once more. ¡°... and get on with it!¡± The shouting stopped momentarily, and the glow vanished. The creature looked up at Friend Bugbear, ears twitching as the hand rubbed them. A long nose twitched. Twitching also befell the eyes. ¡°Why are you doing that?¡± the short entity growled. ¡°Be quiet, you, and let me pet you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s good to see you¡¯ve gotten much more mature in my absence,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes. Seven felt mild surprise that it recognized the statement as ¡°sarcasm,¡± that thing where one said one thing while meaning something quite different. Friend Louis began laughing, in the fashion which evidently meant it was happy. ¡°He¡¯s never goin¡¯ to reform, but he¡¯ll do his best,¡± said Friend Sun. One clawed hand and one without claws touched, Friend Bugbear not looking at Friend Sun. ¡°Touching,¡± said Friend Louis, making a contorted face and pushing a finger far into its mouth. ¡°Distractions are a spice of life,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas, ¡°but I agree with the already-voiced sentiment: let us be about our business.¡± It gestured to Friend Bugbear. ¡°Excellent,¡± said Friend Bugbear. ¡°I see and accept your assurances of identity, Lord Tuoamas Pennat.¡± ¡°And I yours, Francis Pickering.¡± Seven remembered how, according to Friend Lord Artaxerxes, the people around it could invisibly do a great number of things. It had heard that there would be a ritual of some kind, performed between Friend Lord Tuoamas and Friend Bugbear, so that each of them could be sure that the other was the one they thought they were. That hadn¡¯t made sense to Seven then, and it still didn¡¯t, but Friend Lord Artaxerxes had said it shouldn¡¯t have to worry about the topic at present. ¡°Unless ought else should be reason for pause, I think Lord Artaxerxes may assume the mantle of arbiter at this time.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s hands clasped, then gestured to the small fuzzy stranger and the human stranger. ¡°When in Yrdky, Bugbear¡­?¡± The subject raised part of the brow made of flesh, expelled a guff of hiccupped air, and firmly rubbed the short person on the head for another second. ¡°Sela Naas, lately of Lesq-Nineteen-Lesq-Seventy-Two-Wrut-Eight-Hundred-Six-Eetee.¡± The other human became the subject of a near head-rub, but only the air received a massage. Even so, the cloth-wrapped soul displayed a less than appreciative air about the exchange. ¡°Ishkub nRa Aklid, lately of Grus-Four-Dredodil-Seven-Thousand-Three-Hundred-Thirty-Iar-Sixty-Four-Aadsl.¡± The person made of murder extended without malice as Friend Lord Artaxerxes swept to take in the both of them. ¡°Mr. Naas, Mr. Aklid. We ask your patience; I¡¯ve been friends with Francis Pickering for most of my life. He¡¯s already gone over this with you as I understand it, but that isn¡¯t quite the same thing as knowing you fully grasp the mechanics of what we do here. Could you elaborate, for the benefit of myself and the others present, the situation as you understand it?¡± Friend Aklid, the human with the excessive cloth and metal bits, glanced toward Friend Bugbear. ¡°So¡­ we of Doenland, and the people of this fella ¡®ere-¡± A long digit, adorned with a sharp metal spike, poked in the direction of Friend Naas¡¯s shorter form. ¡°-¡®ad a bi¡¯ of an acciden¡¯ which shoved us¡­ well, somewhere else.¡± A quick swing about with arms extended indicated the surrounding hill and far beyond. Friend Aklid pointed at Friend Bugbear, rolling the other hand in a wheel-like way. ¡°So we ge¡¯ picked up by some freaks - and don¡¯ mistake me, we¡¯re very ¡®appy of i¡¯ - and they brin¡¯ us some other somewhere else called Rhaagm.¡± A finger pointed in Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s direction. ¡°Apparently they don¡¯ much care for you there righ¡¯ now.¡± ¡°True, at least in that they want me to either go away or lose one of my limbs. Unfortunately, that would kill me, so they¡¯ll have to be disappointed¡­ for now.¡± ¡°Ey, makes sense.¡± A movement of Friend Aklid¡¯s head, then shoulders. ¡°Then THEY say we can¡¯ stay there, we ¡®ave to go somewhere else ye¡¯ again, all fifty million of us. We Doenlanderin ge¡¯ approached by this grea¡¯ blue fella ¡®ere name of Bugbear in the name of love and bureaucracy. Wha¡¯ a stupid idea, a bunch of people arguin¡¯ abou¡¯ ¡®ow rulin¡¯s supposed to be done instead of doin¡¯ i¡¯. Anyway, ¡®e¡¯s already talkin¡¯ with the furballs abou¡¯ the same thin¡¯, and says tha¡¯ we can go alon¡¯ with the same deal they¡¯re gettin¡¯. Well, since we¡¯re goin¡¯ to ¡®ave to choose between some place called New Armis which sounds awful, and whatever destination this guy wants to sell us, we like to keep our options open.¡± Friend Aklid turned to Friend Bugbear with a clank. ¡°Anyway, turns ou¡¯ this place name of Penna¡¯ Ga¡¯ is supposed to be open to folk like us, so - after this guy convinces me and mine to all ge¡¯ these-¡± A tap on the back of the neck. ¡°-we all lined up to learn abou¡¯ this promised land. There¡¯s supposed to be some sor¡¯ of pos¡¯-physical society ¡®ere. So far, i¡¯ looks very physical to me, bu¡¯ could be almos¡¯ unimaginably worse. So, if you approve, we¡¯ll be glad to stay.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s arm-that-was-a-person flexed, bringing to mind three nights ago when those others had tried to hurt it, and it had hurt them instead. ¡°Missing a few key bits, but you¡¯re correct in your understanding in general. Now, Mr. Naas, what do you say?¡± The shorter person¡¯s tail twitched more. Friend Bugbear¡¯s hand retreated from the soft fabric of the head¡¯s top. Its voice was still gritty, like very small pebbles ground down against larger ones. ¡°Well, some parts the same, I guess. We didn¡¯t have an accident as much as we had a bunch of creatures invade. Creatures that looked a lot like that.¡± Friend Naas looked straight at Seven, poofing out to a much greater size, tail whipping. Friend Lord Artaxerxes glanced aside to the reaching-fellow. ¡°Ah, yes. I was wondering when someone would raise the topic of our sharp-fingered guest. We¡¯ll come back to that, in due time. Anyway, Mr. Naas, please continue.¡± The short creature made a sniffing sound. ¡°I understand we had to leave because they would have killed us, and we couldn¡¯t remove them.¡± The voice got louder, and the tail¡¯s swishing intensified, though the creature¡¯s fluffy outside shrank down again slowly. ¡°If our elders grasped your offer correctly, we understand you people have enough space for us to grow our food here, and give us a¡­¡± Two ears much like Friend Adz¡¯s flapped. ¡°... a safe haven, I think Elder Bugbear said. Well, even we can¡¯t go back home¡­¡± A little motion trilled through the creature from foot to head, then the ears and tail drooped. ¡°We could probably learn to live in a place like this, in time.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes motioned at Friend Bugbear. ¡°I assume you haven¡¯t gone through the essentials of general Monolith knowledge requisition with your charges who¡¯ve received meshes, correct?¡± ¡°Ha! No, your Lordship. We¡¯ve got a bit of a time crunch, and no chance - short of Hssi and Dlg unifying their dread powers in our aid - of borrowing a temporal savepoint. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, we don¡¯t want anyone getting used to godlike omniscience if they¡¯re going to get it taken away later. Apparently ¨²da¡¯s little colonies of extrafacetaries often demand removal of meshes when someone joins, and that¡¯s the next-best place these unfortunates might find refuge.¡± Friend Bugbear snorted as though something would have been ejected from its mouth under other circumstances. ¡°That improves things a bit, in fact,¡± leaked quietly from Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s mouth. ¡°Okay, then.¡± It got up, tapped its chest, and moved quickly around the low table to stand in front of Friend Naas, crouching down as the shorter creature stepped away. Then it moved over in front of Friend Aklid, and the other human watched intently as it was watched in turn. Without saying a word, Friend Lord Artaxerxes returned to its original point, and sighed. ¡°Louis - your thoughts on suitability?¡± Friend Louis propped a hand up under a pinched chin and pinched eyes. ¡°They¡¯re as needful as anyone else we¡¯ve seen. If they want to join us, I¡¯m in full support.¡± ¡°Good. The Lady voices concurrence.¡± A seat was retaken and fingers were clasped. ¡°Wagers upon the table. Here is the hand you¡¯ve both been dealt.¡± A single digit pointed out into the far distance. ¡°If all goes well, you will be admitted to this estate as citizens. To list the glut of benefits this would provide is a considerable time investment, so I¡¯ll keep it short. These-¡± A tap at the back of the neck, precisely imitating Friend Aklid¡¯s motion. ¡°-are one such benefit, providing you with access all the knowledge you could ever desire.¡± Friend Naas¡¯s teeth appeared. It touched a small stud hanging off one of its large ears. ¡°If it¡¯s all the same, I don¡¯t much care for the idea of sticking something in me like those¡­ things! Piercing ears is one commitment, but getting my back torn open and lots of wires put in is quite another.¡± Friend Lord Sebastio smiled. ¡°It doesn¡¯t actually work that way. Granted, it isn¡¯t exactly an unequivocally nice experience, either - as I¡¯m sure Mr. Aklid can attest. If you truly feel disinclined, though, there¡¯s no rush or requirement to get one. You¡¯ll be unusual, but hardly devastatingly so. My younger brother got his mesh quite some time after he arrived here.¡± A palm rested on the chair arm closest to Friend Louis, then retracted. ¡°So. You won¡¯t have to worry about your biological needs - not just that you can get rid of your little negative-mass helpers that are keeping you in good health in our local gravity, but you won¡¯t need to worry about food ever again if you don¡¯t desire it. You¡¯ll be able to go as long as you choose without sleep, if you¡¯d like. Eventually, you¡¯ll also probably find you¡¯re missing out on things you wouldn¡¯t expect if you give those up entirely, but that will be your choice.¡± The arm-that-was-a-person tapped the upraised chin. ¡°In effect, weak immortality also comes with all the rest.¡± ¡°Weak what!?¡± came from Friend Naas. A smooth arc beat the air behind the short figure as its tail began reflexively switching in rapid order. ¡°You¡¯ll still be subject to certain deaths, to be sure: sudden tremendous violence, bartering away your spirit in some oathbinding deals, or going places you simply aren¡¯t designed to survive, for starters. But illness and old age and decay will no longer make themselves known, unless their presence is specifically requested.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°... You make jest?¡± probed the short fuzzy creature, rapidly blinking. ¡°Do I jest, Louis?¡± asked the human of Friend Louis. Friend Louis swiped thumb across forehead, shoulders wavering, and reclined at an angle of fifty seven degrees, twenty six minutes, forty four seconds. ¡°If so, it¡¯s news to me.¡± ¡°What say you, Bugbear?¡± Friend Bugbear made a little parting gesture with both palms. A great many teeth began showing. ¡°The last time I remember you putting your sense of humor on display was that wonderful encounter with the fruit crate and the digital personality girl at that Farner distribution center.¡± ¡°Well, there you go, friend,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°That from a man who¡¯s too stupid to be stupid, and stupider than me.¡± Friend Bugbear made a face. ¡°You know, that really doesn¡¯t sound right unless you say it in the Bequastish.¡± There was only the soft breeze for quite some time, adorned with the chirrups of some very thin birds. ¡°Don¡¯ tell me there isn¡¯ a catch for all this,¡± Friend Aklid eventually growled. ¡°¡®Too good to be true¡¯ doesn¡¯ even begin to describe¡­ wha¡¯, ¡®eaven?¡± ¡°There are always sacrifices made in life¡¯s decisions,¡± observed Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°Much of what you consider to be ¡®private¡¯ will enter the sphere of public knowledge; some religious matters, your circles of acquaintances, most comings and goings throughout the region. Some of that information can still be obfuscated by a dedicated person, although at a hefty expense. However, most of the problems you will inherit in signing on the dotted line, as it were, flow from allegiances and philosophies that you implicitly endorse by accepting our communion.¡± ¡°It¡¯s what you might call strange,¡± said Friend Louis. ¡°My father was a carpenter, and he died to black plague when I was young. After growing up in a whorehouse¡­¡± Seven noticed Friend Sun fidget a bit at that, readjusting its cloth and the belts adorning its body. ¡°... well, Yrdky looks more like a fever dream than heaven in many respects.¡± ¡°Oh, reeeeeally?¡± replied Friend Bugbear. The words were so thickly forced through the fleshy lips that something ought to have fallen out of them with the expulsion. Friend Sun abruptly made an inhale-stippled whinny followed by a fusillade of coughs, at which point the exceptionally large human sat up and leaned over, murmuring, ¡°Sorry¡­ You can make me laugh next time we¡¯re sharing drinks with some Ganymedes.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes smiled, then grimaced. ¡°Friends, if you deserve truth, then you¡¯ll get truth.¡± Hands folded. ¡°We¡¯re in a bit of a hectic transitional period right now. If we¡¯d had this meeting a year ago, then things would be a lot more idyllic in every sense. At present, this estate¡¯s recently seen a spate of varying kinds of discord. Three nights ago, I had an attempt on my life.¡± Friend Bugbear had kept one hand on Friend Sun, rubbing up and down the back of the taller person¡¯s fluffy neck. Abruptly, the smoothness on the left side of the human¡¯s face flashed in the light as head twisted like a sewing-fellow¡¯s sleek and sudden locomotion. ¡°YOU WHA- OW!!¡± The human almost leapt over the table and into Friend Lord Artaxerxes and Friend Louis. It managed to avoid doing so, and perhaps just as well on several counts; that person wearing metal called Friend-Foe Argyva had appeared out of nowhere, precisely at where Friend Bugbear¡¯s trajectory would have reached apex. It bore a bright liquid sheen across its whole exterior. Seven presumed that touching that sheen would cause ill effects. Instead, the leaper managed to land posterior-first on the ground, clutching at one hand. The tableaux remained perfectly static for several seconds, save the rustling of leaves far far overhead and Friend Naas¡¯s ears twitching with a mad allegretto rhythm. Then, Friend Bugbear jerkily looked over one shoulder at Friend Sun. ¡°Sweetheart, did you clean up after you trimmed your horns down today?¡± Friend Sun¡¯s wide maw parted just a bit. ¡°Ah¡­ I may have rushed somewhat.¡± ¡°Well, you must¡¯ve nicked a blood vessel! I love you unto the deepest depths and the highest heavens, though, so you¡¯re forgiven just this once.¡± A thumb extended; embedded an impressive distance into its meat was a long slender spine. Its surface was dark where some now-dry fluid had soaked in, and it had obviously stiffened in the neighborhood of the staining. It came free with a firm yank. ¡°My deepest and most profound apologies, Armsman,¡± said Friend Bugbear to Friend-Foe Argyva, standing and returning to an abandoned seat after discarding the lengthy unwanted appendage. ¡°Now, you were saying what precisely, Lord?¡± ¡°I believe that either my current status, or past accomplishments, have stirred up the ire of personages with a controlling interest in a reality-spanning cult. In any case, some of their members - or people posing as such - arrived in an hour where the Lady of the estate was asleep, and I might have been myself, if I could still actually manage such a feat. They brought with them weapons and tools of murder. Their discourse ended quite poorly for them.¡± Friend Aklid, after several deep breaths, turned to Friend Bugbear. ¡°Is ¡®e serious?¡± ¡°As I may have implied, he doesn¡¯t have a sense of humor in the way you understand the concept,¡± replied Friend Bugbear in a hoarse low voice. Two palms clapped together, and lips wrinkled. ¡°Don¡¯t care if you are a head of state now; explain.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes tapped the table, Friend-Foe Argyva having vacated the area with no sound or sign of its presence, or its exit, remaining. ¡°I¡¯ll do one better.¡± A glow came from the table, and a three dimensional image stood up from its surface. The image had a strange quality in its depth, changing and swinging at peculiar times. Accompanying sounds came from the ether. It was a familiar place - the room where Seven had spent its nights with Friend Adz and Friend Lord Artaxerxes. Friend Adz appeared, very close by and lying horizontal. The image changed, and Seven saw¡­ itself. It had seen pictures of itself before, and somehow could discern between when it saw some other reaching-fellow and when it saw itself. In this case it didn¡¯t have to do so; the reaching-fellow at hand was pushing along those strange string-threaded conical shapes. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ move ahead, and skip some unnecessary figments of the moment. You don¡¯t need to see me chatting with the Lady and so forth.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes coughed into a fist. The image tangled up in a sudden convulsion, then Seven beheld Friend Adz sliding out the door of the same room, staring back through the opening for an instant before the portal shut. The reaching-fellow made a sudden leap of intuition: what it saw, it was seeing from the perspective of Friend Lord Artaxerxes. From that strange angle, it relived the attempts of the strangers who had visited in the night, intent on doing harm to the human which had the arm-that-was-a-person. Each in their turn came forward and met their end, save for one very thin and angular creature with hands that seemed to be attached backward to their arms. It had a recollection that the breed¡¯s unit of measure was called a ¡°jentrillian.¡± Seven tensed when the cladding-fellow appeared, spines and beak all sharper than any rock formation or geometry seen anywhere in Home. No more than an instant did it have to look about and come to terms with its sudden introduction to the place Seven had begun to think of as a second Home before Friend Lord Artaxerxes rent apart the distance separating them, rent apart the cladding-fellow, and then rent apart the picture. ¡°That¡¯s the salient stuff,¡± it said, shortly before covering its eyes with a flat hand. ¡°Not-Fire agents. They brought a Beast with them. Each had, on their person, an icon of the Sifters. Whether those were intended as plants, we¡¯ve found evidence that a fairly major cult is displeased with¡­ well, me at least.¡± The familiar human glanced at Friend Naas and Friend Aklid, both of whom appeared silent, still, and - unless the reaching-fellow had utterly misunderstood the concept - perturbed. ¡°Those sorts of things are what you might unwittingly court by accepting a place in our extended family,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes. A thing that wasn¡¯t a smile emplaced itself across the mouth. ¡°Stochastic sampling says that you¡¯re not likely to run into murder attempts yourselves, either as an observer or a target, for several reasons. For that matter, that was one of a relatively small number of efforts in that direction over the span of the dynasty they¡¯re describing as a fractured throne, if you measure by the standards of non-Yrdkish societies. Compared to other estates, though? We¡¯re about as war-torn as any comparable nation you could care to name. In addition, there¡¯s been a resurgence of some subversive elements we¡¯ve encountered in the past. People who make it a habit to throw a handful of salt into the soil each morning. We won¡¯t lie to you: joining Pennat Gate might be like achieving the afterlife, but it¡¯s only Paradise if your definition of that idea differs greatly from mine.¡± Seven saw that moving image over and over again in its mind, and came to an utterly disorienting realization; a realization of itself. It was not the sort of realization that a reaching-fellow often had, in its estimation. ¡°I¡­ want that you had not destroyed that cladding-fellow,¡± it pronounced carefully. ¡°It might have become like me, in time.¡± ¡°It talks!¡± shouted Friend Aklid. Its chair scooted back, rearing away from its upright position for a precarious moment before angular momentum became exhausted and the seat dropped back down. Friend Naas abruptly became a dusty sphere of fluff. The shortest member of the congregation looked like its eyes would go rolling straight out of its head, and it began making a quiet, high-pitched rhythmic hum. ¡°Dlg¡¯s backs!¡± said Friend Bugbear, moving away ever so slightly. ¡°Not at all like a sensory. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got any over-Beasts taking up residence?¡± ¡°We haven¡¯t yet gone quite so far in courting disaster, no. Eventually, though, that would be a perfect little gemstone in the crown.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes cocked a wrist, then pointed next to the table. ¡°Seven, come here.¡± Seven answered the demand-which-needs-to-be-met as it must: without delay. ¡°Seven?¡± asked Friend Aklid, arms crossed before it. ¡°The Beast¡¯s name: Seven Plus Two Minus Three Times Three. They have a very objective mindset, and their thinking leads them to use basic numeric expressions as their preferred method of designation.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes leaned upon one elbow, and gave Seven a small wink. ¡°The creatures pose a sticky issue,¡± answered Friend Lord Tuoamas, supremely efficient in use of breath. It touched the fabric over its chest. ¡°If you join this family, you must know that we have taken up yet another hobby that has made us more than passingly unpopular: adopting what many consider, at best, quasi-domestic killing machines. A portion of our policing organizations, who have recently gained the moniker of the ¡®Pastoral Division,¡¯ monitor their behavior with a zeal that is frankly amusing. That does not stop some of our people from worrying. Nor should it, in the interests of fairness.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s standing right there! How do you know that thing won¡¯t just gut us when we turn around?¡± hissed Friend Naas. It had fallen back behind Friend Bugbear. ¡°It could put one of those claws straight through me and probably through another one of me as well!¡± ¡°Simple,¡± came Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s reply. ¡°I told it that it¡¯s banned from acts of harm.¡± Before anyone else could respond, it pierced Seven with a glare. ¡°Seven, go stand by that pillar, then jump up and down three times, then lie flat on the ground.¡± The demand-which-needs-to-be-met was answered. The life-giver¡¯s commandment must be honored. After obeying and returning to its feet, it saw the others gathered there watching carefully or curiously or with some kind of emotion it didn¡¯t know. ¡°I must request you don¡¯t spread this around, Bugbear, Sun, but give it orders, and it will follow if it can. Repetition reinforces to a significant degree - for example, if you asked it to kill a person, I¡¯m pretty sure it would become distressed but refuse unless you devoted several hours to counter-programming. Go ahead, tell it to do something - just nothing destructive or vandalizing, and nothing that would endanger it or us.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes pointed from Friend Naas to Seven. ¡°Go¡­ stand in the corner!¡± it said, ears twitching. Seven complied. For moments thereafter reigned utter stillness. ¡°Are they really tha¡¯ dangerous?¡± said Friend Aklid. ¡°They have arcane and most strange talents,¡± replied Friend Lord Artaxerxes. The person made of murder rubbed across the thin mouth. ¡°For example: my prosthetic¡¯s quite special, you might say.¡± Splintery phalanges webbed out from the fingers, and they entwined to make a sharp and pointed mask of a face. That new face was presented at the end of the arm, so as to provide a closer look. ¡°It started life as a transcendent sapience, and in many ways you could say it¡¯s now part of a very beneficial symbiotic relationship. Presumably, you gathered that it¡¯s not just a normal arm, but also presumably you didn¡¯t gather that it¡¯s technically alive.¡± As the face unseamed itself from the end of the arm, it swung to point at Seven. ¡°Seven knew as much without needing to be told. Indeed, it seems that our friend here can identify sapients on contact - in some situations, at least. There¡¯s a lot of potential there; possible military applications, plenty of philosophers who¡¯ll find it neat to forgo using Ktarebte machines to test for thinking creature presence.¡± The person made of murder clenched into a long-digit fist. ¡°But as to why they might have such a talent? They hunt and kill and eat the remains of sophont entities. Not that they need to do so, but if this miniature nation-state¡¯s people didn¡¯t have exceptional faith in their leadership as a rule, they would have certainly revolted against the thought of living side-by-side with those which see them as food.¡± Friend Bugbear¡¯s not-eye glinted. It sloped a sideways nod at Friend Lord Artaxerxes, then forced its shoulders out and back. ¡°Those things give nightmares to hardened soldiers. There¡¯s a saying you¡¯ll hear: ¡®Beasts know no immortals.¡¯ Not strictly true, but very close.¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas scratched its head, then moved to where some vines wound about the pillars of the structure in which they stood. A hand rose and pulled a warty astraform fruit from the vine. Without severing the stem, it was then gently pulled from its resting place and put on the table in the center of the gathering. The trailing connection leading back to the column made Seven think of the way Home¡¯s structure sometimes reshaped to produce knots and entanglements where there previously were none. ¡°Seven, perforate this illash, please,¡± preceded a gesture indicating the fruit. Seven did so, coming only as near as was required to wound with its outstretched nail. The sound of protest from the fruit came soft and opposite of the act which produced it: smooth, unbroken, static. Quickly the fruit warped and fell into itself, turning to a dark decadent slag. Not long, and the same occurred to the vine. The plant¡¯s whole form became a memory of malleable ashy material - dry, then rot-moist, then, before Seven could partake of the food, flaking residue carried off by the wind. ¡°Tha¡¯s one of the mos¡¯ disturbin¡¯ thin¡¯s I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± said Friend Aklid, staring at the quickly-fading stains where plant had coiled around column, then at Seven¡¯s nail before it retracted. ¡°Having met and destroyed many of those creatures myself,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes, ¡°it¡¯s preeminently obvious that Seven, and its brethren, are self-aware. Yes, they¡¯re dangerous and disturbing - they¡¯re also people.¡± Friend Naas looked about, head jittering. ¡°But why do this?¡± it asked, almost on its knees as it stared up at Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°Why support these creatures if they are so deadly?¡± ¡°Because he¡¯s an Abednego,¡± said Friend Bugbear. ¡°Excuse me?¡± interjected Friend Louis. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s a new one.¡± Friend Bugbear¡¯s arms folded, and turned to Friend Louis. ¡°Of the three Paths of Aidenism-¡± ¡°Four.¡± Friend Bugbear stayed silent for a moment, then slid ever so slightly closer to Friend Louis, who didn¡¯t seem to think the interjection was too wise in hindsight. The taller human¡¯s frown had grown bloated. ¡°... Fourth-Pathers. Three Paths, and one sect of nearly-religious observance of neural engineering. My Nan didn¡¯t care much for when those Fourth Path novitiates came along and tried to recruit kids in our neighborhood every couple of years.¡± A hand waved. ¡°You¡¯ve heard of the Way¡¯s recounting of a long-ago Earth Standard king, with a fiery furnace and three misbegotten hipsters named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.¡± Friend Sun prodded Friend Bugbear, and they looked at each other for a moment. Friend Sun gave another prod, and eventually another when nothing more came of the last one. A short jump, then Friend Bugbear¡¯s head turned to Friend Naas, then Friend Aklid. Both hands waved this time. ¡°For those who don¡¯t know: there once was a megalomaniacal king who wanted people to worship him in effigy on a regular basis. Three guys stood out among his subjects when their faith dictated they resist. He threw ¡®em in a mighty hot furnace for having independence of thought, but they survived - through faith or providence or miracle. There; you¡¯ve got the story I heard ad infinitum in my youth in about a twelfth of the time!¡± With a deep breath, a hand rubbed up and down the smooth crescent on the left side of Friend Bugbear¡¯s face. ¡°No, I¡¯m not annoyed. Anyway, Nan was, and probably still is, one of those people who saw Aidenism as a framing device for measuring one¡¯s own philosophy, not just a flag to be waved or a dogma to embrace. She collected perspectives the way some people collect Grediwe dice and cards. She never got a cerv-mesh put in when she was young, bless her heart, so she forgot things eventually. She couldn¡¯t remember the other two, but the last fella of those bunch was like a totem she never had to try to recall. She could always remember how he represented faith in motion, and so she¡¯d always equate him with the Second Path: set an upright example and damn the consequences.¡± Friend Bugbear stretched two large arms. ¡°There is the way of mourners on the First Path, there is the way of Abednego on the Second Path, and there is the way of persistence on the Third Path. Is life worth living in complete hermitage? For some creatures, arguably so. Should a culture enforce the implementation of standards to the point of hobbling society? Well, that way lies expediency-as-justice, which is not a slope to be lightly contemplated. Call me crazy as well as scary, but it seems the only meaningful position from which to change the world is strapped to the front of the gemship that is one¡¯s moral compass, come Hell or razor-blade precipitation.¡± A finger pointed. ¡°And, after knowing him for most of his life, I can say that Lord right there is probably the most ¡®I couldn¡¯t care less about people complaining that I¡¯m rocking the boat if I were stone dead¡¯ man I¡¯ve ever met, except maybe the Jon of Rhaagm himself.¡± Friend Bugbear looked at Friend Naas, and pointed at Friend Lord Artaxerxes and Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°If you join the family these people are raising, that¡¯s the sort of household you¡¯re going to have: a sanctuary for people who have been given a mattock to the teeth by luck of birth or kind or circumstance. I¡¯m not arguing for or against the choice - just offering explanation.¡± Far away, near the base of the tree, six or perhaps seven voices rose; they began singing a warbling tune about someone named Sean Mara, who ¡°liked noses a little too much.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Friend Naas. ¡°The elders didn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t think I can make a decision on something quite so big.¡± Its tail swished again. ¡°Not¡­¡± it tried, and looked out at the tree, then at the reaching-fellow. ¡°If you want to discuss the issue, then you have plenty of time in which to do so,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas. Lips parted and disgorged the largest smile Seven had ever seen grace the face. ¡°I can say tha¡¯ we¡¯ll be givin¡¯ this a miss for now,¡± said Friend Aklid. It dusted off the cloth on its torso, and pulled the cloth around its head tighter. ¡°If i¡¯ seems too good to be true, and so on.¡± ¡°You have every right to go if that should be your wish,¡± replied Friend Lord Artaxerxes. A look passed with Friend Bugbear, along with glance down at the tree¡¯s base. A sigh coincided with an increase with the singers¡¯ volume and the joining-in of several more. ¡°Oh, Shillelagh Day. Anyway, if that¡¯s how you really feel, I¡¯ll be happy to conjure up a recommendation for the ¨²danese community to take you in. Don¡¯t pursue anything with New Armis, though, unless you own several hats and very flexible ethics.¡± Friend Aklid made no noise, but provided a complex hand sign that evidently placated the others. Friend Lord Artaxerxes swung upright, and stood. ¡°It¡¯s about time that we put aside such weighty matters, and gathered together for a quick round of drinks. Argyva, I intend to visit Vemple¡¯s Tavern; if you could please¡­¡± Friend-Foe Argyva appeared, saluted, and disappeared again. Friend Lord Artaxerxes turned to Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°Will you have any interest in joining us, Lord Tuoamas?¡± The addressed human put hands behind back and feet far apart, looking toward the daylight. ¡°The meeting with the Fifth Step information management community is not for another two hours. Yes, I might enjoy that. Although, we shall meet several noteworthies on our short sojourn that I may elect to greet.¡± A sudden Shepard tone resonance, wavering and intermittent, invaded the mellifluous voice. Then, a grimace. ¡°I am sorry; my prophesying has proven erratic of late.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes indicated the tree with a grand sweep. ¡°If we have some delay, then so be it! Come, friends, and let¡¯s enjoy ourselves.¡± ¡°Magnificent!¡± Friend Bugbear rose, smiled, pressed both hands together, and with fingers stretched back elicited from them a racket like rocks being smashed together. Friend Sun¡¯s head tilted, before saying, ¡°Only if you drink a firkin of ayrag with Bugbear.¡± Surprise suddenly fit Seven very well: Friend Lord Artaxerxes and Friend Bugbear both began laughing, and didn¡¯t stop for close to a minute. When the former finally regained composure, a similar surprise rested on Friend Louis as well. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then - one of the earls of Fourth Step swears this place has more traffic than the Hammer and Scapula.¡± ¡°Oh? I¡¯m a bit skeptical,¡± said Friend Sun. The others began making their way toward the verdant path stretching down toward the tree¡¯s base. No one made any mention of the armored figures leading the procession, though Friend Naas curiously watched them. ¡°Come along, Seven, but stay close,¡± admonished Friend Lord Artaxerxes. It did. ¡°So you want to hear about my newest travails in being a host, little man?¡± Friend Bugbear asked Friend Louis. A hand pulled forward a broad-leafed stem on the path¡¯s edge and let it swing back at the subject of address. Friend Louis chuckled and dodged. ¡°Not if it¡¯s as bad as it was when I was sleeping in your upstairs. How is that little sprite who was next door doing, by the way?¡± ¡°Ah, she moved on.¡± Another branch swung back without warning, and this one caught the shorter human in the face, eliciting a splutter and an oath to repay blood for blood. The few branches of conversation cut off when a couple crossed before them, two people whose breed the reaching-fellow didn¡¯t recognize. One said something it didn¡¯t understand in a bright voice, sweeping back out of the way with a wide gesture to hold its companion at bay. The other added something suitably solemn. Both made what Seven had come to recognize as motions of benediction or happiness. Friend Lord Tuoamas repeated most of the same words with a wide smile. ¡°Well-predicted, Lord Tuoamas,¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes was heard to softly mutter. ¡°Though the law of averages makes this fulfillment a smidgen lackluster.¡± Both of them caught sight of Friend Lord Artaxerxes then, and added something else. This time, they genuflected instead, offering something in low somber tones. ¡°I shall be along in a moment,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas to the others. ¡°Let me catch up with these good publicans first. Do not fret, Blue, it will truly be no more than a moment,¡± was directed at another armored figure Seven had noticed poised silently in the bushes to the side. ¡°We¡¯ll hang back a moment as well,¡± answered Friend Lord Artaxerxes. A hand waved at everyone else besides the two newest arrivals, Seven, and Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°You lot go on.¡± They did, with a few looks backward. Friend Bugbear stayed turned around a second longer, and gestured to eye and then to Friend Lord Artaxerxes. Friend Lord Artaxerxes looked to be about to return the favor, cut a look sideways at the pair - who were divided between cautious surreptitious glances and trying to make sufficient room for Friend Lord Tuoamas - and merely waved. ¡°I won¡¯t drop eaves on you, Lord Tuoamas. The first pick-up hoop-hook game I¡¯ve seen this season is right over there, and getting an idea of their spirits would be neat.¡± A sideways twitch of the head at a tree-cleared square of ground to the other side of the trail. Over its grassy shadow-crossed breadth tumbled an array of creatures, all armed with crook-ended staves and long thick gloves. They were fighting almost to the death over a wide ring of some very rigid material, judging by the sounds of their distant exertions. Three had the curls of their staves braced against the inside of the thing, pulling and jostling each other away from the shifting hopping group trying to merge with their atoms so that they might get at the object with their own levers. ¡°Please do,¡± replied Friend Lord Tuoamas with what sounded like approval. Seven followed Friend Lord Artaxerxes a bit closer to the gradually intensifying scuffle. After a few more false starts, a fourth participant placed yet another long staff in the same circumference as the others, and then things became chaos. ¡°Friend Lord Artaxerxes, is Friend Lord Tuoamas¡­ happy?¡± asked the reaching-fellow. The human stroked braided chin hair with an expression of contemplation. The scrum devolved into people violently leaping at each other with no interest in the grappled loop. ¡°He¡¯s satisfying his duty, and satisfied with his success,¡± came the eventual answer. It was followed by a return question: ¡°You have heard the term ¡®maturity,¡¯ correct?¡± Seven signalled confirmation in the way it had seen on numerous occasions, with upper arm extended straight forward and forearm bent up and inward across its torso. That motion was one Friend Essie had never explained, but which the reaching-fellow had learned in the time since leaving Home. ¡°It is the growth, or the derivative of the growth, exhibited by a graduated system.¡± The reply earned it an interested, purse-lipped expression from the shorter person. ¡°Accurate! However, my family¡¯s manservant taught me the idea a bit differently when I was young. He said that maturity is the point when someone begins to realize that what¡¯s good and what makes them happy are at times directly opposed. And that is what Lord Tuoamas possesses in abundance, and of what I strive to gain more on a daily basis.¡± Seven thought about that until Friend Lord Tuoamas came up behind them. ¡°Let us continue,¡± said the other human. ¡°It will be nice to see what has become of the place in the last couple of months.¡± All three moved down the plant-soaked hill at an easy clip, toward a tall leaning building into whose doors Friend Sun was just vanishing, and the sound of recurring loud verse describing Sean Mara doing highly biological things with other people¡¯s noses. Gerrymandering of Opinion ¡°Do you want to know what I did the first time Pennat Gate came out behind in a game of war? I reunited with my Lady, returned home, nearly wept over the unfairness of it all, nearly shrieked over the unfairness of it all, nearly snapped a tree in half over the unfairness of it all, and then went and met with Lord Tuoamas Pennat¡­ and we made plans.¡± -Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes The gemship Walker arrived on the big day. Adz¡¯s Lord remained standing, while he surveyed the starboard panorama. ¡°I have a few people I must meet shortly before the festivities; take care, Lord Artaxerxes,¡± said Tuoamas Pennat, just before he stepped out onto the grass tarmac and started for the massive conical shape of the goldspire. The earless side of Sebastio¡¯s head gleamed in the ship¡¯s internal light as he up-signed, still looking out across the sprawling vista. Those pointed teeth on that side of his mouth thrust just a bit beyond his lips, not quite in a grin, not quite in a grimace. ¡°Very well. I will be along in a moment, Lord Tuoamas.¡± He continued watching the utterly dead expanse in the extreme distance, asymmetrical ocular apparatus moving with glacial deliberation. There was a strange starved pattern in the movement of his eyes as he devoured the scenery. The namesake of his estate took his leave, allowing the Cambrian a moment of contemplation. ¡°The Beaten Brow,¡± said Adz¡¯s Lord after a lengthy quiet. He sounded like a wind passing through a hollow gourd, and the artifact of the Maker which had become his arm flexed, surrogate muscles and tendons pulling taut beneath his clothing. A moment went by as it shifted context, then Adz also contemplated the land, knowing the tune of his thoughts without actually having the lyrics to hand. Yrdky¡¯s not-quite-tamed wilds - those parts which weren¡¯t parcel of one estate or another - had a very long periodicity in their cycles of life. Every few billion years or so, the local authorities saw the need to refresh the ecology or push it in a new direction. Fossil records of any large sample of the territory would look like an abstract painting done by swatting dye-saturated insects on a canvas. The wealth of life usually made for very fierce long-term competition. When a shaft was sunk down the thousand plus kilometers to Yrdky¡¯s so-called bedrock field until mathematics proclaimed there was no ¡°deeper¡± to achieve, and eventually abandoned, within ten years that shaft would be the home of a riotous variety of biology. Virtually any time something moved out of one part of the territory and into another, a different something stood in the wings to take its place. The Beaten Brow, dusty white and scarred like the boot of God had come down in anger, constituted an exception. During the Western Sunrise, Lord Artaxerxes had snatched up the banner of defending the home for which he¡¯d forsaken citizenship in his birthplace of Rhaagm, and shown profound destructive capabilities. That date had seen him destroy armies¡¯ worth of those part-Beast abominations, through the employ of Caladhbolg. Some simulations of the day when he¡¯d singlehandedly defeated Pennat Gate¡¯s defenses still garnered speculative analysis from people curious as to how its physical-state weaponry had been turned to very expensive refuse - Adz had constructed one such simulation itself before it got hitched to its Lord. What he¡¯d done on the Western Sunrise had been far more upsetting. For example, whatever he¡¯d done to shatter a region larger than an Earth Standard country and kill a few planets¡¯ worth of monsters¡­ it had left the land arid and brutalized and dead even years thereafter. Nothing from Geiger counters to the most skilled of thaumaturgist assayers had found any sign that the place posed a danger, but the treatment the Beaten Brow had received from Sebastio left it devoid of anything more chemically active than helium. Nobody had tried to reclaim the ¡°greenfield¡± region despite the occasional perfectly flat plateaus and weird geometric beauty of its defilement, and not just because its size still qualified as less than negligible in the scope of the whole territory. Sebastio reached up and plucked the Lordly circlet from his crown. ¡°Not that anyone could possibly forget, but I remember that day. So many people who died. So many people who were saved. That waste right there, though - that may well be our legacy in the minds of many. Not an ideal, not an example; sanitization. After the last four years, Pennat Gate might see me as more of a real person with real ambitions to improve the world, but is that also true for the rest of Yrdky?¡± The hand holding the circlet, shaking and loose-fingered, thumped against Walker¡¯s outwardly transparent hull. Adz felt a little sympathetic quaver when it saw a thin shining liquid expulsion creeping from the Lord¡¯s gilded eye. The tear sizzled a bit, the atypical¡¯s bioelectrical talent sending a few tiny sparks creeping along its path. ¡°Lady¡­ have we done good? Or have we merely done our duty?¡± Adz lowered itself to the floor of the gemship, leg-cables flopping and unstiffening until the bottom-most part of its torso rested on gravity¡¯s rough pillow, so that head height for it and Sebastio came close to matching. Even after years of advice, offering deconstructive criticism came a bit awkwardly, and it wasn¡¯t as good on the social side of the matter - but it knew how to build and reinforce structural support of many kinds. ¡°We have modeled and pruned and kept ourselves pointed in the direction of our goals. We have done our best, Lord. You may not have earned joy, but you have been shaping the world for the better.¡± Its large fingers hesitated, then rested on his back, as it chinned the shoulder which was orange beneath his garb. Slowly, his unburdened hand reciprocated, polishing his Lady¡¯s pliant scales. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. Then: ¡°Let us away, before we are late.¡± Despite the fact that he stood more firmly on his two feet than it had ever risen on its leg-cables, the udod aodod held its husband up as a miser might hug gold to her vest. Two minutes later, the pair and their guards merged into the zipper teeth of people and accompanying armsmen flowing up into the goldspire hosting the most recent Lordsmoot. Most of the attendees had some degree of nobility; those who did not invariably held either a role of alternative leadership - such as the scores of Lawmasters arriving in droves and the occasional Rhaagmini or Bequastish administrator - or a position of relationship (blood or otherwise) with one or more of the other members. They came in every color, shape, size, vehicle, style of dress, style of mind, and style of body one could imagine, many that one could barely comprehend, and more than a few that required skeins to simply exist under the rules binding together Yrdky¡¯s mathematical identity. Very few allowed themselves any time to stick around and be seen; they were too busy not actually moving forward through the nucleus-dense crowd to pay attention to anything else. Given that the goldspire stood less than two kilometers across at its base, and rose a bit over three kilometers into the sky, it couldn¡¯t possibly have held such a crowd if it were a normal structure. That, of course, was why the building possessed a wealth of neat little eccentricities, including a nested hyperbolic-elliptic tuning field for active spatial compression without the doing-interesting-things-to-living-creatures wrinkle. They were the sort of things Adz would have loved to examine if it could have toured the goldspire, but estate-independent Lawmasters had a proclivity to complain when their guests ran around their homes taking liberties. In its special and directly limited role as a Lady of Yrdky, the udod aodod also held certain freedoms; that was not one of them. Among the other people moving into the shelter of the goldspire, Adz recognized a fair number of characters. The ones who stood out the most had to include Lord Naomi Galt and Lady Albert Sessel. ?lthlant¡¯s leader and her husband were both very flamboyant and obviously unconcerned about running with the pack on matters of ¡°taking in strays,¡± as Pennat Gate¡¯s opponents put it. The fact that the Lord decided to join her star to another person in matrimony had also put her in rarefied and upsetting company among the Lords¡¯ clades. As it saw the woman, Lord Galt¡¯s head turned about and gently inclined in its direction, before she winked at the udod aodod. She didn¡¯t have to establish a direct connection to make it clear that she wanted to say something to Sebastio, Adz, and Tuoamas later. That would be less difficult for Pennat Gate and ?lthlant to arrange than it might prove for other estates, given their proximity of seating. When Lord Galt vanished into the gilded hallowed convening halls, it was in the same direction as taken by Adz and its companions. Sebastio followed Argyva closely enough that determining which of them was actually in the lead became a matter of supreme opinion. Adz, immediately behind, had a moment longer to appreciate the view of the segmented interior. Vast as Agartha, it didn¡¯t take any kind of hard measurement to determine that the size of the stadium-cum-forum-cum-embassy-cum-capitol hugely exceeded the dimensions of its exterior shell. A perfect sphere chorded with decorative struts, lit by a suffusing glow of blue and gold; a bystander could be forgiven if they assumed it housed every person to ever live anywhere. Advancing to one of the apparently wall-less redmetal-edged cells currently content to stay grounded, Sebastio and Adz found Tuoamas waiting with his own entourage. The former and somewhat present Lord of Pennat Gate sat straight-backed on a couch the size of a sperm whale. Behind him, his guards stood at parade rest, beside other guards also standing at parade rest behind their charges. Adding the people walking in protective lockstep around the other scions of his estate made the back of the couch more than simply crowded, considering the number of other seated forms. A few more arrivals, and the cell would reach its one thousand twenty four person occupancy. The Lady greeted those that were adjacent, as did the Lords in their turn. One of these adjacent souls, Lord Naomi Galt, wore a tremendous smock, a tremendous bicorn hat, and a tremendous smile. Unlike the overwhelming majority of Lords, she had a gluttonous appetite for fickleness of apparel, including frequent conjugations. Of the constants of her outward characteristics, the most ubiquitous was her iconic circlet, featuring a brooch that depicted an amethyst river flowing aside a ruby hammer and a gold naufer-headed squawk. Whatever she was today, it had lots of tentacles and smelled of spicy celery and totatoes. Lord Galt also distinguished herself as one of the very few people who didn¡¯t consider Adz¡¯s home as either a blight on the face of the territory or a controversy which fell by a slim margin on the better side of the divide between conviction and appeasement. No, she thought it was something far more dangerous: eccentric and perfectly acceptable. ¡°It is a wonderful and fruitful happenstance that we meet again, is it not?¡± asked Lord Galt with a musical, almost fae, happiness in her voice. And so the oblique games of Yrdkish not-talking began. We are in for something special today! Lord Artaxerxes tipped his head, giving an even smile in return. ¡°How wonderful indeed. May it be fruitful to our interests.¡± I hope that it¡¯s the good sort of special. Lord Galt made an open-handed wave to Lady Sessel. They both looked off into the distance, at some common point that drew in their eyes like a gravitational singularity. ¡°Courtesy, nearly as wonderful as happenstance,¡± said Lady Sessel. He peered sideways at his wife, not quite happy, not quite unhappy. Are we ready to entangle ourselves with them? Lord Galt gave an up-sign of both agreement with sentiment, and affirmation to unstated probing. She looked over at both Sebastio and Tuoamas, a calm but faintly amused expression sunk into her very bones. ¡°I hope that your tidings, especially those involving Nor¡¯ridge, are and will continue to be wonderful as well. If so, they would be¡­ reassuringly similar to Larrei Gwondrfeld¡¯s own tidings.¡± Have you any news of Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s recent movements? They incline in the same direction as the leader of House-of-Werub, the deviants. Adz felt its eyefibers quiver as it considered another meaning layered onto the speech. The verbal extrudate was also a bait, trying to convince Pennat Gate¡¯s representatives to take the initiative and ask her for or about something. She implied that she had a sale of some kind to make, and interest in selling as well, but of course she wanted the best deal possible - something far easier to get when the other party is the more desirous. The sort of approach that a merchant eidolon might adopt when peddling to a new buyer. Just because it was garbage at actually participating in these kinds of diction-based fencing didn¡¯t mean the designer couldn¡¯t follow a line of intrigue. Tuoamas crossed his legs, and he had a neat little frown which meant absolutely nothing by itself. He examined a single waxy gemstone on the cuff of his formal wear, a Hiek machine¡¯s thaumaturgical engine doing something obscure in the stone¡¯s depths. It was something pertaining to modulation of light wavelengths, judging by the way it made the glow around his face shift. ¡°Wonder of wonders, but I wonder myself if the Lord of ?lthlant is given to wondering herself, or mere gossip.¡± Fascinating that you should have that information. Lord Galt¡¯s eyes twinkled beneath her tentacles. ¡°How is it that you suspect I fall short: engagement in terrible deception, or success as bland as unsalted longear qinp steak? I have many sources of information. Those with friends and deep pockets tend to pick up the choicest tidbits. Lord Artaxerxes sniffed, and rubbed the hand that was Caladhbolg under his nose. ¡°Do we have to take our suspicions on faith?¡± he asked, an utterly false whimsy in his voice. If you want to talk about some kind of business arrangement, we have the time now. Suddenly, Lord Tuoamas sat more firmly upright, prompting a couple of his keepers to tense. ¡°Momentarily,¡± said he, with a kind of toneless detachment. No, we do not; observe the stage. The organization of crowds had represented a well-known pinecone in the milkshake of logistics ever since there were people to form crowds in the first place. The purpose of any Lordsmoot was, depending on the party one asked, either quixotic or several-fold. One aim was the simple tallying of heads of state willing to leave their ivory towers. Another aim was the putting-into-order of a quantity of individuals best characterized as ¡°too many.¡± The most important, though, was the collection of the Republic Lords under one roof where their dealings had protection against counter-statecraft, prophecy, and simple distraction. They weren¡¯t exactly dictators in charge of yet more dictators. Even an infinity of Republic Lords couldn¡¯t, technically and legally speaking, constrain the whims of a single Lonely Lord. But get them together in sufficient numbers, and the sheer weight of the souls for whom they held responsibility could body-check political opinion, pressure Lonely Lord mavericks into running with the pack, and even convince the Parsed City-State of Rhaagm to reach certain accommodations. Thus, when the Republic Lords spoke at a Lordsmoot, you listened. For these reasons and others, the structure of such meetings had to modularize communication in interesting ways. It was vanishingly unlikely to get stupendous numbers of individuals to listen and cooperate, when using a single central pulpit round-robin would fracture a day¡¯s time into far less than a nanosecond per speaker. Instead, a short prelude came from the goldspire¡¯s management, introducing usually three to eight important speakers (usually Republic Lords) and their respective subjects. These were the topics previously reviewed by the organizing Lawmasters and deemed relevant to the Yrdkish community as a whole. Afterward, it more often than not devolved into every person elbowing, hoofing, osmosing, enchanting, biting, phasing, and occasionally reasoning their way into the limelight. In short: have your say, send it out to a local audience of the Lords in the hundred or so closest cells - if they find your stupid ideas or complaints worthwhile, they get bumped up to larger and larger crowds, keeping prioritization free-flowing and flexible. In practice, conversations just eventually wound back around to the originally delivered addresses. But it was the principle of the thing, thought Adz. It wasn¡¯t the fault of the data structure that the processor misused it. Just as the cell gently lifted off the ground to clear the way for other such cells shuffling into its place, images on a Toothskin refractor near the cell¡¯s front coalesced into a lineup. Four people, introduced by the goldspire¡¯s chief eidolon: Republic Lord TruTalDatGok of Deselnir, Lord Harrison O¡¯Casey of Nor¡¯ridge, Lord Beulah Fur Andinemn Solic W Gcel of the Nylon and Lead Platoon, and Lord Xe of Oo¨¦kn. The assassin who led off events earned herself a dimmed glow in the eyes of nearly every Lord present by suggesting the next three Lordsmoots observe higher levels of security. Of course it¡¯s necessary to increase safety measures; these gatherings only have the highest concentration of maximally-protected people in the territory, along with superlative preparations taken with the venue! In actuality, it wasn¡¯t unreasonable in the minds of many. The destruction of a fair portion of all existing estates had occurred not twenty years past, and no one would be forgetting the day the very sun had died and been replaced anytime soon. Deselnir¡¯s leader had a standing something-that-wasn¡¯t-actually-an-ovation-but-could-have-been-interpreted-that-way. Then the theater began. Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s stunningly handsome appearance on the Toothskin refractor raised a hand skyward, warding off fame, as he took the almost invisibly tiny stage at the goldspire¡¯s epicenter. His heavily Southerner heritage gave him a strong and striking frame. Genetic drift put an asymmetrical pattern of waves and curls in his hair, and a few cosmetic alterations gave him spots of blond color periodically scattered around both locks and flesh. Broadcast to every cell, the way he graciously downplayed the interested audience¡¯s encouragement was about as genuine as a hot pink addict¡¯s promises to reform of their own volition. Harrison O¡¯Casey had carved out a name for himself at nearly every crossroads of life by picking the steepest and thorniest of the available routes laid before him. When people described the Yrdkish as crazy, they had any number of stereotypes upon which to draw. In the less frequent cases where the descriptor being used was instead ¡°feudal,¡± his legacy had to be the primary example. Had he possessed a more measured ability to respond to perceived threats to himself and his holdings, Adz might have put him and its own Lord in the same bucket. They were champions of extraordinary aspirations, dedicated to the success of their visions, and who enjoyed unusual if completely genuine admiration by a majority of their people. As it was, the man had commonalities with militant communists, cult founders, xenophobes, and any number of other less-reputable souls when it came to securing his estate¡¯s sovereignty. Over his Lordship, Nor¡¯ridge had more than tripled in size. A matching increase in population and economic power flowed from the dramatic pace of change - social lucre from which he and his upper nobility siphoned a substantial portion. However, much of his fortune stemmed from the speed with which he took offense at neighboring or nearby estates whose philosophies conflicted with his own. All too often, he demanded they either reshape themselves to something more palatable, move to greener pastures, or meet him on the field of battle. He had a marked trend toward victories in the disputes of Yrdky¡¯s war games. It was difficult to formally criticize the desire to aggressively improve his people¡¯s lot, and many respected his decisiveness, but one didn¡¯t have to look hard to recognize him as a predator. A real piece of work, was Harrison. Just the sort to organize an elimination of another Lord¡¯s corporeal form, then capitalize on the affected estate¡¯s weakness with accusations of limp spirit as it acclimated to their return to office. In executioner parlance, he was ¡°back-horned¡± - no, he didn¡¯t have any kind of protruding bone on his skull, but he showed the same constant mild inflammation of temper that came of irregularly hooking one¡¯s ennobled bits on everything from doorways to shirts to forearms. In terms that a naufer might offer, he was a ¡°wind-wall¡± - somewhere between a compulsive liar and a person whose morals simply gave him habitual cause to prevaricate.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Adz¡¯s own long-ago ancestors would probably have found the Lord¡¯s levels of scrupulousness worthy of either lifelong imprisonment or being sentenced to death by exposure. It had been agreed beforehand that outright accusing the man of attempted murder was unlikely to gain traction. The udod aodod itself had raised the point that they couldn¡¯t conclusively tie a single element of the attack to Nor¡¯ridge, aside from the convenience of timing and well-known animosity between rulers. Premature mud-slinging would be just the thing to alienate some of those less-common people who yet harbored hope for Pennat Gate¡¯s aspirations to sanctuaryhood. Now, if they had uncovered reasonable evidence connecting scoundrel to skulduggery, Adz might well have jumped up and dishonored every one of its long-ago ancestors with its poor decision making, at the spectacle of a Lady denouncing a Lord in open Lordsmoot. ¡°Can any name a criticism of our just-now Republic Lord?¡± O¡¯Casey exclaimed, a glassy clear resonance in his every syllable. Thank you, Lord TruTalDatGok! Your worries reflect my own in large part. The man breathed in deeply, shoulders hunched. ¡°Can any argue that not long ago we had our Arcadia threshed by a feral whirlwind? How now, that among our august company we see seeds of that very whirlwind sown?¡± Our past puts us in a state of deep concern over the issue of Beasts, and yet at least one of our number has among their eccentricities the desire to make an estate into a Beastcote. One of our number whose concerns have lately focused not on statecraft but on expansion. He blinked once, hard; obviously, he wore irony blinkers to allow himself the luxury of accusing others of expansionism. ¡°Do we require permission to normal remit now? Normal remit, when feral or even extraordinarily feral woes may in future betide us?¡± I would like some assurances of my people¡¯s safety, with such threats being given their leash. What if the grander and more terrible denizens of the Purple should visit us? Will THEY be amenable to reason? It wasn¡¯t actually coming up and punching the leadership of Pennat Gate in the face, because that would have been more subtle. His utter lack of dignity in verbal combat was¡­ not excused, but perhaps softened by several plancks when considering the Purple¡¯s least-well-known and least-seen natives. The especially peculiar entities of the Purple, those creatures known variously as super-Beasts, over-Beasts, wretched ones, ¨¹bertiere, and many other such melodramatic labels, were less of a breed and more of a caste of demons. To put it bluntly, they were bad. Intelligent specimens of their kind would probably be worse. It was by the grace of God that, if they currently existed, none had yet been seen since the Western Sunrise. Down below Adz, Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes¡¯s entire expression went steely. He quickly composed a recording himself, and submitted it as a rebuttal to the accuser¡¯s hard-thrown mud. Moments later, it had garnered sufficient notoriety that it appeared next to the Lord of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s image; a Lonely Lord with a certain amount of controversy in how he¡¯d come to power and how he chose to exercise that power. The little Sebastio imitated the bigger Sebastio¡¯s actions in perfectly defined fidelity: namely, he gave the person addressed no respect worth mentioning in his body language, and only slightly more in his verbiage. ¡°Normalcy is a legitimate desire; now look here for dispelling of fears.¡± Let me show you why your worries are baseless, you PERFECTLY REASONABLE soul - check the included sensory. Parceled with the recording (and of course vetted by attendant Lawmasters to ensure it contained no malicious payloads) came a brief history of the introduction of Beasts into the ecology of the estate; some already made public, some new. Seven¡¯s unexpected adduction. More creatures of like acuity, being invited out from the Purple one at a time. The formation of Fountainist and later Sledgecrafter teams for the purpose of keeping the Beasts from injuring the peace, and later for keeping the peace from injuring the Beasts. One, and only one, showcasing of the creatures being compelled to comply with an order: Seven¡¯s reaction to Adz on the day it had run into Leanshe. Minutes of the strange immigrants literally doing nothing but looking at flowers and following insects and asking questions. Adz actually began to get a headache at the disorderly onslaught of recorded queries, everything from ¡°What is that?¡± while pointing at a warsash-draped simulation of a past war hero to ¡°Why does friction not cause that person to combust?¡± while pointing at a sprinting pedestrian. What made the biggest impact, of course, was a strung-together sequence of every night when Seven had stayed with Sebastio and Adz. The gathered Lords and sundry slowly released the clamped muscles of their minds. They allowed egress to exhalations of pique, some distaste, some epithelial desire to both know more and know less. Naufers remarked that such conduct was commendable if ill-advised, pohostinlats called it stupid and complimented Sebastio and O¡¯Casey both for their relative bluntness, humans came up with disparate responses every one. A couple of people in Pennat Gate¡¯s cell quietly remarked that someone needed to gain a certain amount of maturity. One person demanded the obviously undisclosed and obviously hidden footage of over-Beasts being weaponized be produced for the public¡¯s edification, and got himself flattened into verbal haggis. Farther down the couch, Lady Albert Sessel smiled. Naomi Galt¡¯s tendrils flexed with organic autonomy as she digested the data. Her head¡¯s slight cant made her look like a statue. ¡°An education is worth much strain, and many mistakes,¡± she eventually said, so softly that without genetic tweaks over its ancestors¡¯ lifetimes even Adz¡¯s huge ears would have failed to register the sentiment. Even if this should otherwise be a waste, at least improving our familiarity with a historic night terror will only aid our confidence in adequately dealing with them in future. Beasts getting treated as target practice was probably the very last thing desired by the people who¡¯d managed to carefully integrate Seven and many of its kinsfolk. However, Adz saw that the transference from fear to callous curiosity was a step in the right direction. Good, no - but seeing the way Sebastio talked with the schlrikt near midnight, occasionally picking up little toys and models and household appliances to slake the creature¡¯s childlike curiosity, was a departure for that port. After he slowly digested the way the display weaned public opinion onto more moderate ground, Lord O¡¯Casey let his displeasure be known. His expression showed nothing but sadness and sternness. Of course, beneath that veneer was a freight disk¡¯s worth of grasping ambition, but his response was the very image of contrite prudence. ¡°We care for our community, very dearly and very deeply!¡± This show of irresponsibility is quite troubling. There was grumbling, and a spate of responses ranging from the flagrantly reactionary to the uselessly reconciliatory. Eventually, Tuoamas made a far more dignified and courteous reply than his co-ruler, and it caught the tides of Lords like a topsail filled by a hurricane. ¡°Can one honor others or oneself by prematurely surrendering in the aim of hospitality?¡± I have no intention of slapping our residents aside merely because they discomfit publicans like yourself. Harrison O¡¯Casey¡¯s mouth pursed. ¡°Lord Pennat, many marvels at the¡­ objection you offer.¡± Do you even have the authority to dictate such things at this time, in your perverse establishment? Adz itself still had moments where it felt out of its element, just trying to reconcile Pennat Gate¡¯s hierarchical structure with reality. Not the usual kind of straight top-to-bottom dictatorial monarchy at all: Sebastio, nominally self-restricted to dictating when any given member of the estate¡¯s government needed to get the boot and ousted from making direct policy of any kind, yet so often consulted for his opinion, so often the focus of attention-seekers. Tuoamas, retained by Sebastio as the de facto conductor of Lordly business, and thus chiseled into a kind of living statuesque death - superlative privilege, utterly within the bounds of another¡¯s approval. Any system falling into the proper subset of the tolerably orthodox was supposed to be a traditionally authoritarian setup: there is but one Lord, and the Lord¡¯s rule takes into account suggestions if they so desire, their citizens may emigrate if they wish for a change in governance, and their regime may only be forcibly changed under the provisions of the laws of war and the bidding of a Republic Lord to whom they owed fealty. The right of Lord Artaxerxes to his estate was accepted, however grudgingly, by the community in light of his winning it from its previous owner. Recognition of Lord Tuoamas in a nominal role of the same echelon as he¡¯d previously possessed had a grand appeal to the many with whom he¡¯d dealt in the past, even if it fell under very curious restrictions. That did not make the half-mad edifice a happy state of affairs in the minds of all who beheld it. Initially, not a few critics had compared Tuoamas to a cur on a chain, and not a few had declared Sebastio a string-puller too timorous to face his own just desserts. Over the years, their countrymen had better learned that neither old Lord nor new had any lacking of spine. Yet, the blank check that was an Yrdkish nationlet¡¯s self-rule had rarely seen anything quite like the writer-editor or administrator-chairman relationship in Pennat Gate¡¯s opal throne. The unusual relationship had not earned unanimous hatred, and neither had it earned unconditional acceptance. Those musings shattered when the outside world intruded. There was an unexpected alert, as Adz received a request for a direct connection. What made it examine, then reexamine, then re-reexamine the requestor was the fact that the requestor was none other than Hereld Upswitch. Well. That¡¯s¡­ interesting. The udod aodod eventually decided to humor the enigmatic and forward demand. It was rewarded with a bytevoice that somehow managed to communicate the greasiness of its owner¡¯s mustache. {Hello, Lady,} said a sticky-sweet voice Adz remembered quite well. The caustic experience of the last time it had made itself known precluded much chance of Adz treating the man any better than it had treated the first and only man who had ever tried to purloin its model-building work at eSsonnss. But while it hadn¡¯t actually done anything to Leern Jenniene worse than fiercely ostracizing him, it would have needed good reason to not tear Hereld in half if he stood before it. {If you wish to speak with me, you are well-advised to keep it short.} {Very well, Lady.} That accent was a real incontinent weelee in the pudding. {I hope you are open to an unusual engagement with regards to the events unfolding at hand.} {Such as what?} {I have come into possession of what you might think of as a set of script trees, if you were to indulge me. A set of script trees describing Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s vituperations and bilious hyperbole, as he intends to go on today. He and that Gernasot are primed to do you and yours enormous harm.} Oh? {Oh?} {I am aware that your input in a Lordsmoot would be a travesty of social ineptitude. However, were you to pass on your advice to your husband, he could¡­ I believe ¡°cut his opponent down¡± is the best term for the process. Regrettably, he would treat any suggestion from myself like a pohostinlat being asked to live naked in a glass house.} {And why do you think I have any more cordiality toward you and your offerings?} {Lady, in perfect honesty, you are a creature more concerned with objective merit, and less with symbol, than your husband. There are benefits to this state of affairs, and there are detriments. Among the benefits, though, is that you are the more likely to accept wisdom or assistance irrespective of its package¡¯s distasteful appearance. As a sign of good faith, let me demonstrate. Unless Lord Tuoamas gives him a very unusual prompt, Lord O¡¯Casey is going to first wax loquacious about Pennat Gate¡¯s storied history and its improvement since it was given its new name. It will be part of a misguided striving for symbolic parallels. Afterward - and before this happens, you had best have Lord Artaxerxes intercept him - Lord O¡¯Casey will do his best to set up a straw man by criticizing the ineffectuality of your estate¡¯s structure-of-power, and saying that its namesake was the only reason for its successes; obviously your husband is some kind of eloquent parasitic gibbon.} Adz noted the cleverly efficient way in which Hereld had stuffed information and insult into a single sack. Parasitic gibbon indeed. At least the man was up-front. He was also a manipulator, and very, VERY few things rubbed it on the raw more than being manipulated. It considered, and watched. ¡°It would be cause for greater marvel if I objected not at all,¡± replied Lord Tuoamas. If you are so terribly troubled, then rest easy that I may still call upon an iron fist if need be. ¡°We have many objections and much non-objectivity!¡± criticized a fregnost Lord, her heavily-dyed face the target of so much approval that it nearly toppled all others from their pedestals of attention. GET TO THE UNCONSECRATED POINT! Harrison O¡¯Casey might have shown a bit of a twitch as he dusted off his cuffs. He also might have done nothing of the sort. ¡°Who among us yet considers Gallowsnight the greater?¡± When Pennat Gate was still called Gallowsnight, it had little to offer the world. When Tuoamas Pennat took its reins from Toin¨¦ Silkface, the world became better for it. Well, that was believable enough. Either Upswitch had somehow managed to overturn an eternity of other people trying and failing circumvent the anti-prophetic shielding of the goldspire, or he was in possession of useful intelligence. It could perhaps benefit from his presence in some measure; as the aaned saying had it, even the ugliest tree might yet have edible fruit. {So what then do you think my husband should say?} Adz demanded of the voice in its head. {Steer the issue away into the realm of actions rather than identity. Do not dwell on the matter of the monarchy or the monarch, but rather the problem of what the nation has done to make it worth something.} Adz carefully assembled an argument. It forwarded the skeleton of a suggestion in keeping with Hereld¡¯s own advice to Sebastio, over a separate direct channel. He found it very fitting. {Thank you, Adz. Give me a moment to pipe this carrion-eater¡¯s words back through his own digestive tract.} As the man with the improper facial hair had predicted, O¡¯Casey suffered a minor hiccup in his schema¡¯s planning. Lord Artaxerxes first thanked the leader of Nor¡¯ridge for his generosity in observation, and then pointed out that since the time of the throne¡¯s fracture the estate had become a byword for both oddity and generosity, the latter admitted even by his home-grown cynics. Should improvement continue in direct relation to time, hopefully a greater proportion of other Yrdkish powers would emulate the best practices it showed, and not so much its flaws. One or two instances of ¡°hear, hear!¡± graced the gathering; a much larger portion gave voice to soft and pointed protest. Lord O¡¯Casey obviously had certain contingencies for that particular gambit¡¯s failure. When Adz whispered in Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s a second time, though, he proved less prepared. Sebastio cudgeled his following strategy of threatening to rally the Republic Lords against the intransigent estate in the crib. He made reassuring gestures, offering to put forward an in-depth itinerary covering how Pennat Gate planned to go about getting their new eldritch tenants integrated into society. A few people started asking stimulating questions, most directed at Lord Tuoamas, but a few deigning to consult with Adz¡¯s husband. Both of the people of ?lthlant exchanged intrigued and contemplative expressions. Finally, with Harrison O¡¯Casey perceptibly beginning to sweat, Hereld told the Lady that the belligerent Lord would do his best to goad the people of Pennat Gate with a statement of intent: that all Beasts must be destroyed whenever and wherever they were found. That one required a dicier solution. With a bit of reticence, Sebastio and Lord Tuoamas hashed out the specifics. Eventually, the admission outed itself: this new brand of people were not merely obedient but, indeed, categorically biddable. For the moment, at least, the plan suggested they hold back the idea that at least one of the reasons for the Purple¡¯s infusion of culture and direction was war criminal Esmrald Qlikiss, who had been given something between an execution and a life sentence. Instead, Lord Tuoamas provided a surfeit of examples of Beasts beholden to imperatives from his subjects. A stalker that played fetch like a hound at the request of a little girl. Panic when a woman, distraught and utterly distrustful of a schlrikt slightly taller than Seven, told it to get away from her when she encountered the creature crossing a bridge. Its attempt to throw itself off the side was only thwarted by the intervention of a Sledgecraft Guild keeper. Several interviews with Kallahassee and Magdod. It was strangely revelatory and impossible and three different faint shades of horrifying. Forget jettisoning Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s plans. The repercussions of that confession created a chaos that seemed like it would take down the goldspire¡¯s very walls. Violating seven kinds of good manners, the others in the Pennat Gate cell began leaving their places and approaching Tuoamas and Sebastio in person. They had many questions, very few of which seemed to be in the vein of ¡°how are you?¡± Sudden omnidirectional convergence on their charges made the nearby armsmen a bit proactive in maintaining distance between them and the reasonably-washed masses of leadership. {Thank you, my dear Lady,} said Sebastio as the Lordsmoot narrowly avoided falling apart altogether, with a measure of affection that went beyond the merely appreciative. Adz¡¯s reply was less than coherent and moderately ashamed, though it kept signs of the latter from emerging into the light. {Your efforts have aided our cause,} Adz informed Hereld. Both its tone of bytevoice and its attitude were those of a person who has just synthesized a recipe in their culinary unit, only to find the recipe¡¯s latest silent update replaced food with live bait. Even so, its implicit gratitude was sincere if shallow. {I hope your failure is deferred long enough to cause failure in an even more odious system¡¯s workings, cow,} said Hereld Upswitch. And with that, he was blissfully gone. He would be back sometime, Adz felt certain, but being rid of the man was a very good thing indeed. If he reappeared, perhaps someone could arrest him for indecency. And now what, choleric simpleton? Adz silently challenged the head of Nor¡¯ridge, as something like civility slowly returned. Thoroughly if not catastrophically flustered, obviously ready to bring the fiasco of growing teetering heights to a useful conclusion, Lord O¡¯Casey overstepped his bounds and prematurely went for the killing blow. ¡°Do you not find a certain attraction to the premiere creators of integrated firearm modifications? A familial attraction?¡± There are concerns that you might be moving to the tune of external powers¡­ like Bhushalt Fabricants and Design. There are concerns that you might be under pressure to meet particular performance quota. There are concerns that you might be acting in tacit concert with the desires of your father and his executive board allies. One almost could have found it funny. The cells around the goldspire slowly went from restive to disbelievingly slackjawed. A Rhaagmini corporation pulling the strings of an Yrdkish estate? That was the stuff of fever dreams. Adz also noted that the man hadn¡¯t even tried to justify his conspiracy theory. Yes, the idea of power being an eternally appealing draw had something to recommend it¡­ but Bhushalt? The political massacre that would grow from the failure of any such supposed takeover attempt would automatically make that sort of ambition utterly unjustifiable. Frankly, Pennat Gate¡¯s twin Lords could have replied with breathing noises and it would have held every person rapt on the edges of their seats. Very few pretended to have any interest in either of the other two scheduled speakers; this was practically cinema! Tuoamas offered his own opinion. ¡°Do you not consider both of those sitting the fractured throne as members in an eccentric family? A family whose eldest you call upright?¡± Accuse my comrade of implicit bias toward bent deals with his father, and you certainly accuse me by proxy. Unless you want to try and uproot my own reputation as well - the reputation upon which you have just this hour heaped praise - do not try it. At this, Lord Naomi Galt also composed a presentation, and sent it on its way as Adz turned to her, more than a little nonplussed. The same was variously true of most of the other Lords present. Sebastio obviously hadn¡¯t expected the development, and couldn¡¯t hide a curious half-worry as he contemplated the woman. Lord Tuoamas, esteemed man that he was, let not the slightest surprise seep through his demeanor. ¡°May those after me break my legacy and mount my cadaver on a goldspire if I speak untrue. Make straight the crooked, for ?lthlant shall be war-friend in fact as well as name.¡± If you people are all so monumentally insecure, then let me be the first to breach the barrier. If deemed a fitting course by Pennat Gate¡¯s leadership, it and ?lthlant will enter a compact of mutual support. This I swear. It was the kind of thing over which bitter feuds and character-assassination campaigns had been fought in the past: unilateral alliance of separate miniature nation-states. The right to pull on a string, and have at the other end a dependable party waiting and ready to answer, any time and any weather. Adz glanced past at Lady Albert, who grinned back, then joined the masses of people contemplating Naomi Galt with open astonishment. Well, that was obviously unacceptable to some prudish-minded folk. A tidal flow of protests started in the old fogey club, running down the hill of traditionalism, and went afoul of those in the progressive crowd. Sure, she had the right to just up and make that kind of call! It was unconscionable. It was just common sense. Why fight about it, don¡¯t we have two more speakers in the major constellations of the day¡¯s events? Harrison O¡¯Casey frowned. In response he simply called up a single sensory, and flicked it on its way. ¡°Does a culinary unit produce refuse? Does statistical analysis indicate lesser magnetism in the hemokinetic than in the moral? Does anyone argue?¡± If you think Pennat Gate is anything close to reliable or upright, then I beg to differ. Those who would cheat in support of their family in small things would also cheat in larger ones. Adz was disappointed but not particularly surprised to see footage of a maypoling game, centered upon Heggad¡¯s foul play. The naufer¡¯s flyby relived itself from the same angle as Adz and its husband had held, from a lower vantage - probably one of those in the immediately-below stands. From the perspective shown, the slat covering the one side of Heggad¡¯s dispenser tipped up against eight grasping digits. A pattern of lights obviously played out within the barest bounds of visibility inside the slat. A change in perspective: Sebastio observing the Fifth Step maypoler, and the orange angular side of his face compacting in realization. His gilded eyeball stitched across the spectacle, wordless. More than one additional perspective, playing out the minute or so of action centered around the outwardly obvious realization of something rotten writ across a regal face. The whole production ended with his carefully articulated announcement, ¡°This was less happy, and more entertaining.¡± ¡°He cannot be serious,¡± Lord Tuoamas was heard to mutter, with something far closer to genuine shock and disgust than the average person would ever hope to witness him expressing. Yes, breaking the rules of warfare (pretend or otherwise) was a body blow to the honor of any Lord. However, to call Sebastio Artaxerxes hesitant about admitting hard truths of himself had all the accuracy of an archer after a shuffling of the major parts of their sensory cortex. There were still people who recycled his confessions on his past misadventures with companies desirous of his specialized security insights, and ¡°pulling a Glencorps¡± had fallen into local parlance for unintentionally and hilariously violating another¡¯s privacy. There were very few more willing to come clean about their faults than Adz¡¯s husband. No reasonable people could possibly mark him as a degenerate. Could none of the other Lords recognize a frame when they saw it? The Lady nearly wanted to scream at the casual dismissal of everything for which its home had campaigned. As onlookers began jeering or praising the ¡°fresh¡± ¡°proof¡± of clandestine activity, Lord O¡¯Casey kicked any pretense of objectivity out the window. His expression wasn¡¯t baleful or satisfied. Instead, it was the flat mask of one whose ethical certitude has fatally exhausted their mental plasticity. ¡°We shall have to argue, then - freedom for one, privilege for the other¡­ subject to minor renegotiation. A time and some hence.¡± Make ready, because Pennat Gate and Nor¡¯ridge will be doing battle in the very near future indeed. If the former should emerge victorious, they will be acceded a quantity of platforms and certificates for expansion of an estate to their leadership. If the latter, we will no longer have to worry about this ridiculous Beast problem - and that objective will not be changed short of forced repudiation. And just like that, he left the stage, strewing upset and contention of every sort in his wake. Adz felt the couch under its hand contort as Sebastio shifted, and it looked down at the tiny red glint on his temple as his eyes crept shut, dancing over the mechanics of bluffing and exchanging tokens of power. It mulled over the noisy protests of the gathered crowds. It leaned its attention on the now-silent Toothskin refractor in the incidental intermission before Lord Nobody Cares came onto the so-called stage. And just like that, Adz came to grips with something truly novel. It loathed Hereld Upswitch for his manipulative ways. It despised the necessity for the sinuous battles of reputation fought every day in the name of ambition, nourishing the good and grinding up the needless. But before now, it had never truly known that colorless blinding Hiek machine named hate. Homelessness Is Hilarious Until It Isn’t ¡°... When you live in someone else¡¯s shadow, trying to distinguish yourself is a very natural human thing to do. That was why it first caused some disquiet when he so regularly evinced tangible frustration, just as his elder brother did. Over time, though, it became clear that his vexation came not from doubt in the mission of which he became an essential component. No; Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s tears came of knowing that he would affect the world around him, and hoping it would be in the right direction. He, in contrast, flared with the bursts of anger belonging to someone with something to prove, and after being recruited to a crusade on which to prove it.¡± -Lord Naomi Galt, on Louis Artaxerxes A dream is a place where one can set their secret selves free to embrace those things which inspire¡­ or simply happen to be ¡°weird.¡± Should the dreamer possess a built-in module of a cerv-mesh designed to let them more efficiently achieve lucid status, they could utilize every hour of the day in some meaningful fashion. The youngest Artaxerxes had no desire to do any such thing. Louis felt along the floor of the big green kitchen, reaching out for the next brick of honey. The bricks giggled and pattered away from him, and if it weren¡¯t for the frame on his neck which kept him from looking around he would have scowled at them and chastised their misbehavior. He needed to finish his honey portrait. Without the delicious variously-hued golden and red blocks, his picture would be forever incomplete. It might be best to just cut their legs off so they¡¯d stop running. Kicking himself over, the metal struts which held everything above his waist still - save arms and shoulders - clonked on the hollow floor. He couldn¡¯t see the honey bricks, but he pushed himself along with his feet, because he knew where they were, and he¡¯d be a dismembered octopus before¡­ Wait. He stopped kicking with the edges of his shoes and bent his calves upward. Yes, that was right. An octopus, but not a dismembered one! The little extra atrophied feet dangling uselessly from his knees swung back with the motion, numb and yet still attached. I¡¯m going to stab you, honey! he cheerfully thought as he resumed progress. Immediately he heard a splat like ripe fruit beneath a slicker¡¯s foot, and bumped a brick with the metal cage apparatus around his upper half. He reached up, and found a dead unit of honey. It had been killed by a squatting Hereld Upswitch as he pecked at it with his face, and it died quickly enough that it didn¡¯t flail about and harden in a weird pose. ¡°Thanks!¡± said Louis, and Hereld clucked at him before going back to pecking at things, and shedding mustache hairs absolutely everywhere. Louis picked up the honey and threw it at the portrait. The portrait became a perfectly rendered depiction of his deceased Papa. Well, now that he¡¯d achieved his picture more quickly than he¡¯d hoped, he could sell the other bricks of honey to- Without fanfare, the floor dropped under him as he began rattling down stairs with unusually steep design. Each tromping impact landed him on the cage around his top half. Bounces resulted every time, getting higher and higher as he descended, flipping with a giddy smile. It was balloonlike in its gentleness, making him glad that he was leaving behind his picture in such pristine state. As soon as he bounded off the last riser, he rose a thousand paces into the air, then smashed into the floor at the stairs¡¯ bottom. His pieces melted. Louis awakened instantly, completely, and knowing that he was no longer dreaming. Two deep and carefully articulated breaths brought him upon a banquet of fresh emotions, every morning the same and every morning slightly shifted. The thick and difficult-to-swallow toast that was seeing ghosts of people who weren¡¯t fortunate enough to have their own Sebastio, the lines of not-theres stretching out into infinity, and the phlegm-and-bile aftertaste of seeing his departed father at their head. The massive bowl of soup, impossible to finish in one sitting, delivered by the notion of being connected to an infinite community by digital means and a small box on his neck, wired into his neural workings. The small, sour, disorienting blancmange of trying to come to grips with a country whose rules of conduct he understood on some level, but not really; living among people who didn¡¯t worry about food or longevity or the need to earn a wage, some of whom didn¡¯t even have matter-composed bodies, some of whom didn¡¯t even understand the word ¡°worry.¡± The cup of hot wine, which he took with him everywhere in his furious heart, and which loosened his muscles whenever he sipped, as he looked out into the empty cavity of his room and into the future and into the chipped halcyon face of hope. It was all a mess. He was put in mind of when he¡¯d first seen a depiction of that pants-wetting creature of Ojjij called the skin eater, plastered against the side of some punk¡¯s sporty disk. He¡¯d asked Sebastio about it, and had received the sort of answer most little children don¡¯t get when they ask their older relative about the monster who lives outside their window: ¡°Oh, those? Yes, they¡¯re definitely real; we have some in the local wildlife preserve.¡± When a human looked at the spindly and almost pewter form of the thing which had too-large eyes not dissimilar to those of a cow atop its long head, the hands of an aye-aye, the unwebbed feet of a waterfowl, a permanent hunched gait, and the temperament of a particularly vicious child, they didn¡¯t usually think ¡°apex predator.¡± But they would usually think wrong. When you were a skin eater, you didn¡¯t usually think that you needed to be careful and not eat everything you could catch in your rubbery claws so as to provision your food sources out for the future. But you would usually think wrong. The skin eater¡¯s habit of getting what it wanted all too often ran its selection of prey completely dry. Like the skin eater, in many ways the worst possible end state for Louis - and indeed any thinking creature - would be to receive everything his heart desired at a stroke. It wasn¡¯t an idea that sat easily, but it was one he¡¯d accept. He sat up, knocking a sleeping Edward onto the floor. After two seconds, the stipp made a hoot and slowly turned around, looking for his caretaker. After four seconds, he started walking over toward the door. After eight seconds, Louis got up. He picked the stipp up, turned him around, and put him in front of his floutfruit hanger. The little creature stared at the leather-colored vegetable nutrient storage, and after several more seconds began sucking juice from the fruit¡¯s soft underbelly. A quick consultation of his chronometer. ¡°Oh, right,¡± said the stipp¡¯s owner, and he doubled back, petting the thirsty creature and using his culinary unit to make another floutfruit. He first took a step in the hanger¡¯s direction, then recalled that he possessed a d?mon cluster. Rhaagmini would have found the frivolousness nettling, and while most Yrdkish considered such issues moderately beneath them, they wouldn¡¯t have objected in any case. He floated the additional fruit over and hung it with far more care than it required, and tore off into the wild blue yonder after checking that he had compressed his ornithopter. Twenty minutes later, he, Celnn, Alarusx, and a new arrival in the form of a little fellow named Penowa Teso were all on a hill near Al¡¯s residence. Somewhere off in the ether, eGarra was engaged in a fierce discussion with his family; it was expected to take most of the day. They disregarded the person so treacherous to their brotherly love that he would forsake their company for that of relatives. Instead, the quartet engaged in the twin pursuits of art and helping Penowa to overcome the sort of culture shock that could outright kill a person with an inordinately weak constitution. ¡°So, what exactly is this supposed to be?¡± asked the short tan fuzzy fellow - mmnmomn?, they called themselves. His family resemblance to his uncle Sela Naas couldn¡¯t have been more obvious in some respects: color and pattern of fur, relatively tall stature for his race, and tendency to twitchily look around to name a couple. Another was his insatiable curiosity. Yet another was his faintly endearing way of closely following people around. ¡°We¡¯re making a recruitment simulation!¡± Celnn half-yelled as the wind picked up a bit. He spent a second adjusting the route planned for Louis. A translucent worm overlaid the land-and-skyscape, thickening and narrowing to indicate where the flyer would have leeway. ¡°We need to convince more people to support what Pennat Gate is, what it means.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem like support!¡± objected Penowa. Louis considered the verbiage; as a courtesy to the mmnmomn?, they used his native tongue, since he didn¡¯t yet possess a cerv-mesh or any sort of general-purpose translation. That would probably change soon, but not yet. As things stood, of course, some words - simulation, post-physical, sievemind, algebra - had no direct translation and very roundabout equivalent expressions. In this case, ¡°support¡± had connotations of a strategic combat slant. The human male uncompressed his ornithopter, the thing¡¯s stowed form popping into existence just above his outstretched hands. Backing up, he let out the shrunken wingspan, and tweaked the pinion lengths to suit agile movement at the cost of some stability, then lengthened the spine and changed some important pieces. He coughed a hiccup of a laugh at the mmnmomn?¡¯s perpetually-amazed eyes, before bringing himself under control and debating the best way to answer. ¡°We¡¯re trying to make the point that this place is trying to do something good, and that we ought to be able to count on sentiment and contributions to our cause.¡± And whatever else that Upswitch peg might¡¯ve insinuated, he was right in one respect: I¡¯m no agency-less pedestal. I¡¯m no stained glass banner. I¡¯ve been an actor ever since I stuck that perverted man-Beast creature, and my acting¡¯s going to make a difference. ¡°Oh,¡± said Penowa, looking up with his huge adorable bat ears twitching and his little adorable trunk sniffing. Can¡¯t pet him, Edward will get jealous. Also, patronizing. Louis felt darkness scrunch up around his head like an anti-halo as his brain tunneled into the abstractions of semantics, and it turned his whimsical lull into a baked roughness. ¡°Out there, there are too many people like you and your family and friends, people that we have the ability to help, if we¡¯re willing to make the effort and sacrifice,¡± he said, and felt a bit surprised when black mist didn¡¯t come rolling out of his mouth. ¡°People like everyone I used to know. The thought¡­¡± He almost choked up a moment, but his cerv-mesh instructed him how to tense this muscle, flex the other, and overcome his temporary limitation. ¡°The thought that they¡¯re out there and we¡¯re here safe and sound - it¡¯s watching a starving man watching you through a window as you eat supper with your family.¡± Penowa¡¯s eyes had gotten large enough to wrap around from being cute to being sad and mildly unsettling. Louis smiled, making sure to not show teeth, and rubbed his face against a strut. ¡°So my brother and a lot of other people are making controversial strides of late, getting this place to do good even when it¡¯s¡­ maybe ill-advised in cases.¡± ¡°What exactly is this place trying to do?¡± asked the mmnmomn?. There were a hundred ways to answer that question. One, which had been quoted at Louis during his youth at the posing of the same question to his freshly-minted brother, burned through the chaff of the others. He didn¡¯t realize it, but he even adopted the tone in which Sebastio had recited that day in a Bequast backwoods cabin, when he was still navigating the minefield of securing Louis a spot in extrafacetary society. Securing him a place at the table. He still hadn¡¯t looked into the Richard person to whom modernity owed the quote, but according to a larger-than-expected number of people he was hot stuff. ¡°¡®Greed of spirit has cost too many too much over the eternities. Charity of spirit is the only necessary remedy, and the only acceptable response.¡¯¡± ¡°What?¡± inquired the short betrunked figure. Al tapped the side of her head. ¡°People like you, me, and him-¡± Her head tilted at Louis, and he crouched his flushed face behind a wing a bit when she gave him what for her was a step above a salacious lip-licking wink. That was, she curled the arc of her mouth upward to an actually perceptible slant. She had more or less done her best to freeze and shatter his heart when he¡¯d expressed an interest in her two years prior. Unfortunately for her - unless she was being smarter than he was and calling his bluff before it was even made, and obviously that couldn¡¯t be it because he wasn¡¯t that dumb - the ploy had backfired. Don¡¯t ever estimate the stupid relentlessness of the infatuated human heart, because it will always be low. ¡°-are the sort of people who don¡¯t have anywhere else we really belong. The guy in charge around here, with the shiny colorful hand and the freaky eyes, is convinced that needs to change. A lot of other people who have a bit of a say in matters don¡¯t care for that idea. So Pennat Gate - us - is trying to change the world by example.¡± Penowa started trying to clamber up Celnn¡¯s sloping back. ¡°No, get off!¡± Two handless limbs converged on the fluffy shape, grabbed him with pincer precision, and put him down on the ground again without pausing in the task of assaying. Penowa didn¡¯t try it again; at least he wasn¡¯t a pohostinlat trying to smack bony plates against someone¡¯s flesh as a means of greeting. ¡°But¡­¡± The short creature moved closer to Louis, ears flicking in a way that definitely reminded Louis of Adz when the estate¡¯s fly population temporarily shook off eons of genetic tinkering and started dive-bombing its head. Penowa and the many others salvaged from the type nine event which had afflicted his home facet had been members of the increasingly-large family of misfits for no more than a hand so far. Their inclinations to grab each other as a method of garnering attention and clamber over other people in their vicinity had actually been suppressed quite well, all things taken together. When he was fighting that impulse successfully, though, he got a little troubled squint in one of his little eyes.
  1. NO PETTING.
¡°Hey, you¡¯re ready, right? I have things to do with my girlfriend later,¡± muttered the zsel¨¦tael, sounding a bit like Al. One of his hands pointed at the starting end of the thread of light, located halfway down the hill. ¡°Fine! Yes!¡± Louis stopped glaring Celnnward, and intentionally and not at all involuntarily softened his expression when he lifted an eyebrow at Penowa. ¡°Hold that thought, friend; we¡¯ll go over it in a second. Here¡¯s your helmet.¡± Louis uncompressed his own headgear, then a second bit of cranial armoring which he altered for better comfort in the cases of people with massive protruding ears. He held out the gear, which the mmnmomn? took the equipment. ¡°Why do I need this?¡± The ex-French human put on his helmet, had it unfurl his stopsuit to slip around his body, and tapped the tail end of the ornithopter¡¯s spine where an extra set of harness dangled. ¡°Because I¡¯m not letting you fly without protection.¡± Three minutes later, the long kickstand legs which permitted full preflight strap-in disappeared, and the craft¡¯s monstrous little supplementary engine coughed out a massive spurt from the anterior propeller. The human and his companion sprang into the air. Penowa¡¯s helmet feed was a fit of increasingly regret-laden hyperventilation despite the preparatory warnings, as the duo began a descent less than four meters above the hill¡¯s length. Then, with a series of amplified arm twitches and an angular momentum adjustment, Louis brought them up and coasting through the fork of a massive crystalwillow, on track and moving improbably fast. ¡°So, you were holding onto a thought?¡± said the frontmost of the pair to the lattermost as they cleft the sky. He paused for a second to salute at Celnn when he reached the appropriate moment in his arc. The zsel¨¦tael gave him an approvingly edited snippet, having removed the flyers¡¯ stopsuits and thrown up the words ¡°We Shall Be Home¡± across Louis¡¯s chest. Louis recommended they leave the stopsuits on, both in the edit and in real life. ¡°Oh!¡± squeaked Penowa, a bit nervous and breathless. He regained a bit of his gumption at one point when the first derivative of their altitude gain was positive and the second derivative was negative. Gentle wasn¡¯t quite the right word for it, but as the ornithopter glided it was about as gentle as the experience actually got for even the most heavily-blooded maypoler. ¡°I was going to ask why someone wouldn¡¯t want to us to be here,¡± he got out, staring raptly far below at the swimmer-clogged river. He watched the way some of the Fifth Step residents pointed and looked upward, the way that some of them busied themselves with getting their own footage of the nimble craft overhead. Like usual, the paradox that was Celnn showed a strange and uncanny ability to estimate optimal social exposure opportunity despite his tendency to forget which side of the dinner plate went down, as it were. Pushing that rumination aside, Louis felt lines grow into his face as he digested the question. Just as he had interrogated Sebastio¡¯s motives in the past, he¡¯d also previously opened the caustic bag of offal now opened by Penowa. Seen through an orphan¡¯s eyes, someone comparatively just shy of omnipotent taking offense to his presence¡­ well, it had not been too odd for a boy barely into puberty. But the fuzzy little fellow had learned enough to draw into his compass a certain revolting truth. The people of Yrdky, of Rhaagm, of many places who had essentially solved the gamut of existence¡¯s problems, who could reconcile the coexistence of a perfectly normal uplifted gerbil side-by-side with pure-energy-state creatures - these did not look kindly on outlanders. Tolerated? Yes, especially under moral duress; one of the first things Louis had stuffed into his eidetics after receiving his cerv-mesh was Rhaagm¡¯s Quartering of Aliens ruling. Thinking on the way that people like himself were historically seen made his jaw clamp a bit tighter. A few beads of sweat popped up on his forehead, only tangentially related to exertions. ¡°Well, let¡¯s start a bit further back with me as an example. My brother wanted to see me get essentially the same treatment you¡¯re currently getting: becoming an immigrant. Now, that¡¯s not as simple as just saying to someone, ¡®Hey, my friend here wants to move into our country¡¯ - you need to be one of a couple of things. In your case, you¡¯re an acknowledged asylee, so people put in the work to rescue you from major events you couldn¡¯t directly fight.¡± ¡°Fight?¡± ¡°Your home was about to get a massive Beast visitation, and that¡¯s on the short list of stuff the countries around these parts will unconditionally make an effort to remedy. It makes it kind of awkward for us, actually - we¡¯re trying to rebrand Beasts as just another culture with a bit more danger to them - but when there¡¯s good reason to believe they¡¯re just going to be mindless murder factories, we do what we can to assist. If it were just starvation or your planet exploding, that would have been different.¡± ¡°Different!? They¡¯d just let us all die off? Excuse me, I¡¯m sorry, but we weren¡¯t being threatened by the right kind of danger, so it was obviously our fault.¡± Louis felt the muscles of his temple drawing his jaw violently shut. ¡°People die every day out there, Penowa. You can¡¯t save everyone. Despite how much we¡¯d like to, MOST people lie outside the range of what Pennat Gate or any other estate or collection of estates can sustain.¡± A brief surveying of the area. Louis¡¯s wings waggled. ¡°I apologize. I feel strongly about the subject, as you can probably tell. Anyway, I wasn¡¯t the same sort of rescue. Now, where I lived, I would have been dead inside of a year or two in all likelihood, from something considerably faster than old age. For me, my brother had to navigate a few problems. He¡­¡± How to say it. ¡°Bequastish citizenship was too expensive and a person with an existence-level godlike artifact encouraging a facetary native to complete the brain-bending of Rhaagm¡¯s naturalization process was begging for an auditor or even the Pursuant to use him as a speed bag in the name of keeping the peace and it would have been the height of foolishness going through the normal birthing canal of immigration at all when Niall ¡®the Nightmare Count¡¯ Bennosuke¡¯s ambition had kicked off one of the greatest manhunts of the era.¡± Detailed, yes. Adequately explanative, no. ¡°He managed to pass me through a legal loophole, in a fraction of the time most immigrations take, because he¡¯d never before employed the tactic himself. Sadly¡­ he was looking forward to the next thing to exile, based on how dangerous he¡¯d become, and it was obvious he positively needed to keeping doing the same thing for other people - if only for his own sake. If he wanted to do the same thing for future mes and yous, it would have simply taken too long. So he came and earned himself a nation where he and his people could play by different rules.¡± He coughed. ¡°He isn¡¯t hated - the people he¡¯s helped rescue consider him something like a flawed saint - but neither do people approach him with warm loving devotion.¡± ¡°You mean like how they think of¡­ what is his name? Tomos?¡± ¡°... yes, Tuoamas is the object of much affection for the people around here. There¡¯s a reason the residents of the estate deeply cherish him. He¡¯s a man of conviction, who made their home into something new over the course of his administration, but always keeping their wishes in the fore of his mind.¡± Sebastio had confided to him that there was more to Tuoamas than most people saw, that the man¡¯s weaknesses actually made him far more respectable in his eyes. That wasn¡¯t the sort of thing that one idly divulged to new acquaintances. No matter how adorable they were. The youngster behind him made a curious contortion, possibly some cultural gesture Louis wouldn¡¯t even have recognized if he¡¯d seen it. ¡°Well, that¡¯s useful to know, I guess, but still doesn¡¯t seem to explain why they don¡¯t want us about. Is it just because it¡¯s so hard to normally get¡­ foreigners, like us, meshed into towns and cities and such?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not it either, although successfully placing immigrants wears away at the ¡®way things are,¡¯ and so it¡¯s a sort of threat in its own right. Look at it this way,¡± he told Penowa. ¡°Say there are twenty people in a room, and you¡¯re one of them. Suppose all the others are part of one big family. Would it be fair for you to tell them how they ought to act?¡± ¡°Am I older than these other people you speak of?¡± Louis chuckled as he swerved to keep wide out of the path of an oncoming squawk. Alright, some cultural differences on what qualified one for leadership were still a bit sticky. ¡°Assume that you¡¯re all the same age. All the other people basically think the same way; you¡¯re the only one who thinks as you do.¡± ¡°I suppose it might be wise for me to tell them how to behave, but it wouldn¡¯t be fair.¡± ¡°Then suppose that you brought a hundred members of your family with you - the opposite becomes true. The point is this: if enough people like you, people who come from what we call the gem, got accepted into the fold, representation would take a drastic curve.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Obvious contemplation. Then: ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s why that Oksey-¡± ¡°O¡¯Casey.¡± ¡°-whatever his name is doesn¡¯t want us around?¡± ¡°Yes, but for that¡­ person, things are a bit more complicated. However, that¡¯s not the whole reason either. Even if everyone in a position of authority wanted to welcome as many facetary natives - that¡¯s what they call you, and me, and anyone born elsewhere - as they could find, there are problems of space.¡± Another dip, this one an artful dodge like he was weaving a paper swatch back on top of an opponent trying to do the same to him. A jaunty wave at Al, though both she and Celnn obviously thought it was meant for the simulation. ¡°Hang on, hang on.¡± Penowa wasn¡¯t concerned in the slightest anymore with the discomfort of his tail stuck in a special suit sleeve, or moving improbably fast. He was a bright one, this guy. ¡°You have the ability to just CREATE things out of thought and will, and you¡¯re telling me you can¡¯t find enough room for people to make their nests?¡± A pair of arms gesticulated, throwing off the ornithopter¡¯s center of gravity. ¡°Sorry!¡± ¡°Fine, don¡¯t do it again,¡± grunted Louis as they slewed sideways across a tower with mixed Gothic and Ast decoration. When they were safely clear, and people below weren¡¯t hollering encouragement quite so loudly, he softly exhaled with an invisible grimace. It was amazing how much he and a mmnmomn? had in common, if you counted the questions they asked as ninety percent of the final grade. ¡°Now, if you want to get really specific, Yrdky and Rhaagm can both produce ¡®new space¡¯ in absolutely any sense you care to think about it. The problem is that it gets harder to do that as they add more and more space that needs to relate to that other ¡®new space¡¯ in some way. Also, a lot of what¡¯s going to be made is spoken for long before it¡¯s ever actually available. There are more people coming in from the outside, but since very few people actually stop being alive in Rhaagm, or these parts for that matter, there would still be population growth if not one immigrant more were admitted from today forward. Hold on, we¡¯re going upside-down for a moment.¡± Loop-the-loop, check. ¡°When you¡¯re talking about ¡®me,¡¯ though, it¡¯s not just the physical space that I occupy. We don¡¯t have to worry about land needed for growing food, or most other commodities you¡¯re used to producing or consuming. Instead, there¡¯s about that much in information media specifically allocated for my personal use, or that at least concerns me in an immediate way. That can be shrunk fairly easily, but again, we¡¯re essentially speaking of bonds and¡­¡± Ah, yes. The mmnmomn? might understand how books and such took up physical volume, but they didn¡¯t exactly boast much of a banking system in their primarily agrarian pre-rescue civilization. Also, that tree was coming up rather quickly. ¡°Basically, it comes down to planning how what free space there¡¯s going to be twenty generations from now ought to be used. And there¡¯s not as much of that available as anyone might like.¡± A few more long seconds of silence, save the wind, the tuneless whistle of fabric, and the distant hubbub made by people when they aren¡¯t paying attention to what they¡¯re saying. ¡°Well, I¡¯m happy to be alive and be here, even if it¡¯s not perfect, and I¡¯m not loved by everyone all of the time,¡± said Penowa. He sounded thankful, and it was contagious. {You done real good, son,} said Celnn a minute later, in a rare mode of silliness. {If you want to try some freestyle stuff, it would be neat, but what we already have is spectacular.} {Really? Then let me see what I can do,} Louis replied, strapping on his serious face. ¡°We¡¯re going up,¡± he said, getting a questioning chirrup from his passenger. The ornithopter flipped about, angling back toward Al (and by extension, Celnn). It bore down into a shallow inertia-stealing dive that took both riders from improbably fast to even more improbably fast. Practically before realizing it, they were soon moving at the kind of speed where air friction causes baldness. All of the pilfered momentum got consumed in a joyful fountaining dextral-rotation rise, racing toward the sun¡¯s position appointed three hours in future and leaving stomachs and regrets far behind for a brief spell. As the sharp-winged vessel began a lazy coast back down to the platform¡¯s surface, human and mmnmomn? both took the opportunity to absorb the endless plains of adjacent platforms and iconic mountains in the far reaches of sky. Louis breathed deeply, Penowa only less so because of the extrema of his lung design. A zsel¨¦tael voiced praises in Louis¡¯s brain, which were accepted and formally reciprocated after the stoic Yrdkish fashion. ¡°Hey,¡± said the voice whose owner was just behind Louis¡¯s feet, as they spiraled in a vulture¡¯s ring. ¡°Hey, I think I recognize that person. The long haired one, over by the big tower thing - do you know who she is?¡± The big tower thing thus named was one of the platform¡¯s weapons clusters. It housed a wide array of offensive tools. They ranged from as primitive as long black powder swivel guns to field-violate arms like Saint Peters, which would be deemed legal for use in Yrdkish war games SOMEWHERE in the territory maybe once or twice in an average natural human lifespan. Given the strategic military ramp-up hovering over the estate in the wake of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s not-too-subtle threats, weapons clusters were being run through their paces on a semi-regular basis. Today, the installation in question was also the subject of the scrutiny of a Lawmaster¡¯s appraiser, wearing the device of an independent goldspire. When you were an appraiser, you got the special kind of dirty looks reserved for a person whose greatest joy in life consisted of telling someone that no, they couldn¡¯t use their guns for the upcoming argument because they exceeded light cone range or had too potent a yield or were in some way just plain wrong. Louis felt his hackles rise when he saw that the person who was getting the dirty looks this time had enlisted the guidance of none other than Heggad bet Lesredat bet Niner bettin Heggad the Grand. Now, there was a man who couldn¡¯t win for losing today, on any level. That small gaggle of people of which he was a part, standing around and examining the emplacement, also featured a lithe autumn elf. Her face, to which Penowa obviously referred, wasn¡¯t exactly one he could forget. He¡¯d had a bit of a talk with the powers-that-be about Leanshe; the fact that she¡¯d been both co-opted and forthcoming about the fact. It had been made very clear that he and the others in the know needed to keep that upended allegiance secret. If she¡¯d gone and admitted breeze about her back-alley dealings (willing or otherwise), it suggested that she didn¡¯t want Nor¡¯ridge to know of her admission. Explicit confession that she might be framed for a big brother attack gave that a lot of weight; you didn¡¯t joke around about crimes that serious. Alternatively, Nor¡¯ridge might have counterintuitive cause to seed that information, whether true or false. Of course, that game of double-guessing was a rabbit hole that might never end. The consensus, after some dialogue, was that leaving her alone for the time being would serve the establishment¡¯s purposes. There was little enough doubt that she would serve the ends of Nor¡¯ridge, unless she was spinning a lie of frankly pointless proportion. As Louis had heard it said often, though, she was too stupid to be stupid enough that she¡¯d embark on a path that convoluted and pleated with failure. Keeping her in the public eye left a dangling reference that might serve her own estate just as well. Her getting grabbed by her new handlers, or Pennat Gate doing the grabbing itself, could be pointed enough stabs at sending or receiving declarations of¡­ something. For the time being, though, Leanshe needed to stay where she was. It was simply good manners in the game of long knives to avoid making eye contact with other pieces until they were being moved. ¡°That¡¯s a person with whom neither of us is going to try to converse. Now, that all-white fellow with the big ears and the long clothing¡­¡± ¡°You all put long clothing on, though!¡± ¡°I mean the one with the- nevermind. Just hang back for a minute, this might get¡­ ugly. Don¡¯t say anything, please.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± replied Penowa, in a voice still freighted with reservations. {Celnn, we might be out of the loop for a bit,} he sent to his friend. {Need to talk with someone.} {Sure thing. I will still grab your descent, if you do not mind.} Taking a circuitous route of dips and rises, the ornithopter swooped down to the edge of the large steel and osmium plate upon which the weapons cluster¡¯s tower stood. Louis gave Penowa a moment¡¯s notice, and then the passenger¡¯s harness disengaged before he dropped about two meters. Such a small fall wasn¡¯t even enough to trigger the stopsuit¡¯s protective measures, but the mmnmomn? managed to stick the landing in any case. Louis pulled up one last time, sent the pack-it-in command to his faithful steed, and the ornithopter snapped into itself. Things went inside other things, the other things shrank, and the shrunken other things relocated themselves for optimal reduction of volume. Before he even started falling again, the craft fled to his personal storage. Two seconds and a parabolic six meters later, he skidded to a stop. A soundless flapping of material, and his stopsuit pulled up into itself. The helmet went the way of the ornithopter. He looked back once, signalled to his fluffy friend to stay put, and got confirmation. Fortunately, he didn¡¯t have to try and deliberately divert his attention from Leanshe. She hovered off on the edge of the metal plate, measuring the engine workings which would lift the installation a considerable distance off the platform¡¯s surface with one of the appraiser¡¯s helpers. They threw banter back and forth, with the autumn elf¡¯s aura indicating a glib focus. Louis set his cerv-mesh to start recording their dialogue in case they said something of import. However, he focused on the naufer who was pointing out the quadratic accelerator bores poking out of the tower¡¯s front end. Ever since he¡¯d learned of Heggad¡¯s little ¡°incident,¡± the youngest Artaxerxes had gone out of his way to avoid the naufer. If there had been a maypoling matchup between then and now, things would have gone to pegs really quickly. It probably would have caused Louis to try and essentially garrote his teammate. The fact that Heggad hadn¡¯t come out and publicly apologized since the Lordsmoot for what was not only terribly impolitic, but also a mockery of good sportsmanship, shouted volumes. Would they both come away from this without needing to regrow limbs? Doubtful. Heggad was busy speaking to the karkshesh appraiser, and so didn¡¯t acknowledge Louis as he approached. That honor fell to a nearly morbidly-thin executioner, wearing a sort of cowl and coat affair. Signs pointed to the man being a sage of some kind, probably a consultant for analyzing any of the estate¡¯s mystic or ritual arms. His low mumbled chanting reinforced the impression. ¡°Greetings,¡± intoned the executioner across his own voice, without breaking mantra for even a heartbeat. It was an accented Yrdkish that bespoke a manually-learned understanding of the tongue. Assuming he hadn¡¯t gotten larynx grafts or the like, it was a neat little trick. ¡°Hello,¡± said Louis to the side of Heggad¡¯s head. Heggad, like many other creatures of extrafacetary means, had a fairly extensive toolbox as far as data-foraging whenever he felt inclined to use it. Even without possession of any thaumaturgical skill, or utilities for snatching content from the Monolith or other networks in his vicinity, though, Louis Artaxerxes was an unsubtle creature when in motion. It came from the recurve posture of his back, the noise of his joints¡¯ wide arcs and the careless way he went about his business: don¡¯t try to cause a fuss, but if it happens then so be it (much like someone ELSE whose concerns were less with complaints and more with legacy). Of course, Louis had been etched against the sky for long enough to draw a crowd, so drawing attention was basically a given. After a quick double-blink, Heggad cut off his rambling dissertation on the chthonic magicannon supplementing the more traditional quadratic accelerator lineup. The hand he¡¯d been using to illustrate paused. It fell to his side, and digits began tapping from one end to the other. Thumb, finger, finger, finger, finger, thumb, finger, finger. ¡°Hello,¡± replied the albino naufer. His ears twitched, but his nose didn¡¯t as much as budge. Short of actually spitting out the words ¡°I want you to leave as of ten minutes before you arrived¡± he couldn¡¯t make his desire to have Louis go away any clearer. They both paused for but an instant as a messed-up-sounding throat intoned ¡°Hello!¡± from just off to the side of the plate. A mutual quirk of attention showed the both of them a prickle-backed morphite who had wandered along. Ever since the Lordsmoot, escorts courtesy of the Pastoral Division had become a great deal more sparse and a great deal less uptight. In this case, the Beast had a single hudenot Sledgecraft Guild caretaker. The woman was almost twice as long as Celnn from end to end, and she had a proportionate number of weapons. If trouble started, she¡¯d introduce trouble to the posterior end of an n-minus-one collapse and put trouble in the morgue¡¯s spatial reconstruction department. That still didn¡¯t make the prospect of standing close to a Beast a comfortable one, though. No matter that they all happened to be creatures of placid nature, no matter that they all shared an almost childlike eagerness to learn and interact with the world. If anything, there were moments that the relatability of the creatures in itself still caused a shiver up the spine. ¡°I have not seen much of you recently, bet Lesredat,¡± Louis said, wiry arms folding over his vest. It came out in a tone that could have been mistaken for civil or even pleasantly surprised. However, the fact that he was interrupting official Lawmaster business was the sort of rudeness which would only be forgiven if it served a very specific point, no matter where it happened to take place. The failure to provide his teammate¡¯s personal name as the preferred form of address left no ambiguity as to what he actually felt in his breast. ¡°For good reason,¡± replied Heggad. His snout dipped toward Louis, figure-eight pupils rising to near the upper lids as he finally secured eye contact. ¡°We need to show appraiser Yuthsel that we have no self-reassembling equipment, go over ammunition production line specifications, and provide bills of model lading. Do you know how many times we have switched out the designs of weapons on even these minor installations in the last two years?¡± A meaningful gesture at the structure. It caught the notice of several others in the group, a couple of whom stopped in their assembly of diagnostics and procurement of logfiles and discussions with the digital personality weapons director. One of them noticed Louis, unconsciously waved a few tentacles, and got back to looking over the inscription of the several glyph foci drawn on one side of the tower for repulsing more orthodox magic. Both the executioner¡¯s horns and his hood swung about at a bit of an angle as he glanced at the structure as well, still chanting. The appraiser¡¯s gaze aimed toward Louis, and she did NOT appear happy. ¡°And you have been hanging out here for the last two hands? Quite a while to inspect some artillery,¡± Louis almost spat. One cheek pinched. ¡°If you are here to contribute, then we welcome your input,¡± said the karkshesh, obviously upset at the disruption of the expected order of events. ¡°Otherwise, we must continue with our assessment if we hope to meet scheduled milestones.¡± Heggad¡¯s teeth showed for a moment, jowls clenching. ¡°If you think I am proud of what I have done, then you are grievously mistaken,¡± he bit out of his air supply. ¡°However, my past obligations are no less binding than those of my present. When two conflicting callings vy for my favor, the eldest must have precedence. Do you deny the validity of such training weights? Are my valuations in error when I place my ancestor¡¯s wishes above those more distantly held?¡± The appraiser¡¯s body language changed. Familiarity with karkshes being minimal for Louis, it could have meant a hundred different things, but based on context it was probably discomfort. What Heggad was barely trying to dismiss wasn¡¯t even close to treason, though in principle cheating in a competitive setting in Yrdky made enemies like little else. Of course, everyone - everyone - had heard Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s flimsy accusations of the duplicity in Pennat Gate¡¯s maypoling-related current events. Flimsy accusations didn¡¯t mean worthless accusations. ¡°Procrastination shall not serve the interests of this estate or the interests of anyone else,¡± the appraiser said. A certain warning lived in that voice, the warning of displeasing the Lawmasters¡¯ clique. Louis up-signed. ¡°Indeed not,¡± he said with no small amount of venom. ¡°So I will only reply that kicking up the coals may be a necessary response when honor lies on the line, but more than sufficient to earn the enmity of one¡¯s peers. Particularly when the thing those coals will serve to set afire is the only thing some of those peers see as a light in the darkness.¡± His stare at the naufer who he¡¯d supported, and who¡¯d supported him, for more close games than he could bear to recall was a little bit fiery. Far moreso, though, was it a thing of deep-space cold. Animal brains tend to pay attention to very different graphemes than those symbolic assessors which usually differ the feral from the sapient. One instance of things more easily noticed by the pattern recognition of survival rather than civility is an unanticipated noise. Another trigger, far less frequent, is an unanticipated silence. That trigger tickled Louis¡¯s hindmost thoughts below the skin of consciousness, moments before an observation flickered as a reference to the unsorted feeling. Huh; that sage stopped chanting. For but a moment, perhaps. Then a fast low voice picked up like an ash-laden wind; a fast low voice speaking Rhaagmini. ¡°Something Into Most! Something Into Most! Something Into Most! Something Into Most!¡± A startled look to the left showed the man much closer than expected, and Louis suddenly remembered the afternoon Sebastio had brought him from a little Bequast cabin into that Rhaagm tavern called the Hammer and Scapula. At the time, of course, he hadn¡¯t the slightest idea as to who such illustrious figures as the Jon or the Pursuant could be, or the fact that if the former had commanded it, the latter would have taken him into custody in the Tower of Rhaagm. However, he¡¯d felt his flesh nearly liquefy the first time he met the pure-black gaze of Sun-Beneath-Skin. Spending a little time in her company taught him that being a toothy horned three-meter monster covered in short soft quills didn¡¯t prevent one from being a sweet and caring person. Two polished onyx spheres the size of his fist, watching him with a starving avarice, brought back that first panicked moment of beholding his first executioner. He wondered if the sensation was analogous to what Heggad had just felt on the receiving end of Louis¡¯s own stare, and doubted it. ¡°We must have the son of the Maker!¡± the man half-sang, half-moaned, just as every perceptive organ turned his direction. He swayed a bit, and as his robe flapped open Louis saw a little necklace swing into view for the tiniest instant: a talisman that he recognized. Another Sifter? Oh. He must be talking about Caladhbolg. Oh. I¡­ guess I¡¯d make an attractive hostage for negotiating- Thoughts flickered and died as the executioner then folded behind him. In the corner of an eye, he saw the executioner pulled from the depths of his garments a small device Louis recognized as an axon stripper, just before the human tripped his overclocking. Paradoxically, the sight brought the human a tiny measure of relief. So many things he¡¯d had to learn and pick up in the years since his being brought to Yrdky. So many points of uncertainty he¡¯d had to confront after getting dumped into a place that was only foreign in the sense that the ocean was damp. Yet, if you saw someone holding an axon stripper, it told you one of two things: you had an appointment with a doctor, or you were about to get kidnapped. As the executioner brought the tendril-sprouting end of the device down on Louis¡¯s cerv-mesh, the shorter of the two figures folded himself away. He earned several milliseconds of respite, but having only moved across to the other side of the river he still lay well within sight of his assailant. The executioner shortly resumed his position of relative superiority, axon stripper now close enough to almost interface with the cerv-mesh¡¯s external-facing port. Louis folded back onto the metal surface, and found himself followed immediately by the executioner. Following the intrusion of certain less-than-friendly people into the hallowed ground of his home in an attempt to kill his adoptive family, Louis had gone and gotten some adjustments to his body. In Rhaagm, that sort of thing had been out for several million years, not seen particularly often except where necessary for one¡¯s occupation or sustainment of life, or on people who really didn¡¯t care about what was kosher and what was not. Specifically, he¡¯d installed a thumb blade, with some very nasty modules built in for good measure. A single direction from his cerv-mesh, and a nine centimeter edge sprouted from the pad of his digit, made of scrimthus and therefore practically weightless. The keen side of it hummed with a destabilizer construct. His new vantage giving him an emaciated instant to twist and meet the opposition, Louis whirled. Everything moved more slowly to his augmented mind, but that everything included himself. On balance, with his opponent showing signs of similar overclocking quality, the whole affair simply lasted longer. A sideways weave put him just on the inside of the huge man¡¯s first swipe, and the human¡¯s reciprocation proved somewhat more successful. He was screaming and screaming and a thin squirt of executioner blood made some of the Sifter¡¯s quills harden and screaming and another swipe with that terrible thing and a slash crossed that big black dog-sheep nose. Then the executioner folded again, leaving a few drops of blood dangling before gravity took them, and reappeared just behind his intended target. ¡°Some help would be just wonderful!¡± the victim would have shouted, had there been time. Instead, the aforementioned help came from the Sledgecrafter without need for auditory warning. She fell upon the executioner. With strength one wouldn¡¯t expect at first glance from a noodly bunch of muscle fibers wrapped around gristle, she wrenched back on the executioner¡¯s shoulders. One of them responded with a prolonged muddy squish that was the organic match to a luxury disk making a slowly rising whine. The other received the ministrations of a flat bomb, and it and everything down to the wrist abruptly discovered the joys of translating particulate matter to dimensions utterly invisible from the wrong angle. The maiming released the axon stripper from its wielder¡¯s grasp. The tool had gotten an official divorce from its first marriage with part of a thinking creature, but only very shortly after it extended its thin arms and began carrying on an actively powered affair with Louis¡¯s hardware. ¡°Indescribable¡± is an inherently oxymoronic term; ¡°nearly indescribable¡± is nearly so. In that spirit, the pain which the human recipient of an axon stripper¡¯s kindnesses felt was nearly oxymoronic. A tool which excises the supporting network for a cerv-mesh¡¯s integration must necessarily baffle any pain dampener circuits wired into the same. More importantly, of course, a cerv-mesh occupies a small portion of the anatomy in isolation, but relies on idempotent matter conversion of much of the bearer¡¯s nervous tissue to construct the physical medium for everything from sensory hook-ins to diagnostics. Academically speaking, a doctor or psychiatrist could identify more theoretically painful ways to do a person harm than turning their own nerves into the source of supremely intense stimuli as their essential composition got remade without the anesthetic of the typical cerv-mesh operation. Louis Artaxerxes was no medical specialist. He could offer laments aplenty at a later time, though, recounting how the tribulation never caused unconsciousness, how his body was a massive temple and the single ceaseless instant of pain knocked out its supports and destroyed it, while crushing everything within beyond any hope of short-term reconstruction or salvage. A few seconds later, more completely numb than he¡¯d ever been in his young life, he lay upon the metal ground with a bloodied nose. ¡°Our Father in heaven,¡± he softly gasped when breath returned, lacking even the strength to wick the taste of red from his lips. A shaky moment or two saw him slowly regain more awareness of his broader context. Shouting, lots of movement, and the unmistakable shivery slithers of a hudenot. The full terror of how close he¡¯d come to something very bad indeed only sank in as he reflexively grasped for utilities now purged with his mesh. It had an effect second cousin to being struck with sievemind or alzheimer¡¯s. No augmentations of senses, no macrocosmic communications. If he¡¯d needed a skein to survive, and it had occupied a mount point of his local logic faculties, the incident would have interrupted him. Not the ¡°we could debate the issue of clones and identity and linkage for quite some time¡± sense of interruption, the ¡°when we cough up this new body, it will walk and talk and think like you but have a status similar to a fraternal twin¡± sense of interruption. He rose with some trepidation, taking in the scene. Yes, plenty of shouting. The fact that the sage was nowhere to be found, obviously escaped from the scene of the crime, put him somewhere between relief and an inconsolable scarlet-drowned fury. The compromise was a hefty smoky sigh. ¡°Here,¡± said the Sledgecrafter, rippling her way over and presenting a loop of thulite and silvery elastic to the downed civilian. He ground his teeth, managed to pull himself upright, and pushed two fingers through the collar¡¯s gap. He didn¡¯t actually don the temporary mesh just yet. ¡°Thank you,¡± he replied, and his throat felt like he¡¯d suffocated. ¡°I will provide you with compensation; contact me at-¡± ¡°No, there is no need, Mr. Artaxerxes,¡± replied the Sledgecrafter. She diverted several eyeclusters to a place just behind where he¡¯d been laid flat. A large section of compacted organic matter, once part of an executioner, lay so flush on the ground that retrieving it by hand would have been a challenge. ¡°The fact of your survival is more than adequate compensation.¡± ¡°I hope that you are well,¡± burbled the nearby morphite, proboscis inclined in something that almost could be interpreted as sorrow. ¡°Thank you,¡± he repeated with dusty diction, not knowing what else to say. At the rapid approach of a white shape, he arranged his features into perfect nonexpression. Concentrating on that little miracle took enough of his focus that he didn¡¯t have to worry about reflexively attempting to invoke a curse on Heggad and his progeny to the hundred and twenty first generation. ¡°Louis!¡± the naufer almost gasped, skidding to a halt early enough to avoid triggering defense instincts in the hudenot. ¡°Are you alright?¡± ¡°You!¡± came a deep serpentine hiss that surely didn¡¯t belong to the French-born resident, a beweaponed thumb extended. ¡°I-¡± ¡°YOU!¡± ¡°Listen,¡± Heggad said, eyes massive against his milky coloration, ¡°I had nothing to do with this! Nobody I¡­ with whom I am associated had any role in this dishonor!¡± ¡°If you come any closer I promise you that dishonor will take a very distant second place in your immediately pressing worries!¡± ¡°I-¡± ¡°TRY ME, JACKAL!¡± shrieked the young man, half-mad in the throes of his sudden Monolith deafness and brandishing the extension of his digit. The epithet sent Heggad¡¯s ears as far back as they would go, and some tiny part of Louis curled up inside and died. A much larger part struggled to keep his ensuing monologue monotone, and also keep him from shivving the naufer. ¡°Should we meet again, you will have a chance to prove your goodness of heart. Until then, only one thing matters: stay out of the way of our people and our mission.¡± Without another word, he picked up the tattered garments of his esteem - for himself, for the world - and spun about, rolling an ankle and not caring for more than a third of a second. With some difficulty, the thumb blade¡¯s protrusion became manually convinced to return to his bone structure until next required. Somehow, he managed to not cry. He nearly settled his gaze on Leanshe¡¯s flickering pastel apprehension aura as he turned past the sight of her silently watching him in her turn, but somehow turned it into an appreciative up-sign to the hudenot Sledgecrafter which wasn¡¯t reciprocated, and crossed the distance to Penowa. Sunlight and verdant lawn and the longsuffering laughter of riverbends almost comprised an affront to his survival of the whole ordeal. At the mmnmomn?¡¯s genuine and unmistakable worry, despite (or maybe because of) his breaking-point tension, he couldn¡¯t help but give a heaving wheeze that would normally have been a gut jiggling laugh. ¡°You¡¯re so good at-¡± He stopped before he said ¡°listening to stupid orders,¡± realizing he was speaking Rhaagmini. He put the temporary mesh against his skin, and it began talking with his nervous system on a part-per-hundred efficiency. Eventually, it got around to telling his brain¡¯s major speech centers and those portions which told linguistics-necessary muscles how to cooperate and make his stupid tongue make stupid words. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing someone decided these were worth the blueprints,¡± the wobbly-legged human stated, fastening the collar around his throat, ¡°because I frankly suck at¡­¡± He waved a hand, and took half a step farther to the side than he¡¯d intended. ¡°Well, a great number of things right now, but mmnmomn?-ish among them.¡± A tiny kindling of his anger once more, but it drowned under the depth of his fatigue. ¡°Are you going to be okay?¡± came out in a tiny voice. ¡°Can I do anything?¡± ¡°Not right now, no,¡± said the young man, his head twitching to glance at the gradually expanding scene of controlled madness behind them. Assistants fretting, appraiser getting up in Heggad¡¯s face, a very confused Beast off by the sidelines, bystanders checking out the growing spectacle and not a few trying to catch a good sensory of himself, the Sledgecrafter obviously in communion with the guild. Leanshe Etruphana wore a dull face not terribly different from that day when his brother had torn off her skin and put her penance on public display. Yeah, ¡°okay¡± would be stepping out for a while. ¡°You know what?¡± he said to Penowa, as he and the short fluffy guy trudged along back up the hill toward a Celnn in the process of slithering descent and an Al skip-hopping behind him. ¡°You¡¯re staying at my place tonight. At this rate, if I tried to take you back home, one or both of us would get plugged with a ripmapper before we got halfway.¡± He wouldn¡¯t see the sensory capturing the whole confrontation produced by Celnn P¡¯mulkes that billions of others saw within literal minutes of the incident, left completely unedited save censoring his use of racial slur and all the more dramatic for it, until early the following day. When he did, the youngest Artaxerxes came to realize he had a very profitable career as an agency-less pedestal ahead of him. Intermission If one¡¯s occupation leeches traits from the people one meets as part of their duties, then the Herald of the Olds had an occupation which came very close to ¡°complex beyond adequate comparison¡± despite his duties being fully encompassed by two words: passing messages. It was, in fact, the sort of thought which never entered the Herald¡¯s mind. That was for a grand number of reasons, and none of those ever entered the Herald¡¯s mind either. In his role as a finder of people, he was compelled to enter the Purple at this juncture of agency and opportunity. In a ziggurat atop a temporal and liquid hill, lit by a temporal and liquid light, an accordion of colorless woven fabric came pouring into existence from leftward of up. The fabric piled onto itself, layering curls and twists around a center of gravity which made even less apparent sense than the normal quirks of the Purple. Following a short thrashing almost-folding, part of the material turned right-side-out and exposed an array of brushes used as fasteners in place of buttons. Above and beside the brushes, a painter¡¯s palette lay fastened to the Mortal Canvas. It had no paint upon it for the time, but that would change soon enough. After the fashion of a turtle, two hands, two feet, and a mulleted head poked out of the tangled mass. They were extremities that had no skin as much as they had tattoos of words done in every conceivable color of ink. Upon his upper lip was the word ¡°listen¡± written over itself an infinite number of times, and on his lower was the word ¡°speak.¡± Among the very few mysteries of the Olds that were still debated among their own numbered the question of whether the Herald¡¯s eyes also featured needless writing, since his eyelids were perpetually closed. The Herald¡¯s attention moved to the sole resident of the prison. Ms. Nightjar. Mother of new souls, desecrator of Old. Guilty of misdemeanors numbering greater-than-ordinal, guilty of but one true crime. She had been bound to the chair she carried as part of her legacy, sentenced to a powerless existence, and then abandoned in the Purple within a prison crafted for her use. Its greatest curiosity as a punishment was the merchant who peddled it to its unwilling buyer. Well. If one were so foolish as to gravely slander the Being of Old known as the Oiler, to aggrieve the caretaker of that article known as the Device, to elope with his property and spit in his eye, then permanent exile was a reasonably lenient outcome for any who fell back into his power. Being voluntarily immortal just made the whole affair more interesting. The Herald felt neither satisfaction nor sympathy for the woman. Neither was his job. Surmise the wretched and abandon picaresque indulgence and endure the education and eat your eggs, he wrote on one sleeve with his paintbrush. He signed the sentiment with the Maker¡¯s sigil - in this case, something quite specifically requested by his contractor - then soundlessly tore the statement free. ¡°Make sure she remembers who gives her his most evil love,¡± the Maker had said, stroking that feline artifice upon his lap. ¡°I most assuredly won¡¯t forget any time soon¡­ and nor will any other who once called Yawning Kris ¡®friend¡¯.¡± The words flapped on the shred of the Mortal Canvas, birds waiting for flight from the prison of their ink and mind. Even as the sleeve¡¯s material grew back outward like a pathogen defending against hostile inroads in biological territory, he flipped the message out of his hand. A sourceless wind picked up the message, carrying the medium in whirling short loops. It stretched out on an invisible rack before the tormented creature, and spoke its silent damnation to her. The woman began to uselessly buck and writhe, knocking over her chair, knocking it back onto its feet, and generally doing her best to escape the confines of the huge hollow unwalled structure. Her efforts proved very impressive, but her chair¡¯s bloodstained legs had been lashed to a ring bolt at the ziggurat¡¯s center. A ring bolt constructed of a bone fragment taken from her own living skull. And besides, her chains were creations of the spirit even more than physical obstructions. The woman made a single noise the whole time, at the very instant that she¡¯d osmosed the material. It wasn¡¯t a noise of rage, or bereavement, or denial. It was simply a noise, commuted to the Herald¡¯s senses through the ether that the place had instead of air. No meaning besides that which any thinking system stitches into the fact of its existence. She watched from her prison, as the fleshy vessels of Purple-stuff which bunched up and vanished and stuttered into and out of existence at nondeterministic intervals. She watched those bits of the violently active stagnant land she now occupied, meters or parsecs away mattering not at all. When she slammed her wrinkled forehead into the ziggurat¡¯s floor, the building shook. Had it been a normal building, the ziggurat surely would have crumbled or experienced structural failure, be it only two kilometers tall or as much as two million. But the Device had commissioned its creation, and it was no delicate tulip to be harmed by an Old¡¯s desires. The Herald didn¡¯t bother with his customary offer to supply the sender with a reply from the receiver. Ms. Nightjar had herself a special kind of liberating entrapment: anything and everything which might interact with her operated on a purely one-way basis: inward. Exceptions were allowed only in the forms of any Beasts or other Purple residents who might clap eyes on her in person. Even the Beasts who did so noted only two things: her confined nature, and the alien absolute which was her jail. Perhaps it was a measure of kindness that she could watch the antlike toil of her conscious and perfectly obedient children from so far distant, every moment for as long as long could be. Perhaps it exceeded the cruelty of the harshest purgatory¡¯s demands.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. In neither case did the Herald have reason to remain. Unlike Ms. Nightjar, he could leave at any time he so desired. She would not leave, buried alive in air and spirit and nothing. A rustling sound familiar to any person walking while wearing denim pants warned of his departure. The Mortal Canvas seemed to consume him, and uncoiled, going rightward of up. Zero seconds later, he manifested again, hovering in the not-air above or below or beside a massive ropy pylon of what a person might call ¡°land¡± if given overweening artistic license. Some four thousand small buildings clustered over the thick tendon of that stuff which made up most of the physical-analogue material of the Purple. They crawled around the curve¡¯s top and sides in a fashion which may have been impossible in continuous differentiable gravity, rather than just very inconvenient (the Being of Old didn¡¯t really think much on the specifics of existence¡¯s constraints, tending to simply ignore them in most cases). They teetered off to what the Herald decided should be called the underside from his vantage. They tipped in ways no sane building code would have even acknowledged as constituting a standing structure, let alone allowed to pass inspection. The Old moved himself adjacent to the tallest of these structures, and gazed at the streetlike lanes, idly curious. Esmrald Qlikiss reclined against a small stone wall near the center of the small village. The stones in question, like every other bunch of nearby stones put to such constructive use, adhered to one another when they lay adjacent, without regard to angle of incidence, load-bearing tolerances, or piddling things like binding materials. Taken from a distance, it made every one of the dark stone creations look a bit like an inuksuk which had been augmented to absurdity over multiple generations of builders. The tiny gaunt figure of the woman below, surrounded by a small legion of creatures of graceless shapes and nimble motions, wasn¡¯t the most foreign thing one could imaginably find in the country of her new home. On the other hand, even fundamentally formless creatures like aarls had a terrible time of it when thrown into the glacially rapid gnashing of that-place-betwixt-facets. Esmrald¡¯s changed person represented an astonishingly stable outlier, compared to how other beings tended to weather the climate of the place. It was a land where ideas retained their wholeness, but implementations inevitably and eventually became habitually fickle in character. Indeed, when you looked upon Esmrald Qlikiss, her humanness didn¡¯t require a defense in depth or some kind of justification. Rather, her pale snarled skin, covered in the tatters of Rhaagm clothing which could no longer self-repair in the Purple¡¯s unloyal natural law, formed an expressed crease in the world. She wasn¡¯t a shape of meat and pattern crisply encased by and encasing something one could call a self, not now after this place had swaged her and molded her by so many tiny degrees. Instead, she was a human whose invariables seamlessly rose up from a larger surface; she was a section of an infinite plane of paper, cleverly folded outward in origami that yielded the structure of cooperating bone and tissue and hair. If you looked at the border of her profile, you¡¯d see the Purple between the last atom of her and the first atom of the world. Even returning to Rhaagm, she¡¯d be forever marked, sharp lines warping the soft curves of flesh. What was it that his colleague Saint had said? Ah, yes; ¡°Hell is a place just like home, where tomorrow one plus one will be three.¡± He always had a funny way about him, Saint. ¡°No,¡± explained the person who¡¯d facilitated most grievous war crimes, quite carefully, to one of those Beasts that some ironic soul had named a ¡°happy.¡± She was obviously in the middle of the rapture of pedagogical ecstasy as she sought an object for her current object lesson. Eventually, she hit upon one. ¡°Do you see that tree of flesh over there?¡± They all turned. They all saw. The Herald gave his attention to the sprawling nodular growth between two buildings, budding arms and dead server hardware and feathers and cartilage and the failed refutations of living proofs. As he watched, a few fingers and strips of dry leather extruded themselves from the leidbaum. ¡°Yes,¡± said nearly every Beast simultaneously. ¡°When you consider how it¡¯s put together, do you recognize how one portion¡¯s rooted?¡± she asked. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Do you see how there¡¯s a portion farthest from that point of rooting?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°For me, ¡®up¡¯ generally is the direction from my feet to my head. For that tree, ¡®up¡¯ is the direction from the root to the farthest point from the root. It is relative. But what if there was a single ¡®up¡¯ that we all agreed to call ¡®North,¡¯ because it orients to some outside thing?¡± The idea was so foreign that her students had been rendered dumb for several beats of the woman¡¯s square-edged heart. ¡°What thing might this be?¡± asked one of the happies, its massive teeth grating across each other, pestles without mortars. Esmrald gazed around, looking for something, anything. That, far more than Ms. Nightjar¡¯s existence of privation, nearly begged the Herald to feel something for her plight: the knowledge of how very little the human could count upon as certain. The fact that the little town of Shine Backward her ¡°pupils¡± had built might be utterly gone very soon. Thanks to the Herald¡¯s correspondence with¡­ other parties, who even now observed her (and himself as he watched her), he knew the woman had experienced that bereavement on multiple occasions. One moment she sat in the midst of a primitive culture she herself had helped bring to a flourishing health; the next, the Purple collapsed against the town and moved much or even all of it elsewhere. Four times thus far, it had removed every remnant of the place except herself, leaving Esmrald to reach out and gather together thinking Beasts and teach them the art of being taught. The Herald had seen many far more painful vistas on his journeying. But even so, the woman striving to find but one constant in the Purple¡¯s madhouse gave him pause. At least in the vacuum of intergalactic space, even when you were completely blind, you had yourself to serve as some value of ¡°constant,¡± no matter how technical or misguided the distinction. ¡°Never mind!¡± said the woman. ¡°It was just a thought.¡± She continued conveying concepts of the abstract to a collection of sophomores, of tabula rasa standing stones, as the Herald decided to remain here, with a relatively normal woman instead of one of the most powerful creatures to exist. It was the most monotonous revolution he had ever witnessed. Darkest Orange ¡°Marry me to an Yrdkish Lady. / Marry me to an udod aodod. / Marry me to that one called Adz. / Because an editor is what I need.¡± -Shear Boot, When All Else Fails, An Album of Our Crying Simulations ¡°ABSOLUTELY NOT.¡± The Ptilit chamber, named after the head of state who¡¯d seen fit to erect it, was essentially a mezzanine with a tuning field barrier preventing tumbles and a woodglass aesthetic. Less a chamber in architecturally accurate terms, than a chamber of spirit. If the throne room of the Pennat Gate citadel was an apse, the forty-meter-square region was the half-dome at its roof. It had the bare minimum of necessary features for its occupants: a semicircular table twenty meters across, appropriate seating, and all the communication peripherals one could possibly desire. The four-kilometer separation between it and the opal throne below their transparent floor helped to proactively reshape the pressure of Very Important Meetings. When someone proved susceptible to the sensation of the walls (or railings) closing in, realizing that the distance from them to the nearest same-altitude barrier was less than half of one percent of the distance to the farthest surface visible downward of the altitudinous room encouraged people to get over and done with meetings. The fact that the ploy had seen much use over the ages gave most visitors an inculcation against it. Around the table¡¯s perimeter ran a fine list of important names. Countess Delied Abiniba, present head of the martial nobility of ?lthlant, a scarred and fearsome woman whose tactics had lost a hundred conflicts and won four hundred more, and whose hand lay heavy upon the tabletop. That hand nearly smoked; her eyes actually did thanks to her mastery of numerous thaumaturgical taxa, as she stared across the curving expanse at the speaker. She¡¯d courteously interrupted only after he¡¯d gotten to enfleshing his main points. Baron Vocrrrekre Evrokcrrer, the entity who had long ago begun life as a ragathencider and since gone through so many conjugations it now was, in the words of a great man, ¡°all things to all people.¡± Its thaumaturgic exoskeleton clicked and husked as spelled balsa sheaves slipped past each other in tiny increments. It had been readying a series of statements and factual observations. It obviously hadn¡¯t really wanted anyone butting in. Lord Naomi Galt, nominally representing a third of the reason of the present meeting¡¯s timing. Three such meetings over the month since their respective clans had joined in a harmonious torpor. In actuality, the compact they had embraced was closer to two political entities becoming engaged than a simple diplomatic collaboration. Like the enterprise of human marriage, as it was known throughout much of Rhaagm (and Yrdky to a lesser extent), their bond would not be easily broken, and that would substantially better all involved parties. Also like marriage, the odds of it coming off without any hiccups were slim to none. Gorar, elected to voice (or not) both the concerns of those misfit Fountainists who had essentially become unofficial residents of the meeting¡¯s hosting party and the Beastly official residents who had been excluded from the proceedings at the request of¡­ several people, as well as the Pastoral Division watching out for the same. Thus far, she wasn¡¯t saying much, and she also clearly recognized the way her typical way of speaking might raise a lip or two, so her contributions would likely be both pungent and pointed. She had that streak of occasional ingenious gnoll cunning in evidence, as she waited to see when she ought to leap into the fray and start pulling out the intestines of good manners. Alex Harding, a man with frighteningly massive ears and head of the ?lthlant Sledgecraft Guild, had promptly shut up at his countrywoman¡¯s input. His long head tipped a bit at the Countess, his ears giving the impression that he would start rocking his neck back and forth and fly over the table to converse with her more quietly. His outstretched elbow no longer looked comfortably placed to maintain a brace against the table. Tuoamas Pennat formed another third of the meeting¡¯s justification. Baron Bobbu Keppelering, an uplifted and oversized pterodactyl of lambent pedigree, envoy of Nor¡¯ridge, managed to faintly smirk despite a beak with exactly one point of articulation. He was the third of the moving forces behind the gathering. Sebastio Artaxerxes watched that scaly bird with a neutral expression from his place by the mezzanine¡¯s corner. He didn¡¯t let show just how much he¡¯d enjoy forcibly introducing a fresh batch of hot pink to the man¡¯s brain. It would be quite pleasant to stand over him and watch the least diplomatic diplomat he¡¯d met in a while slowly degenerate into a sub-sentient mass of fungal tissue over the course of numerous hands, first erratically twitching as the drug took him into its loving arms, then staring into the imperceptible distance, then sagging into a slumped blanket of- Sebastio blinked once hard to dispel the shivery fantasy, then followed suit with the others in the room as he transferred his gaze. Every thread of notice which could be tugged had woven around Countess Abiniba, and together formed a tangled jellyfish of upset potential energy. ¡°Is less now more desirable than more?¡± came from Harding. The man¡¯s Yrdkish sounded like oxytocin-laced honey. I beg your pardon? ¡°We will not postpone an exchange of our respective peoples¡¯ talents just to avoid what might be,¡± said Countess Abiniba, solid in her opinion, blunt in her manner, fiery in her conviction - and her eyes. The thermal magic wasn¡¯t a product of any of the common genres of magic. Indeed, it represented a blend of several disciplines. Whether the visual effect of the eye fires came from the desire to make a non-verbal statement or a less conscious tic or expression didn¡¯t jump out at the beholder. What did jump out was the knowledge that, in another time and place, Sebastio might have fallen in love with the woman. Alas, too late in every way. Speaking of which¡­ The Lord checked his chronometer. He and his Lady would be going out together for tenshe around the time the sun set that evening. A wonderful, rare break from life. Constant second-guessing and the mapping out of decision trees and trying to avoid directly contributing until specifically asked at meetings. Meetings. When Tuoamas invited him to attend, he¡¯d known he needed to come - though without an invitation he¡¯d have stayed well clear. The earlier-ruling half of the fractured throne did not need his hovering over a shoulder. Maybe once, before both gentlemen had had discourse about motives, before Sebastio had more-or-less strong-armed his partner Lord in a confrontation with the man¡¯s weakness for the Maker¡¯s trinkets. Perhaps as penance for that weakness, the Lord had long since given up wearing the pendant which had girded his throat. For that matter, Sebastio didn¡¯t know of any time in the last five years that the man had so much named the creature the Lord had once held close to an obsession. Tuoamas had not wept, and he would not weep. With every fiber of his being, Lord Artaxerxes envied him for that fact. When he¡¯d shown up back in Rhaagm after chasing down and not quite murdering his ex-chum Niall Bennosuke, Sebastio had a technically-legal facetary refugee named Louis in tow and a legendary clich¨¦ in the shape of a sword-arm. The Cambrian had more or less tacitly consented to his permanent extradition in a face-to-face with the powers of Rhaagm, after they¡¯d hashed out the essentials of a scheme within shouting distance of both entrapment and blackmail. Namely, through the dread power of that thing known as research, Tuoamas Pennat became the target of a simple offer which both Sebastio and the Jon of Rhaagm - executive of the largest nation in existence, master of terrifying levels of social aptitude, and possibly privy to secrets known to no other power besides Jons of bygone years - considered to be more than likely successful. After a legion of eidolons got back from the equivalent of twenty or thirty thousand man-years of research, the hunch about the nerve-wracking depth of the Yrdkish Lord¡¯s fascination with the Maker bore out. A few promising rounds of prophecy-gathering also fell into the cookpot, and their results further encouraged Sebastio to seek an unconventional audience with his target. Sebastio Artaxerxes, owner of Caladgbolg, wagered his new companion and (implicitly, as it would be surrendered if he were parted from Caladhbolg) his life against Tuoamas¡¯s entire estate. Whichever of them remained capable of combat by end-of-engagement claimed both. To call the event farcical would be to dilute the meaning of the word ¡°farce,¡± on numerous levels. In fact, to call the event legal would be to dilute the meaning of the word ¡°legality¡± - it had been entirely up to the Lord to decide whether he¡¯d humor a hubraic outlander¡¯s ridiculous scheme. The man¡¯s interest in the deal had peaked when the mysterious entity decided to make an address to a gaggle of nobles. He¡¯d been interested enough to undertake the bent deal, had Tuoamas, and on that stone was built history. But only after a while, and a bit of clever guessing, did Sebastio hit upon the grimmer side of the truth behind his co-ruler¡¯s ambitions¡¯ depths. He¡¯d found the one chink in the man¡¯s honor. His desire to strike Caladhbolg from Sebastio¡¯s employ and acquire it for his own, even at the cost of his people¡¯s lives. When the Cambrian confronted the Lord, not long after they¡¯d joined forces in the management of a nation, he¡¯d armed himself with guesses on the nature of Tuoamas¡¯s motivation. Eventually, he rolled the dice, and accused the man - suitably vaguely, mind; he wasn¡¯t keen on alienating the person he¡¯d basically tapped to be his executor - of taking up the challenge for Caladhbolg just a bit too eagerly. He hadn¡¯t expected the extraordinary confessions he¡¯d gotten from Tuoamas about that Being of Old who¡¯d created Rhaagm. The minor embarrassment of interest that had later turned into major embarrassment. The prophetic dreams of his youth framing himself and the Maker side-by-side. The strange cognitive dissonance driving him to pursue knowledge of the Maker and his creations, and yet deny that it was an obsession. The way he¡¯d even quietly tried to see if it would be possible to remove one of the sculptures of the Fountain Forest to his own estate. People had known Tuoamas had a taste for the Maker¡¯s works forever; they, and Sebastio, had had no idea he would have been willing to trade his own people¡¯s lives in bulk for the treasure in Artaxerxes¡¯s arm. It was astoundingly devious. It was astoundingly flawed. It was astoundingly mortal. It was astoundingly comforting. Sighs don¡¯t always comfort. ¡°Is postponement equivalent to damage? What damage? Why damage? How damage?¡± Harding managed to maintain the air of being interested in discourse, rather than eager to earn points in the eyes of his sovereign. His input knocked the Cambrian out of his trance. Sebastio felt certain that Harding¡¯s hope for productive output of the meeting was genuine, although the other man could probably have successfully falsified the results of a dowsing with nothing more than his voice. We do not wish to harm our people. Is restraint guaranteed to harm? Is there no leeway in giving ourselves a measure of adjustment? Is the act of observing the most appropriate interfaces into which we might slot ourselves before entangling our peoples so dangerous? Tuoamas glanced at Lord Galt, then Lord Artaxerxes. He obviously valued the skills of a man as dangerous in his reasoning and seductive persuasion as Alex Harding. Gorar¡¯s body language, and the subliminal messages in how Baron Evrokcrrer resorted the prompts for its organizational bullet points suggested a general agreement with the Countess. Even so, Evrokcrrer at least outwardly sympathized with Harding¡¯s worries. Countess Abiniba obviously grew no less agitated at the idea of kicking the unification of their people any farther down the road. However, her tone moderated, and she regained sufficient poise to engage the Sledgecrafter as he engaged her. ¡°Mayhaps damage is time¡¯s friend. Are our allegiances invincible from executive losses, and from thefts of the heart?¡± Pennat Gate has suffered the near-death of one of its prime members. Another of its notable residents came close to kidnap. Have we the time to wait before commingling our waters, or will delay just increase the odds of grievous harm? Nobody sent blatant signals of hostility toward the representative from Nor¡¯ridge. For that matter, nobody so much as slipped in an acknowledgement of his existence until Sebastio flung a single barbed glance in Baron Keppelering¡¯s direction. The pterodactyl¡¯s beak pointed away. The eye he devoted to watching the verbal slap-fight kept its nictitating membrane closed; neither relaxed nor particularly tense, based on his appreciative posture. Sebastio wasn¡¯t actually sure of how one should feel when one¡¯s new allies - effectively kind-of-in-laws according to Yrdkish custom and tradition - had it out in front of a party known to be hostile but to an unknown degree. Should he be embarrassed for them? Embarrassed for his own people, acting as hosts? Baron Evrokcrrer gave a false start or two, then interjected. Hailing from the stock of a once-ragathencider, its thought patterns didn¡¯t provide it much ammunition in the way of verbal acrobatics as characterized by the majority of speakers of its language. ¡°A different idea. We have people. You have people. Some are leaders. Some are not. Focus on latter. Exchange our commoners?¡± The baron¡¯s tone had no pretensions to anything besides irony on that last, a human mannerism well-replicated. Evrokcrrer¡¯s living family fit into the shoe of ¡°commoner¡± so firmly it almost tore off the foot. Undistinguished civilians from time out of mind, they had made themselves useful to society as assistants, as psychologists, as helpers of every kind. The baron had jumped the track when it accepted a patent of nobility those many years past, and it lent the creature the sort of perspective which had convinced Sebastio keeping it in the peerage was a more than worthwhile decision. The sort of perspective which suggested that two estates might join through intermingling their lower order members was the sort that Sebastio for one treasured like he treasured his Lady. ¡°Might any name outlandishness of the before-named?¡± came out of Tuoamas, with a distant but appreciative musing tone. I like it! Would we not all find common ground in the celebration of our Yrdkishness? Some of those present obviously didn¡¯t fully agree, either with the sentiment or its champion. Baron Keppelering had the ¡°stare with implied menace¡± routine down pat. ¡°The second Lord of two comes from intellectual stock of most ignoble cognomen. Langdone. Scule. Bedreda. Peskili.¡± The venerable Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s alma mater was none other than the Kinsmen College of Information-Integrity Preservation. Consider the inspirations of the institute¡¯s most significant features of its campus, its greatest architectural identifiers. Constructions named after war criminals. Keppelering took great pains to ensure no one thought he was condescending to Sebastio. However, he was most certainly making a quite sharp point with the Cambrian at that point. That was fine, so long as he didn¡¯t stray too far from the insulting and into the flagrantly accusatory. In all honesty, Sebastio almost hoped the pterodactyl would give him the excuse. In fact, the only thing he would have liked more was the idea that Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s representative might give them conclusive evidence of O¡¯Casey orchestrating the behavior of the Sifters who¡¯d assailed both himself and Louis. But that was the problem, of course. The first batch of assassins had come out of Not-Fire, and so conceivably lay at the beck and call of those Yrdkish communities they venerated. Forensics and recordkeeping had shown eleven ways that yes, they were Not-Fire residents, not merely posed to resemble such. The wanted executioner that had ripped out Louis¡¯s integrated systems interface - one Moonfly-Sips-Syrup, coming from ¨²da according to various records - had absolutely no such ties. Sebastio would have liked to believe it was just a case where they hadn¡¯t found proof of the man¡¯s past history in Not-Fire. Unfortunately, that was whistling in the dark, and seemed far too easy an answer. Harding managed to sound nearly bored, poking back at the man they all knew had come to tacitly make clear that his people were soon to declare war. ¡°Have you a special attraction to Lord Artaxerxes?¡± This relates to the issue at hand in what way? Bobbu¡¯s little wing knuckles turned him around, so he could see his conversant partner with one eye as he responded. His beak nipped at the air. ¡°Attraction to those professing their own quality. Attraction to those engineering a new Eden. Of course, you know of how they roused the academe of long since; for every failure, we may find two successes, and so why ought we not whet the greatest failures of our history? Perhaps¡­ because of our future selves.¡± What way? Why, these were people truly convinced that their actions served the GREATER GOOD. They were people who decided they needed to take it upon themselves, and make the world a better place through the founding of a safe haven. And why do the people of that institute use the names of such profoundly dishonored souls for so visible and impactful an inspiration? Because we learn better from GREATER ERRORS. Why, then, adopt any but true tyrants as un-role models? And yet¡­ do we not wish to teach our antecedents even more thoroughly than we ourselves learn? Thus, perhaps a better question: how many people will suffer in the cause of expanding the grand family that is the territory of Yrdky? Lord Tuoamas Pennat turned the power of his dread person upon Baron Keppelering. He found a small frown in the depths of his soul. It ascended like a flashing shark, or a jioj rushing to the Ojjij surface while brandishing stone knives. The baron¡¯s eye jittered ever so slightly when the frowning man¡¯s hands clasped each other in front of him. Tuoamas gestured idly at Lord Galt. The female Lord carved a smile even sharper than Tuoamas¡¯s frown into Baron Keppelering¡¯s flesh. ¡°Does a bruised-shut eye see the future or the past? No? Then perhaps it is time to address eyes that are so harmed in a medically-expedient fashion. House-of-Werub has taken some harm of such type of late, and ought to be given balm.¡± Yes, we did accept your presence today without the stipulation that you would be turned into a flapping wallet after our meeting finished, did we not? Let us get down to whatever business you wanted to discuss. The fractured throne have some other supplicants such as Lord Larrei Gwondrfeld who tarry in the wings; it would serve ill to further delay conversing with them. The people of House-of-Werub, ironically enough, usually moved in something close to a herd mentality with Lord O¡¯Casey: firm control of one¡¯s people¡¯s destiny, epitomized in an outward-facing pro-prosperity program meant to redistribute things from ¡°them¡± and to ¡°you.¡± Unfortunately, a certain someone had gotten their toes powderized just the hand before last, when Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s leader decided it would be in his best interests to strongarm a nearly vampiric set of duties and tariffs out of a largely inconsequential estate passing his way. A largely inconsequential estate, which had good rapport with another estate called House-of-Werub. Lord Gwondrfeld usually would have shunned the ground where Sebastio Artaxerxes trod, and treated Tuoamas Pennat with the minimum respect permissible for a man of his distinguishment. Usually, Lord Gwonderfeld would have been all too happy to seek the smoothest pragmatic greasing of bureaucracy¡¯s gears. At present, Lord Gwonderfeld harbored the desire to urinate on a burning Harrison O¡¯Casey only after the man¡¯s complete oxidation. However, the strength of the slight was so potent, and its recipient so incandescent, that assisting others in reducing Baron Keppelering¡¯s patron to a whimpering pile of pegs fell under the heading of quite acceptable action. ?lthlant and Pennat Gate could both expect aid, however grudging, from an effective and masterful practitioner of combat in arenas both ideological and literal. The pterodactyl almost froze for an instant. After an instant passed, another instant went by where the man clearly wanted to go home and kindly ask his own Lord to please get any other assignment besides meeting with people against whom his home had not yet officially declared war, and discussing business. But discuss business he must, and moreover convince the aforementioned people to accept a particular set of terms of engagement for the inevitable battle. It truly was an inevitable occurrence. Harrison O¡¯Casey wasn¡¯t the sort to forgive and forget any more than Larrei Gwonderfeld; he¡¯d goaded the people of Pennat Gate to wrath, and they¡¯d done him insult. If the man didn¡¯t get his little circus performance, he¡¯d eventually start a far less honorable campaign of whisper-fanning designed to do¡­ something. Something festering and inimical to reputation, most certainly; something as cold as any of the most apathetic politicians of Rhaagm. So instead they¡¯d fend off eventual disaster by courting immediate disaster. Wallowing in that inevitability set Sebastio¡¯s teeth on edge, and his little pointy fangs pricked at the orange stretch of his lips. The days and hands since his unwaking dream of the Maker and Target had him slowly bursting apart on the inside, like a melon shot by a quadratic accelerator when viewed at a millionth the normal speed. He had no doubt about the right course of action, no second-guessing of motive. No, conflict had dramatically shaved down his priorities: ¡°live to be a great figure of the past for the far future,¡± as the Being of Old had instructed. However, greatness lay in the accomplishments, and inspirations, and personalities of those embraced as worthy of the name. When men such as Lord O¡¯Casey bent themselves to the task of bedeviling a prospective ascendant to greatness, men such as Sebastio slowly found themselves under megagrams more stress than they could withstand. He didn¡¯t want to disappoint those Beings of Old with his failure, though he felt sure they¡¯d be less than fatally devastated if he fell short of his goals. Even more, though, he didn¡¯t want to disappoint his own people¡­ or himself. There was enough tenuous hope placed on his estate¡¯s metaphorical shoulders to crack its very literal foundation. Sebastio cast back to his time as a servant of the establishment¡¯s more esoteric security needs. Long ago, when he¡¯d acted as a simple informant of how yes, that gated wing of the facility was vulnerable to the handful of atypicals capable of nonmagical superlight transit unless a mantrap was installed at each of these three locations. Yes, those identity compares could be spoofed by a person with a doppelganger talent, so ¡°adequate¡± measures meant extra Ktarebte machines to help verify the compares¡¯ nature. He was then a pawn. He was now a pawn. He hoped to continue and be the best pawn of a leader he could manage; nothing more. If it served Caladhbolg¡¯s implicit desire to bring the Maker greater acclaim, then that was also fine. But obviously that was too much to ask, judging by the flapping wallet¡¯s near-whinging. ¡°Scenario simplifies thus: unremarkable, as base premise. As further specification, a trifecta and license to Steps for the defense; all now and future banishment of Beastly nature from the defense for the prosecution. Scheduling is requested prior to zeroth moon terminus.¡± The nominal diplomat spoke carefully, as even and barren as any salt flat. Nor¡¯ridge desires to set the following terms of engagement: a standard brace of one hundred twenty eight platforms to each side. Standard weapons and information warfare limitations. Victory conditions will award the challenged a set of three platforms, license to use the same, and the license to produce and use an additional platform as desired. The challenger requires, on victory, that the challenged eject any Beasts from their sphere of influence, and disbar all natives of the Purple in future. We intend to get events underway before the end of Zeromonth. On the table before the baron, a digital document manifested, laying out the details for examination by a Lawmaster. Beside the document he placed an interpolation paper for acquiring signatures.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The moment had arrived. After the blood and sweat and gradually successful backbreaking push toward acceptance of the Purple¡¯s natives by their own people, the twin Lords of Pennat Gate would not simply bow before such demands. They¡¯d come so far in the short interim, that ceaseless span since the first days, with trigger-happy panics and distrust among the everyman. The people no longer worried over clusters of Beast residents idly watching the scenery and contributing to daily life with their quirks of bland character. Sebastio intended to misdirect any ultimatum meant to disrupt that progress in any way he could manage. Countess Abiniba looked like she was about to protest, and only clung to propriety by her fingernails. Tuoamas¡¯s fingers performed an eager little spider tap-dance, before his answer visibly lashed the pterodactyl like a great-knout. ¡°No.¡± The people there assembled made an ephemeral intricate susurrus at the short acidic squirt. To the one side, Gorar¡¯s long face and ears remained expressionless, but she crossed eyes with Sebastio for a single flitting gnoll heartbeat. Lord Tuoamas leaned forward in his seat, splayed his fingers, and drew up his own document: notes, rules, thoughts, all set up in first order logic and neat as could be. Depending on how one read the contents, one would call the terms profoundly unfair. In whose favor was a bit of an open question¡­ but the advantage in choosing to accept or reject terms lay with the challenged party, when dealing with matters of Yrdkish war games. ¡°¡®Egalitarianism.¡¯ Do you know the word? You who show your eagerness to ensure we can sleep easier without the woeful threat of residents of this estate? Oh, that is an important and most saintly goal. As they say, saints make the best martyrs; both saints and the enemies of the same have plenty over which to worry these days. Ten martyrs, in this case, might earn the worth of a single living saint.¡± If you wish to dictate terms, that is fine in certain arenas. Knowing the end goals of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s leadership, they will not allow the removal of our ¡°novelty-toy¡± populace to leave the negotiation table. But the privilege of liberating from our membership a swath of our citizens is a tall order¡­ a tall order indeed, and tall orders have tall prices. We certainly have enough strife to occupy ourselves at present, so the price must be a bit steeper even so to compensate. Ten platforms, at a minimum, in exchange. The pterodactyl reared up on his legs as though someone had put an arbalest bolt with a clown mask tied to the end through his sternum. ¡°Excuse me!?¡± he howled. That was, of course, when Gorar braced her burly arms against the table and inhaled. Okay. Time to go before patience abates and the baron ends up the way of his Earth Standard genetic kin. Mr. Artaxerxes started up while ignoring the unfolding carnage, and began walking for the vaulted arch leading from the platform. His three faithful attendant armsmen were caught between keeping their charge from any mishaps involving flying politicians and watching out for his personal safety. They swarmed along behind him like Rhaagm mannequins, managing to simultaneously follow, precede, and stay completely out of his line of sight whilst making their presence distinctly known. ¡°I must be away,¡± he announced to the gathering in a brief moment of ebbing action as he departed, ¡°and wish the best possible outcome from proceedings. However, for Baron Keppelering, a particular message.¡± Sebastio pivoted a small amount on one heel, just before he exited the Ptilit chamber. The voice which came from his throat was not his own, and it spoke in the timeless, awkward, and artful tongue that was the English language. The pterodactyl knuckled a step or two closer, squinting, head darting about in the flipbook fashion of many birds and reptiles. Hearing Caladhbolg¡¯s voice bumped up his discomfort to the point where it overflowed its container and went back to being outwardly calm. The Yrdkish really ARE crazy. I guess that has good future implications, considering my nationality for the last several years. ¡°What mean you by this?¡± inquired Bobbu. ¡°I wish you sufficient misfortune that your fortune does not become a curse,¡± replied Sebastio. ¡°Learn of yourself, of where you and your home diverge, and bear in mind the point of separation.¡± And then he left. Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes meandered down the halls, down past people who refused to step away from their Lord¡¯s partitioned fearsome visage. Those born outside the gem refused to fail in showing him a slightly distant but entirely voluntary deference. Those who had come from the gem¡¯s many facets showed him something closer to respectful awe. They all marked his coterie. They all marked him. In return, he named them, blessed them, and did his best to impede their business as little as possible. ¡°Lady,¡± he said five minutes later, after returning to his Lordly quarters for a brief rendezvous with Adz. ¡°Lord,¡± it replied, looking up from its contemplation of Seven¡¯s questionably successful attempt at tending a potted geranium. Sebastio stepped across, lifting his hand to that of the udod aodod. He raised the palm to his throat and chinned it. ¡°Are you ready?¡± ¡°As I will ever be.¡± Sebastio smiled slightly, and opened up contact with the assistant eidolon for the superintendent of the establishment they were going to be visiting. The eidolon confirmed their reservation, and informed them that they would have the run of the place. ¡°Then let us be away,¡± said the Cambrian, with a fattening of his smile. ¡°Why?¡± asked the udod aodod. ¡°Do you have somewhere important to be?¡± Sebastio¡¯s head tilted as the udod aodod¡¯s leg-cables began twisting together. It made a smile at him, an obvious attempt to mimic rather than intuitive reflex to express. Ironically, the faintly sheepish lilt to the mannerism was almost certainly true. It was the kind of playful, teasing affectation he might have expected from a human wife. ¡°Why?¡± repeated Sebastio, and his smile turned to an impish grin. ¡°As it has been said before, ¡®why¡¯ is King Question, and you cannot ask his attendance without every one of his courtiers and relatives following in tow.¡± The regurgitation of one of Eihks Richard¡¯s most-favored turns of phrase had the desired effect. Adz¡¯s body language became less indicative of sheepishness and more infused with it beyond the point of saturation. Sebastio didn¡¯t give it the chance to acclimate to its emotional state-change, though. He and it bundled out the door, the Lady being more-or-less guided for the several seconds it took to get itself back under fully cognizant self-control. Five minutes later, the molded-lozenge shape of Walker carried the executive couple to the outskirts of a meticulously tended and curated reserve. For a while, they sat, basking in the slowly accreting sense of higher-thought bloodlust. Anticipation not of brutal domination of an entity by strength of arms, but of dedicating one¡¯s full self for some little time to the art of outwitting another. The placing of one collective of kinematic arcana against an adversary, with the victory condition being not satiating carnivorous hunger but catharsis of chasing and catching. Adz¡¯s takeaway had profoundly different connotations, a state of being that Sebastio simply couldn¡¯t fully appreciate without undergoing some level of conjugation, but it was the sort of thing that brought release, and relief. ¡°You hunted a nimrod in that canyon complex last year; does something a little less violently feisty this year whet your appetite?¡± he asked. ¡°That will serve adequately,¡± came his answer after some contemplation. ¡°So long as we get a long enough chase, and it does not climb trees.¡± For a while, they watched the scurrying of prey items over the arboreal cathedral of the prey items¡¯ home. They elected one individual over the others; a healthy male spiny qinp just leaving the juvenile stage of development and showing intent of finding new territory to claim. Such behavior had a lick of symmetry when set alongside the social currents flowing around Pennat Gate itself, Adz observed. Eventually, they clambered out of the gemship, and then Walker took off, distributing the vigilant armsmen upon whom they often depended to posts both far and wide. Neither of them saw their dutiful guards watching the whole region for intruders, as they played their little game. However, the fact of their presence tendered both participants the sort of peace of mind to which they might have toasted with full mugs and empty bellies. It was the brink of daylight, and the color of ink spilled into an Earth Standard ocean soaked the whole biome. The smell made Sebastio¡¯s shoulders relax from their eternally squared poise by the tiniest amount. In every direction scattered the chirp and saw of those things either rousting to nocturnal action or preparing for crepuscular rest. The qinp they¡¯d identified for the occasion wasn¡¯t walking, but neither was it running like the clappers as it steadily worked to put distance between itself and two fairly large creatures set on catching up to its fast-moving form. Lord and Lady crossed the jungle¡¯s massive blue vines with inordinate grace and a quick subtlety difficult to credit if unseen. Leg-cables slithered almost soundlessly through groundcover and over exposed roots, arms grasped branches and thrust their owners forward with pendulum precision. Both wore the minimum clothing required to observe the basics of decency. Both kept their focus on the prey trying to pull ahead, and failing by slow degrees. Adz enjoyed the small chunk of Moedif the estate recreated on one of its Eighth Step platforms, but repetition erodes novelty. This time they had wanted to experience tenshe in their Fourth Step jungle territory, and finding the chance to do so was liberating. Well, the qinp probably didn¡¯t think so. The qinp was stupid and its opinions didn¡¯t count. Sebastio sprang from a short rise in the peaty ground, clung to the side of a sprawling Bokov tree, and spotted the fleeing purple shape. Off to his left, the outline of an udod aodod drew along very low to the ground, torso almost horizontal. It was amazing how stealthy something could be when it weighed as much as some freight containers, with the right distribution of mass. The Lady, and he, both relied on naught but the tools with which they had been born. For other species that restriction was relaxed, but humans were hunters already well-suited to extended pursuit long before their genetics became subject to alteration, and udod aodod possessed a single-mindedness of purpose which nearly obliged them to persist in their goals until completion or exhaustion. A pounce, a tumble through several ferns, a rolling stand, and Sebastio began weaving along on a course asymptotically approaching that of the qinp. He made sure to expose his position to the fleeing creature at irregular intervals, as did his spouse. A branch snapped here, an unnaturally smooth line of profile exposed there. The qinp noticed. The qinp didn¡¯t slow. He felt a bit maudlin, did that Lord of Pennat Gate. He thought about the pursuit, and that was part of his conflict: the fact that he acted, the fact that he exceeded the confines of that passive unit of grammar, ¡°to be.¡± It was good to become something, to chase with intent. It was an improvement over his standard living expectations of talking and debating and performing actions inasmuch as one acted through words. It was far, far better than the alternative of simply existing, of taking the role of a poppet. Sadly, he knew that all agency had certain limitations imposed on it by its nature, and that realization had long since brewed a steep melancholy. Any chance to stretch one¡¯s muscles and draw upon the face of the world and confirm one¡¯s existence, that was a moment of strange and pure joy. He¡¯d simply learned to accept the times when the best service renderable was lying back on the divan of life and becoming a statue to a bigger cause. As he leapt from one side of a fallen steelteak to the other, his smile was fit to split his face. Following the length of the woodmetal barrier, Adz swept around the other side of the felled tree with the unusual suddenness of an udod aodod sprint. Its many leg-cables swept along each other, a shuffling of Grediwe dice and cards in a chaotic heap. They exchanged relative places, Sebastio keeping to the left side of the qinp¡¯s passage and Adz to the right. A single signal - human chopping ahead with the flat of a hand, udod aodod setting its ears to twitching. They doubled their pace, mincing up the distance between hunters and hunted. It was time to bring the prey to bay. The qinp¡¯s prickly purple fleshy barbels all quivered as it detected their narrowing of the distance. It began making little exertion noises as it stopped merely running, and began trying to bound ahead in little leaps. It switched, it scuttled, it skidded. It slipped beneath a curtain of vines all thicker than Sebastio¡¯s wrist. The Lady pushed through the vines, the Lord ricocheted off a dark-barked tree and into a gauzy dew-laden spiderweb as he went around the obstruction. He didn¡¯t have to breathe anymore, no, yet he found himself pushing air in and out at the same rate as his companion, the same rate as their quarry, the same rate as the world. It was wonderfully strange, being alive. He and it slapped the big fan-shaped leaves, got slapped by the air, slapped the occasional stream, got slapped by flocks and herds and packs of midges of every kind. They darted through openings in bramble patches and stumbled over and around other sort-of-wildlife big and small. It was cute when the udod aodod ran into a family of koalas snuggled up for the evening; it was not cute when a lesser owl-of-the-mind appeared from nowhere, trying to get Sebastio to maintain eye contact so it could snack on his delicious thoughts. He couldn¡¯t help but consider the morality of the evening. Not the morality of tenshe, which was a longtime cultural heritage of his spouse, and at worst a case of energetic harassment of animal life routines. No, the morality of their spending the time off and enjoying themselves with diversion, while their nation prepared for far greater conflict than chasing proboscideans. The moderating influence of a godlike prosthetic artifact¡¯s innermost thoughts generally streamlined the process of choosing the right thing over the wrong thing. It was less apt with the deduction of wrong from right. This particularly held in respect to maintaining self-control, but also in mortification of petty desires. One part - the Rhaagmini part - of him always had found and always would find the reliance on an external psychic crutch repulsive. Another part recognized that he had some measure of sickness of the personality, and he that hath sickness dost need medicine. After more than an objective hexadecade - and subjectively considerably longer - of sharing his body and mind, that dichotomy still hadn¡¯t resolved, and it might never see a full resolution. But that was life: a chain of stories whose beginnings and ends were so many and so widely scattered that following just one from concrete beginning to conclusive resolution demanded utmost dedication. For extrafacetary humans at least, dedication had to be one of the few limited resources more highly valued than that most tenuous of things called ¡°home.¡± The difference between self and other. The dividing line marking the border of ¡°you¡± and ¡°not-you.¡± Home. And just like that, between the leap from one foothold to the next, Sebastio saw his own life shattered, scattered backward through the arbitrary quasi-observable dimension called time by those who professed faith in its existence. His true childhood, that vanishingly small period before the introduction of cerv-mesh to physiology. An existence striped with the alternating infusions of Father¡¯s intractable strength of character and vaguely clinical distancing from the world, and the sour-sweet nourishment of Nessro bin Simon bin Ittush binnin Loalph the Grand¡¯s teachings. The discovery that two plus two was the same as two times two. Being awarded the understanding of that which all sentient beings share: the sometimes stiff flexibility that is knowledge-of-self and the power of choice. Being utterly unaware of the privilege common to his life, in a world where privileged and unprivileged oft appeared nigh identical to the casual watcher. The crossing into the borders of that land called youth, the place in which he yet did and might ever reside. His youth in which he began to grow and mature along curious strata, learning that good was not necessarily pleasant - but not yet the corollary that the bad would sometimes prove an addictive carnival delight. His youth in which he discovered that he was, as Rhaagm and Bequast and Yrdky called him, atypical. A mutant, some would say; others would call him blessed, still others demon-touched. It just so happened that in Rhaagm it was a slightly more convenient and accessible method of what anyone else could achieve with electric thaumaturgy (or indeed a battery with coupled electrodes) - a talent that was less freak of nature and more curious and legislatively-significant birth anomaly. His first epiphany of his bioelectric talents, when Nessro the kind manservant¡¯s person received the unasked-for gift of enough current to murder him several times over, and yet the man managed to survive and teach young Sebastio a great deal more. The young Cambrian¡¯s entry into the pages of literature as another case of human atypical manifestation. Years of roaming the plains and savannahs of learning in Kinsmen, the debates held in Langdone. The rare moments of fellowship with those faces he recalled so fondly: Sagpporosaasrogap, Nels, Nyne Sjambani, and many others. His everlasting friendship with Francis ¡°Bugbear¡± Pickering, the blue freight disk shaped like a man and possessed of Southsea¡¯s refreshingly coarse manners. Getting into a bit of trouble here and there. The handful of romantic tangents of the day, balanced against Bugbear¡¯s catalogue of forays into the same territory. The time when the massive oaf had carried home an unconscious and abused executioner prostitute, after fighting off a posse of gangbangers half out of their minds on fidget. That fateful day when Bugbear had returned to their shared living quarters with the rescue that was his wife-to-be. That fateful day when Sebastio first deliberately killed a man while protecting those he held dear, as lightning played from his fingers and the thug¡¯s body keeled over with smoke riming his mucous membranes. That fateful day when a confused man realized how easily he could become a bad one. That fateful day when the cracked ingot of a young stutter-infested Cambrian was drawn into the form of a far graver creature. Running into the incomparable Target, becoming one of the very few who could truthfully claim to have met a Being of Old. Fumbling that thin stick of exotic matter the man claimed was called a ¡°lodestaff¡± (¡°A present from a friend who¡¯s gonna want you to hold onto it - so use it well!¡±) and wondering what strange collision of himself and the world might have resulted in such providence. Years of wondering after the fact, midnight musings spent zapping the thing to make it longer, shorter, longer again, worried as to why someone would give him such a piezoelectrically curious implement. Perhaps the Maker had gleaned that the lodestaff¡¯s unusual material would save its wielder by serving as an adulterant in a later mishap, allowing him to survive commingling with an object meant to kill and destroy. One shining beacon of a date, on the joining of a certain blue loudmouthed New Mongol and a certain executioner in partnership and devotion. The rare warming of a turbulent onlooker¡¯s heart. Graduation from the hallowed halls of Kinsmen into the wider world, where he proved to the public that he was more than merely competent when it came to assessing dangers presented by other atypicals. His rise to moderate success, his interactions with curious and sometimes faintly alarming atypical personalities. Contributing his small part to the continued success of companies like Kraken-Whaite and Glencorps and Anh Tho Soc Beltsnaps: being compensated for being a deliberate lasting thorn in the side. Moving into the cosmopolitan heights of Gursral Corner, opposite Kallahassee and Magdod Bartimaeus, and making himself at home. Six children running around the establishment at every hour, very occasional trips out to various watering holes around the city and even more occasional emergent scenarios demanding immediate attention at whichever corporation claimed his daily loyalty. Eventually being introduced to a new fellow atypical tenant named Niall, and hoping to help the man get over his obvious personal problems. Knowing that such an undertaking probably lay outside his capacity. A few nerve-frying short stints involving the police and Rhaagm mannequins outside his place of work for various infractions. A few times he¡¯d gone off and had some small adventures on his own in the name of staying out of trouble. One very unfortunate tale involving a long-planned big brother attack. Coming to verbal blows with Kallahassee over several raw-flesh topics; the insult given his wife by the gregarious Niall; the man¡¯s callous anger and casual hatred of almost everything except, on occasion, Sebastio himself. An attempt to defend a fellow atypical. Fraying of ties. A single denunciation of Bennosuke, a person so unsettled as to introduce himself as ¡°the Nightmare Count,¡± as a creature more parasitic and destructive than any Tufcich undead. More than one person storming out of the neighborhood. A numbing yawning horror upon returning home one ordinary occasion, finding the apartments of Gursral turned into a slaughterhouse, hearing broadcasts of Niall Bennosuke¡¯s desire to find and claim that mythical relic which now served as a part of Sebastio¡¯s body. The Nightmare¡¯s declaration that the hateful world must burn. Sebastio¡¯s knowledge that someone else would not only die but suffer the administering of homicide: himself, many more innocents, or Niall ¡°the Nightmare Count¡± Bennosuke. Possibly all of them. Target, waiting for him in an idyll of a park as he fled the scene of carnage. Embarking on a sojourn to bring his old pal to bloody justice, at Target¡¯s request. The slewing sickness of hopping from one facet of the gem to another, in pursuit of his quarry and his quarry¡¯s quarry both. Confronting the diseased man in combat on a near-Earth-Standard France, and impaling himself on Caladhbolg¡¯s blade in the heat of the moment. His lodestaff and the terrible weapon alloying themselves with his flesh. Becoming something different as he stood rooted, suffering under the sensation of his body being invaded by something alive and not-alive, then reaching the equilibrium of being where he could share physical form with an entity that wasn¡¯t quite semiartificial, wasn¡¯t quite human-patterned digital personality. Many deaths. Too many deaths. He couldn¡¯t bring to add another to the count, even the Nightmare Count. Louis. The mad notion to generate an Elysium for a helpless French youth and other such unfortunates. Flight to Bequast. Negotiations for the young man¡¯s citizenship. Many tears. Many scenes very precious and very painful. Bringing his ludicrous challenge to bear against Lord Tuoamas Pennat, wagering a limb and a life for a Lordship. The course of several hours - subjectively, something closer to several years - where he fought to make a name for himself, with the terrible power the dread Caladhbolg could bring to bear. A hundred hundred miniature victories studded that day, as Sebastio cut down munitions in midair, ripped craft from the sky, denied guns the right to fire upon his person. From the outside, it was a casual and simple affair for the bearer of the Maker¡¯s work to reduce the work of others to dust. On the inside, Sebastio had been shouting his little mental lungs out. He much agreed with that Earth Standard font of oft-quoted knowledge that to be shot at and missed was a uniquely exhilarating feeling; he also thought of it as a very acute trial of one¡¯s endurance. Then followed the aftermath of claiming an estate by storm. His declaration of keeping his hands free from traditional levers of political management. The causality sabotage, thrown by a grief-stricken Leanshe Etruphana. A subjective age spent in his own head as his physical body aged rapidly with him trapped in it - some parts forward, some parts backward, some parts in directions orthogonal to either. He would have surely died if not for his new attachment. He almost certainly would have gone mad without company over that span. Maybe he had. Leanshe suffering the punishment of public full-body debridement for three days. A shaky blurring forward of time, pausing only on the first and last days of knowing Seroku Adz Tataki Ba¡¯fus before he and it were joined in the controversy of a Lord¡¯s matrimony. That endless thing they called the Western Sunrise, a hallucinatory numbed excluded vision as Sebastio fought for every single person living on his estate. The stirring-to-movement of the Beings of Old for the first time in ages. Finding the ocean of part-Beast-part-Bennosuke creatures intent on the reduction of all existence to the empty set, an annulment of everything toward which he had worked. The overturning of the world, a realization of a great conspiracy and a terrible revolution meant to cripple the Monolith, and the reaping of countless lives at the hands of creatures bearing the partial visage of the man he¡¯d once called friend. Pand?monium, unfathomable. Death. Meted out by others, in serial packets from one source host to one destination host; by himself en masse. The sort of tragedy which might mark the end of an age, even if the calendar didn¡¯t think so. The sort of tragedy which no number or complexity of temporal savepoints and their interlocking functions could possibly repair. For some, survival. Then, new life. Years. And just like that, his introspection left him, flying away to parts unknown, as he landed awkwardly, then darted after his Lady. Focus on the here and now, not on the sizzling tears crossing one orange cheek. Another hour quickly went by, the hefty weight of the world departing from the shoulders. The man and the udod aodod brushed against each other with their souls, touched the world with their bodies, and realized anew that tomorrow would yet come. Sebastio was the first to leap upon the creature, twining a forearm around its thick neck as the qinp bleated. All four legs machined the air when he swung heavily about, then pulled it down into the moss and inconveniently spaced pits of a small clearing, wrestling it so they both splayed out on their backs. Its trunk slapped his face, mildly prehensile snout trying to grasp something it could leverage or at least push and get him to let go. For an instant he had a stark and frightening vision of Baron Keppelering¡¯s head plastered across the creature, and of himself beating the thing to a mash. When his mind¡¯s eye saw O¡¯Casey¡¯s image instead, the vision became exponentially more compelling. There was a blink, where he saw Niall Bennosuke¡¯s unsmiling image instead, and he restrained his fist only just in time to avoid doing something he didn¡¯t even want to contemplate to his victim. Then he breathed, and it passed, and he breathed again, and frowned in relief. Less than a second later, Adz also fulfilled the rite as it pounced. It cleared a six meter log from one end to the other, batted aside a knot of vines as its husband was rolled away to give it room, and it heavily rested a hand upon the creature¡¯s quivering back. The animal¡¯s squeaky panicked breaths and bursts of worried thrashing obviously didn¡¯t give the Lady the same instant of conflict as the Lord, and yet Sebastio saw it almost shrink as it stared down at the adolescent animal long and hard. Then, the massive palm released the creature. One disbelieving moment later, the qinp fled as though pursued by all the forces of Hell, night casting a dimmed shade over red and purple leather. The qinp¡¯s progress showed for a second or two as it crashed along, then it found its footing again and vanished into the tightly woven cloth of off-blue leaves. As it moved away with all possible speed, it released a single sustained sound that rhymed with the Bequastish word for ¡°joy.¡± ¡°It is a beautiful evening,¡± said Sebastio with a shaky exhalation, staring up into the canopy as a small breeze slipped down through the trees and around his thin garments. ¡°It is a well-ordered forest,¡± answered Adz, an ethereal light playing over its eyespots. The breeze died, and the smaller noisemakers of the night receded for a brief spell of uncertain apprehension. The only sounds were the infinitesimal click of the sort-of-biological golden chains replacing Sebastio¡¯s right-side hair and beard, and the air softly flowing in and out of bodies. ¡°Love is¡­ quite hard to get right,¡± lamented the boy. ¡°You are getting better at it,¡± answered his scaly partner. It looked down. ¡°Shall we go?¡± ¡°Yes, we should-¡± Sebastio scratched at his head, gazed up and past Adz at the local area¡¯s moon, then bristled suddenly as his attention was drawn to something a bit farther away than the former but considerably closer than the latter. ¡°Hang on, there is¡­ do not look behind you,¡± he said, before picking up a rock and hucking it underhanded. The rock struck the base of a particularly ambitious vine¡¯s branch and snapped it off. The lesser owl-of-the-mind perched on top stopped trying to coax out the living contents of his brain and fell to the forest floor without even trying to flap its short wings. It struck an angular lichenous boulder, and then rolled away before falling off into the shrubbery. A glassy jagged sound came from the aggrieved bird thing as the ferns stopped rustling, but it would probably take it a minute or two to recover. But in time, it would pick itself back up, and live to steal the memories of other passing wildlife. ¡°Hate those little pests so much,¡± said Sebastio. ¡°Okay, yes, we should go.¡± Nobody commented on the executioner armsman dangling from the nearby crystalwillow as he put his quadratic accelerator away, just before both of his charges began sauntering off to a place where Walker might pick them up. Purple Like the Sky ¡°When a person arrives in the world outside the gem, they arrive in a place thoroughly inundated with human-culture values. The reasons for this have received much speculation throughout history. More to the point, the reasons for the disproportionate effects of humans on existence as a whole have received much speculation throughout history. Arguments over whether humans are the cause or the effect of this trend, or if the two are unrelated, tend to consume more time than debates on the philosophical implications of the trend¡¯s existence. Pjo?tet argued that this was both necessary and sufficient proof to postulate a culture-mind whose neurons were merely not individual people and their interactions, but instead the statefulness of the gem¡¯s facets themselves. While I disagree, the apparent attractor mass that is humanocentrism is a thing which we cannot and should not deny. Instead, we need to preserve the uniqueness of all cultures as best we can, even if only as curators of museum trophies, lest we lose more of those cultures which might give us that most tenuous and vital resource: perspective.¡± -Hmensc Dorlilianmosoliligreganslilipror, president of the Kinsmen College of Information-Integrity Preservation at the beginning of the thirty sixth age Seven watched Friend Gorar, trying to figure out what it - no, she, she, the gnoll was female, it could now actually understand what that meant - was saying. ¡°What sort of introduction?¡± the reaching-fellow asked, head tilted. ¡°THE SORT WHERE YOU WILL BE AMONG THE FIRST TO MEET A PEOPLE!¡± said the woman. ¡°YOU WILL NOT BE FORCED! HOWEVER, IT SHOULD BE FUN! I AM LEAVING SHORTLY IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO ACCOMPANY ME!¡± Friend Gorar¡¯s jaws parted wide, and her tongue dangled a short way from between her chops. The Beast demographic of the estate, as fellows were called, no longer caused automatic fear and anxiety in those not of said demographic. Oh, it definitely wasn¡¯t idly approached by every person whose path it crossed, but it no longer had to worry about them immediately turning the other way when it was out walking. Indeed, until recently, far more time went by with Seven as a free and unhampered civilian each day than not. Now, however, it had a good deal more supervision, rooted in numerous justifications. Would someone else try to do harm to or abduct one of the more controversial publicans running around the estate¡¯s many sizable platforms? Would one of the fellows suddenly become unjustifiably outraged and attack an unwary innocent? Seven understood what wasn¡¯t being said as much as it understood the statement. Friend Gorar was floating an excellent silent suggestion. It wanted to show the soon-to-arrive new people that they didn¡¯t need to fear its kind. The same held true for those crowds coming in from ?lthlant. Just yesterday, Seven and two other fellows - Four Minus Six and Four Times Four - all involuntarily fielded a great number of curious interviewers, some hesitant about meeting fellows such as themselves, some of them not at all. Even so, no fewer than seven Fountainists had presided in their preferred combat gear. When the newcomers asked them about assurances of safety, Seven related the demands-which-need-to-be-met that had been placed upon it and which were periodically restated. Not quite identical demands-which-need-to-be-met had been placed on Four Minus Six and Four Times Four. It was unclear whether the imparting of this knowledge gentled the concerns of the ?lthlant people or made them more acute. Seven wanted to adequately explain itself and its companions, and hoped to do so soon for more souls than just the most recent visitors. Furthermore, it had recently begun to grasp the outline of this thing of which it approved, that the people around it called ¡°fun.¡± It found ¡°fun¡± when it managed to ask a question to which it did not receive an immediate answer. That nearly always indicated an embarkation on travails of careful thought for its answerer, and it had learned how wonderful those instances could be. It had long known the words learning, and insight, and epiphany. Until recently - around the time of its realization of the nature of ¡°fun¡± - it hadn¡¯t wrestled those concepts as successfully as it had thought. Not simply in the asking of such questions, but also in the unworded asking of its actions did it discover that ¡°fun¡± was how it thought of almost any time it was part of a group, even - or especially - those who weren¡¯t also fellows. ¡°I shall participate,¡± it stated. ¡°FANTASTIC!¡± declared Friend Gorar, before almost push-dragging it from the rooftop alcove and on to a folding junction. She led it down and around and over and through, passing into that strange discontinuous experience that was getting folded, until they both stood at the perimeter of a platform that was a sea of sand spotted with islands of rocks. It billowed into ridged lunes and scalloped ditches, upthrusting moguls that were plentiful in particular concentrations and absent everywhere else. The sand¡¯s surface showed a panoply of textures, and a thousand thousand sets of tracks from creatures that required land upon which to travel. Far to its left side along the edge of the platform, a single tall razor-leafed tree had grown into a bent shape that reminded it of its own hands and arms. In the farthest distance beyond the platform, the invariable mountains upturned the sky. The reaching-fellow also saw that the sand had enough people already standing about and doing business to outnumber the populace of Shine Backward by a tremendous margin. Some few of the sub-populace were other fellows. Some few of the sub-populace took notice of Seven, and indicated greeting. Every so often, the scene disclosed a globe of hovering light hanging in the air. After a long time of seeing such things around its new place of residence, Seven had gathered enough to identify that the shapes weren¡¯t what they called witchlights, but instead objects created on the ¡°naked eye layer¡± of the Monolith (a concept about which it had gathered less). The majority of the people busied themselves with laying out unknown apparatus by these lights. Six and thirty seven thousandths of a meter away, a human pair worked at carefully positioning a set of arcane symbols around the light they tended. Head tilted, Seven almost managed to ask its guide about the lights and such when a familiar figure came hurtling over one of the nearer dunes. The human figure in question wore a mask, unless the individual hailed from yet another race with which the reaching-fellow was unfamiliar, and which had angular faces indeed. Upon noticing them, the person approached, skidded, and slowed. Planes covering the mask slid back, and a portion contracted near the center of its frontmost segment. The middle of that region bore the eyes of Friend Louis, which flashed at the reaching-fellow with ambiguous regard before roosting upon the shoulders of the gnoll. ¡°Hey, Gorar!¡± he panted, gaily and with a bit of a loud enthusiasm as the wind picked up momentarily. After a second or two, he looked up and added with considerably lesser enthusiasm, ¡°Hello, Seven.¡± ¡°Hello, Friend Louis,¡± answered Seven. ¡°GOOD AFTERNOON!¡± said Friend Gorar at precisely the same instant. The human¡¯s visible face wrinkled up so that it was obvious he smiled at both of them, but in different ways. Seven¡¯s increased awareness of that wonderfully complex layer of what-exists-between-people had brought it to a fascinating if unhappy realization. In particular, like Friend Lord Artaxerxes, the eccentricities of some behaviors exhibited by Friend Louis indicated potent opposing but cohabitant attitudes. Based on both the cues it had since learned to seek and some of the history of the human¡¯s life, Seven placed him for one of those who presently found fellows such as itself less than comfortable company. On the opposing side of the equation lay the fact that Friend Louis, by most accounts, found his own fun (or maybe happiness, Seven¡¯s grasp of those nuances still quavered with gelatinous novelty) in welcoming others to this place they called Pennat Gate. ¡°WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?¡± Friend Gorar asked, head leaning askance. She vigorously scratched an arm. ¡°Coordinating with the rescue operations!¡± replied the human with a deep breath. Seven stepped closer as he abruptly misplaced his balance, hoping to help him avoid falling. However, Friend Louis pinwheeled his arms, keeping his footing and distance both. He even retreated a single quick hop, without actually looking directly at Seven. Friend Gorar settled herself more solidly into her footsteps as she waited for him to continue. He did, after a second. ¡°Duchess Irden¡¯s in charge of the civil preparations.¡± Friend Louis jerked a thumb behind himself, apparently indicating an especially tall armored individual close to one of the distant floating lights. ¡°Her assistant caught a bad case of thaumaturgic fatigue loading up on experience with different kinds of scrying, and they needed a replacement on short notice. Turns out that they also needed someone who has skill with managing public address systems. Someone like¡­ well, not me, but apparently I¡¯ll do in a pinch. While a lot of us have cut our teeth on the ¡®take care of extrafacetary civilians¡¯ thing, this is a first time for participating in a full-blown facetary retrieval in the cases of most of our little crew. We do have a couple of passels of civilians from Rhaagm and ?lthlant chipping in who¡¯ve-¡± He stopped talking with a small grunt, then looked at the slashing fabric on Friend Gorar¡¯s form that marked her as a Fountainist. ¡°Sorry. Didn¡¯t quite think about who was on the receiving end, there. You¡¯ve probably run into more scenarios on the legal frontier than me by a factor of, what, a thousand?¡± Friend Gorar barked. It was very like the human sound of laughter. ¡°I TAKE NO OFFENSE!¡± Seven listened to them talking, and tried to fit some pattern of timing correlation between their speech and the swilling chevrons of sand. It found none, but did discover that its claws sank an inconvenient depth into the lustrous grains when it stood still for long enough. ¡°How is this ¡®facetary retrieval¡¯ to be different from standard expectations?¡± it asked after pulling a foot free. It stared at how some of the sand gently flowed into the depressions its talons left behind. ¡°SIMPLE! IT IS NOW PERMISSIBLE, WHERE BEFORE IT WAS NOT!¡± Friend Gorar turned a moment to another person who appeared behind them, through the folding junction. The newer person wore a massive cloak covering their whole being with a Fountainist fabric identifier wrapped tightly around the torso, and was notably larger than Seven. The person gestured at Friend Gorar, and Friend Gorar barked something that Seven couldn¡¯t understand. The new person saluted before leaving the way they¡¯d come, and Friend Gorar snorted out a bit of sand before addressing Seven once more. ¡°PENNAT GATE COULD PREVIOUSLY HOUSE PERSONS OF INTEREST, BUT LACKED THE RIGHT TO PROCURE THEM - ONLY ACCEPT CUSTODY FROM OTHER PARTIES! NOW, HOWEVER, THE REPUBLIC LORDS HAVE GIVEN THEIR BLESSING TO THE ESTATE¡¯S HORRIBLY CHARITABLE KIDNAPPINGS!¡± When Seven stared at her, head askance, Friend Louis grunted again. The sun caught the polished plates of his headwear when he turned to Seven, and rubbed his chin. ¡°Think of it this way: we can go to them now - or at least bring them to us without relying on a middleman. Don¡¯t worry about the details of how it works if you still don¡¯t understand it, you¡¯ll get it soon enough.¡± He waved in the tall armored figure¡¯s direction. ¡°Gorar, tell me when the demolition¡¯s ready for deployment, please,¡± said Friend Louis. ¡°I¡¯m going to be planning out the communication relay. I¡¯ll send you the coordination specifications.¡± A delay of seventeen hundredths of a second, then Friend Louis pointed into the distance. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long-¡± ¡°THE CHARGES ARE NEARLY READY!¡± said Friend Gorar, ears flicking as a strong gust tossed grit over everyone and everything without exception. She was staring into the distance, and while the reaching-fellow saw no sign of what prompted the outburst, she obviously watched something with profound intent. ¡°... thank you very much.¡± The man stood up, eyes becoming covered by dark material once again. He tapped his face protection, and hopped away from his vantage. He started to say something to Seven, stopped, then looked at Friend Gorar. ¡°I hope you have some kind of shielding or eigenflak in reserve, because we¡¯ll be having a bit of a poof in a second. A very loud kind of poof.¡± Friend Gorar gestured understanding. She then gestured for Seven to keep its distance. ¡°STAY WELL BACK UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET SMOOSHED!¡± After a few seconds, Seven looked around, utterly failing to see the source of what it supposed was some esoteric danger. ¡°What is the prob-¡± was as far as it got before what it had learned to recognize as a series of destabilizer constructs converted most of a million square kilometers to perfectly flat terrain. ¡°Yes!¡± shouted Friend Louis, jumping with skyward fists as several gigagrams of dust vindictively fought against settling back down. The scratchy thuds when bits of dirt and pieces of rock which had escaped conversion fell to the plane of the remaining substrate had an astounding volume. ¡°Alright,¡± chuckled Friend Louis, still rapidly moving on his feet in something close to dance. ¡°That¡¯s part the first. Now, we need to prepare for the grafting.¡± He tapped the back of his helmet, and Seven sympathetically poked the back of its own head, trying to decipher the meaning of the gesture through method acting. Eventually, Friend Louis pointed to a point on the flat sand, and a long and finely detailed shape began to sprout from the shivering grains at a tearing pace. The shape held no opacity, no hint of opacity, and began throwing out forks in every conceivable direction. A thousand fractal recursions later, the form bore the unambiguous likeness of a tree, logarithmic curves describing the distance from each sub-root to each sub-branch. Each of the many terminations began glowing, tipped by a m?bius strip of blurry motion, and within an almost imperceptible time the glowing fragments started to pulse in a spiraling pattern. On the falling edge of each period, a small sound came from the thing: not a word, but a sound which could have been cut out of a word. After this went on for most of a minute, the reaching-fellow spoke up in a confused sort of inquiry. ¡°Is this shape meant to act as some form of beacon?¡± ¡°You could say that,¡± was the reply. Friend Louis swept an arm out to his right, and Seven followed the indicated line. Far to the one side, an identical tree sprouted, twining around itself and giving off the same pattern. Beyond that tree began another budding glass shape, and another, and another. ¡°WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE TO BE A POET-WEAVER?¡± asked Friend Gorar. Friend Louis tapped the glassy tree, and it began to hum. All the other trees began to hum as they rose from the sand, becoming clearer and purer as they unfolded from the gritty covering. ¡°Well, after I picked up witchlights and a bit of Ast, I decided I should be getting into something with special applications, yeah? Twenty years ago, I thought of magic as something entirely unclean. Now? Honestly, I¡¯m just happy to have the chance to play around with the art, but still. We¡¯ve got an endless supply of shallow talent in broad subject matter; I¡¯ll stick with situational magic studied in-depth.¡± ¡°AND YOUR RELATION TO OTHER SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE WHO APPRECIATE THE SECURITY OF POET-FIRE-¡± Friend Louis threw up his covered hands, digits clawing at the brass-bright sky. ¡°All right, yes. My brother also recommended the discipline. Happy?¡± Friend Gorar said nothing, but her cheeks pulled up as her mouth dropped slightly open. ¡°Poet-fire, what is?¡± inquired Seven. ¡°Magic. Poet-weaver genre, takes a ritual rather than directed focus on the part of a thinking being¡¯s gestalt, produces little fires that can each exhibit particle-like behaviors. Very good at dealing with a limited spectrum of tasks.¡± Friend Louis flicked a digit at the closest of the bright curls on the tree, and it glittered with a sinuous bright curly squirming. The same squirming began on the other trees, in the same positions relative to their planted roots. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful thing, my dear Beast. Poet-fire allows a much easier bypass of simple things like quantum entanglement, and more complicated things like the superstructure imbued in interpolation paper¡­ within reason.¡± At that moment, Seven innately learned the definition of yet another adjective with which it had only had conceptual familiarity: entrancing. ¡°I want to learn about this idea of being a poet-weaver very much, and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to practically apply such principles for study.¡± Seven¡¯s proclamation preceded a very slow turning of Friend Louis¡¯s head by several very slow seconds. ¡°Okay,¡± said Friend Louis, quiet and very intense. ¡°A magical schlrikt - that is one of the scarier prospects I¡¯ve ever encountered. In fact, the sheer uselessness of words to convey the unease that brings me is astounding.¡± Seven¡¯s feet sifted the sand. It had a sudden flood of wanting - wanting the human to stop looking at it with that expression in his eyes. Its fangs shivered. ¡°I do not aim to be frightening to any,¡± it asserted. Friend Louis took a single long step, away from the reaching-fellow and toward the wide desert expanse. ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t exactly disbelieve you. Just note that there was a man who tried to do some very bad stuff to me not long ago, and while you might not aim for disquiet, I don¡¯t plan to let someone come popping into our conversation and idly tell you to slit me up.¡± Seven¡¯s feet slowly carried it back one and seventy three hundredths meters. ¡°I have received repeated instruction to do no harm to any such as you,¡± it stated. ¡°I know that as well. Also, I know that if you had enough countermanding orders, you could still shank me. Yes, you and all the other ¡®fellows¡¯ around here have standing orders to inform your nannies - Gorar here, or similar - when you receive contradictory instruction. But what if you had a hundred people ambush you at once and order that you DON¡¯T report that infraction?¡± ¡°IS THIS NOT PARANOIA?¡± interjected a slit-eyed Friend Gorar. ¡°After getting my mesh painfully (very painfully) ripped out? No. It¡¯s not that any of our Beast residents have anything like animosity; it¡¯s a matter of trust.¡± Friend Gorar¡¯s lips peeled back, and she made a little gritty noise. ¡°THE BARTIMAEUS STUDIES SHOW REVERSAL OF SUCH INSTRUCTIONS WOULD REQUIRE SOMETHING IN THE REALM OF SEVERAL THOUSAND COUNTER-TRAINING EXPOSURES!¡± Friend Louis waved a curt, sharp hand slash at the tall armored person in the distance. ¡°Yes, they do. I won¡¯t say that Kallahassee, Magdod, and their legion of assistants are mistaken. They certainly don¡¯t lie. However, I also knew I was safe - as safe as one can be, in any case - here in this place. That¡¯s why I¡¯m carrying a quadratic accelerator around with me for the rest of my days.¡± A snort escaped him, as the distant tall armored person threw one limb skyward. At the same time, one of the other curlicues on the glassy trees lit up, swirling faster and faster. The whole tree lit up, and a voice like the clangor of metal bowls smashed against each other came through. All the other trees replicated the din, until the very sand seemed to shiver under the flaying ribbons of speech. Seven identified this racket as the collection of word-sounds called Yrdkish; an entirely different and seemingly redundant lexicon to express the same things as the Rhaagmini it already knew. It had asked a great many friends about the reasons for the existence of such redundant things as duplicate vocabulary, and had received nearly as many discrete opinions on the matter. If it had been up to the reaching-fellow, it would have disassembled such needless venues of expression. To its chagrin, that was a labor it could accomplish no more than it could sever the suppurating tissues of Friend Louis¡¯s upset. Seven was about to say something else, just as the sound terminated. But then it noticed a certain irregularity upon the day¡¯s light. A certain irregularity which it found familiar, all too like that tiny subduction of is by is-not into which it had entered, and which had whisked it from the familiarity of Home and Shine Backward to its new place of residence. It noticed an aberration, and it brought to mind a little recitation it had heard from Friend Kallahassee long long ago, something he¡¯d said dated from the first time a human ever witnessed a fellow. Shadow without form. Shape without substance. The numbed mind made to dance. The postmature end. Its nails tried to slide from their housings, but it restrained the reflex as it glared, and glared, and glared. It glared at that aberration, a long meandering knot of chasm in the air, in the sand, and over the second farthest poet-fire tree. By coincidence or by design, it had a faint symmetrical similarity to the design of the expressions of poet-fire. ¡°There seems to be a¡­ lump in the air, something like the growths of Home, over there,¡± said Seven. Pointing, its head tracked a globule of clotted space as it deformed back along the knot¡¯s three crosses, before returning to its original position. Then there were four crosses. Moments later, the process repeated, then there were five crosses. For some reason, the faint and recognizable geometry made the reaching-fellow want to be elsewhere. ¡°I- what?¡± Friend Louis half-coughed, fully facing Seven, one palm against the top of his head. ¡°Could you rephrase that in some way that makes any kind of sense?¡± He sized up the pitch and roll and yaw of Seven¡¯s knot-tracking, looking in the same direction. However, the twitching erratic movement of his gaze made it clear that he couldn¡¯t actually see that which Seven saw¡­ at least, not in the same way. Friend Gorar began to retort, stopped, then scratched her head as she also looked at the place where people immersed themselves in or left the overlay of the tangled twisting surface.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°I CANNOT SEE-¡± she began, then her eyes went wide. One limb brought her large pain-hurler to the fore. ¡°DID THE DUCHESS ALREADY ORDER THE TYPE NINE EVENTS BEGUN?¡± ¡°No, she didn¡¯t,¡± snarled Friend Louis. ¡°They don¡¯t have the target location prepped.¡± ¡°There is a problem?¡± asked Seven, hesitant about involving a human when they wore that sort of facial expression. ¡°AS HUMANS SAY, THEY JUMPED THE GUN!¡± Friend Gorar growled. Friend Louis began expelling a lengthy stream of things whose precise content was unknown but whose spirit was obviously searing, then, ¡°IRDEN! IRDEN!!¡± The little trees began to jangle not merely with gusto, but fervor. From the knot came a shuddering, rolling, rolling, rolling thump. The reaching-fellow really, really wanted to be elsewhere. When an eye with a diameter in excess of three hundred meters appeared in that bloated section of parabolic space, Seven took a small step backward. When the eye¡¯s owner began to pour forth to the sounds of cries and fleeing onlookers, it took another. Seven knew what kind of creature it was watching, and by which it was watched. Ur-fellows (over-Beasts, as Friend Lord Artaxerxes named them) were things to be avoided, no matter where one might exist in Home¡¯s enfolding arms. An ur-fellow did not respect the other denizens of Home. One of the very few things that Seven and such other denizens of Home possessed, which could be thought of as a saying, went thus: ur-fellows please, ur-fellows do. Never were any two ur-fellows quite alike. Never did one know of what an ur-fellow was capable. The creature that unfolded from the rubbery almost-place it traversed between Home and here didn¡¯t have any direct link to the paradigms of other fellows with which Seven was intimately familiar, though the lack of rigorous structure put it most in mind of a sewing-fellow. It possessed the same kind of moldable elasticity, but less in the sense of being highly flexible and more in the sense that its presence substituted ¡°parallel¡± for ¡°tangent¡± through much of the material and structure in its proximity. By the reaching-fellow¡¯s subjective measure, the ur-fellow¡¯s height topped out some four kilometers above where it sprawled across the sandy plains. However, it was nowhere appreciably wider than its scouring spherical orbs. Any particular meter-long non-eye region of the entity obviously was either a perfectly flat surface or a perfect right angle or joining of three right angles. Also obviously, it was a product of Home - what Seven¡¯s friends called the Purple - because its shape possessed exactly nineteen vertices; a geometry that Seven knew intimately from the natural shape of many stones lying around Home, but which it had not encountered in its new residence of Pennat Gate. Oddments and oases, a splicing of things yet unknown! The ur-fellow¡¯s communication medium was the thinking mind. It obviously had none of the elucidation given to Seven and its comrades; no, it planted idea in semantic soil without the processing of output and input translation. ¡°Oh, now what!?¡± wailed Friend Louis. He turned to the nearest tree, and began shouting at it. ¡°Eigenflak! Get an eigenflak blanket ready NOW!¡± The ur-fellow¡¯s many eyes traced the lines and distortions of the new reality in which it found itself. It looked up. It looked down. It looked at itself. It looked at the sand. It looked at the vast contour of the platform on which it rested. It looked at the bulbous seam where its narrow footprint pushed into the pliant sea of grains. Companions, disperse. Dispose! Take and be taken! The shouts and dismay and vacation of those close to the ur-fellow multiplied. At the base of the creature, like the hands of a non-fellow when they emerged from their cloth raiments, a ragged drove of entities emerged from under its low fringe. They almost certainly came from Home. At the sight and faint sound of the creatures, Seven felt a cluttered mismatch of data and learning suddenly make itself straight. It had received descriptions of these entities from a host of sources. Yet, until now, it hadn¡¯t known any want to garner any more direct experience of them, such as the imagery that Friend Lord Artaxerxes and Friend Adz sometimes produced for its edification. No, that wasn¡¯t correct. It had actually known the want to very specifically not garner any more direct experience of them. The tides of things slowly coming onward were, perhaps, the first things for which the reaching-fellow was justified in using the term ¡°abomination.¡± A single identical human face across each and every one of the things. A melange of parts from vaguely-stirring hopping-fellows, unevenly grafted onto parts from vaguely-stirring human forms. Inky protuberances and papules disgorging from every surface. Lolloping frolicking hobbles, half run, half pop-push aided by the bulbous bits of the hopping-fellow pieces. The creatures said and shrieked and roared things. Things which Seven could almost certainly have understood if it were closer. It was glad that it was not closer. Friend Gorar broke the hovering perversity-of-mind when she began continuously discharging her pain-hurler at the oncoming hordes of not-human not-fellow creatures. As she began shouting something, it suddenly perceived how many others at the border of the spreading slick of unwanted creatures were performing the same dance of matter expulsion. Some of the abominations went down immediately. Some of the abominations began to answer in kind, hurling umbral streams and gobbets outward in festively lethal sprays. The screaming became more general. ¡°YOU WANT?¡± howled Friend Louis, from in front. He was holding a much thinner and much longer weapon, releasing projectiles only every few seconds, but with high precision. Seven came to the realization that he may not have known what he was saying. ¡°YOU WANT? FATHER IN HEAVEN, HERE? YOU SHOW UP AT THE GREATEST ANTI-BEAST FORTRESS IN EXISTENCE? OH, YOU COUNT RIPPERS KNOW HOW MANY EIDOLONS WE HAVE SPECIFICALLY FOR NOT WANTING TO KILL YOU? I HOPE YOU ALL DIE TWICE!¡± The swelling crowd at the ur-fellow¡¯s base did not suddenly stop pouring forth, but neither did it continue to grow outward. By three minutes, sixteen seconds, the tide began to ebb. By four minutes, two seconds, the last creatures had fallen. The ur-fellow craned with gentle deliberation, an observant stamen to the sheared-off petals of the creatures strewn broken and smeared about it. ¡°Ha-aaahhh¡­ How¡­ did it do that with those Count Beast hybrids? Was it controlling them?¡± Friend Louis sounded almost calm. ¡°I DO NOT KNOW!¡± Friend Gorar did not. Another shot clawed into the sky from the end of Friend Louis¡¯s long tube. It smote the ur-fellow, but as the bestirred grains of sand smote Seven. The many others closer to the ur-fellow followed his example, with similar lack of effect. The tall armored figure in the middle distance performed some invocation of the glassy trees once more. All the trees¡¯ fires lit with a manic phase-shifting frenzy. All the trees¡¯ fires began to hum with words that set Seven¡¯s fangs to clattering in that same loud voice, evidently originating from that tall armored figure. A fellow didn¡¯t have to understand the syntax to comprehend the meaning behind the turbulent staccato shouts. Friend Louis shouted something back to the tree. A deprivation of convent. Convenience forgone. What makes when when? Whither not when not-when? Where is reverse irreversible? In its staid rest, the ur-fellow extended several of its vertices outward, and they appeared below it at the wavy sea¡¯s surface. It began sieving the sand at its foot, pulling up slurries of grit and a collection of parts of the disassembled creatures. It held the components up to one of its lower eyes with immaculate care, held the components adjacent. It tried to convince them to adhere. They did not. It let the slop slide down the sloping air, a precipitation that would land in one thousand four hundred sixty six and seven hundred twelve thousandths vertical meters and throughout a period of at least eight seconds. Over the duration, the creature continued to gormlessly accept further inconsequential damages from the multitudes. ¡°THE LORD HAD BETTER ARRIVE S-¡± declared Friend Gorar, pulling back on her pain-hurler, before she was cut off by a needle-sharp sound expanded to infinite thickness. A radiant chariot made of murder flitted across the clouds, and it dragged a human passenger. Chariot and passenger came to a halt far above. Friend Lord Artaxerxes had come. Some incomprehensible speech spilled from the mouth of Friend Lord Artaxerxes, but came from the person made of murder. Seven didn¡¯t understand the text of what was said, but from the reactions of the people below, it guessed it was an entreaty to flight. Friend Lord Artaxerxes moved again then, in a rumble of throbbing prismatic ruptures stitching the sky. The sound was beautiful and impossible to miss. Far below him, near to the ur-fellow¡¯s base, Seven saw a pattering of armored creatures begin fanning out. It recognized Friend-Foe Argyva¡¯s form as she manifested, then gave a wordless command that the others fan out. She vanished again almost immediately after looking back up toward Friend Lord Artaxerxes. Moribund creature, who and what are you? seeped out from the ur-fellow¡¯s towering form as it took notice of the tiny human¡¯s approaching racket. It peered closer as a voice¡¯s resonance set the very air to humming. said that arm person from its place high above them all. ¡°Why¡¯s he speaking Rhaa-¡± Friend Louis began, half-bent over as he turned to Friend Gorar. He stopped when the towering form swerved into sudden motion. The ur-fellow¡¯s vertices and edges squirmed, and a blot of its substance slipped out from one side of it. In a sweeping inflation of material, part of the air immediately behind the tiny human transubstantiated, boiling outward and upward around him in a torrential pillar of the ur-fellow¡¯s stuff. The pillar rose and carried his body before one of its quiescent, reverberating eyes, holding him close and examining the curious little entity. Moribund creature, take of your dedication of self and set it to worship. Venerate my self of uppermost self and integrate your dedication of self into a directed graph. replied the arm person. A mass of the ur-fellow¡¯s edged twisted and contracted around Friend Lord Artaxerxes. The ur-fellow squeezed down on the tiny human as it overlaid its demands across his voice. Employment of extraneous agency I do not require. Place volition on hiatus save where dedication of self benefits the uppermost self! A short pause, and that ominous glint of the arm person¡¯s tiny facilities - which Seven had seen and found to be a source of unease ever since it had first stepped through the hole in Home into Yrdky - lit up Friend Lord Artaxerxes with a most potent light. said the arm person, The ur-fellow abruptly jerked the little shape closer. Its nearest eye seemed to nearly consume him. Expedients must oblige, and contrariness makes- A single ethereal hand reached out from nowhere, climbing into existence behind the massive hypercuboid creature. Sleek, sharp, savage; it expanded like the flower Seven had been trying to grow for quite some time in its quarters, nourished to full radial bloom in a single second, an armspan and also a kilometer from fingertip to fingertip. The edges glinted with purpose as surprised noises roiled from the people abandoning the ur-fellow¡¯s shadow. The hand drew back, and shoved at the ur-fellow. A gesture Seven now knew for contempt and not-quite aggravation rather than intent to harm. It made contact with the dark shape, and the dark shape flowed away, a bag of water escaping the care of its holder. Castigation! Castigation and denial! The ur-fellow¡¯s mass rippled and ran, a river of displeased and shallow chastisement. It contorted part of its upper body closer, several eyes formulating a series of solutions that collided at the coordinates of the tiny human¡¯s body. The tall creature¡¯s substance began to emit something that was not heard or seen but felt. As it did so, each eye began to fluoresce with an accelerating rhythm. As it did so, Friend Lord Artaxerxes flashed like the sun, giving the truth to how some people called him ¡°bright,¡± and noisily relocated far to one side of the ur-fellow. Seven briefly worried about whether Friend Lord Artaxerxes could withstand the ur-fellow¡¯s mercies. Then it recalled the tales it had heard about a place, a Brow that had been Beaten. A paroxysm torqued the whole world around the point where Friend Lord Artaxerxes hung as the ur-fellow¡¯s vertices collided with one another on his position. The ur-fellow¡¯s ministrations failed to operate on their human parameter, if by a narrow gulf. Shining lights converged about him, picked him up, and switchbacked him away in a series of more loud affine transformations. he declared. It wasn¡¯t subject to precisely the same metaphysical constraints as its locale. Thus, the behemoth entity had the freedom to move without undue worry over convention. The ur-fellow instantly twined itself through the air, whipping out and up at the human with a high thin crack. It made contact, and the region surrounding Friend Lord Artaxerxes flashed to a dark-veined bubble, bent and broken. His tiny form was flung back along the ur-fellow¡¯s length, until one of its flashing eyes reoriented and convexed him straight down with tremendous force. Along the route of his descent, no fewer than twelve of the ur-fellow¡¯s various planes and edges compacted. The whole creature¡¯s being pulsed once, and a corrugated scream of light snaked from between its coincidental surfaces, flaring bright as the creature¡¯s eyes reverberated one last time and extinguished their liquid radiance. Friend Louis gave off a factorially rising sound for which Seven had no name, did something to his weapon, and unleashed a positive flood of munitions in the ur-fellow¡¯s direction, his vocalizations only ever increasing in volume. Friend Gorar looked at him once, then folded away to places unknown. Snarls came clawing outward on the wings of the searing beams braising the massive thing¡¯s grasp. More explosions and stippling marches of projectiles began to pick up speed once again, peppering the ur-fellow¡¯s towering shape. As before, they failed to elicit response from the towering shape. The towering shape didn¡¯t react at all until a spike of lucent anger punched out of its containing prison, and smashed its successive attempts at recapture aside. Friend Lord Artaxerxes was¡­ Seven vaguely guessed that the adjective pissed served well enough in this case. An immolation earned! Moribund creature, utilities and attractions you possess manifest disappointment! Take these suboptimal dedications of self and exalt them! Seven¡¯s fangs began quivering, as something began coalescing in the distance. Behind Friend Lord Artaxerxes, another shape sloughed off the stuff of not-being, evocative of the less-than-charitable hand of moments prior, and faintly glowing with the same ribbed brightness as Friend Lord Artaxerxes himself. A massive blade of some transparent material dropped from the invisible sheath of the air above the ur-fellow¡¯s form, an indeterminate length of simple wedge that fell with great vigor. It swung back, and then slalomed across the ur-fellow with terrifying speed. It peeled two of its vertices away entirely, leaving in its flesh a mark that wouldn¡¯t be ignored. The ur-fellow¡¯s sunfishing away from the wound¡¯s cause prevented any further damage, but its baying made its enmity clear enough for any watching. Murder of unreason! Span the softness! For all ordered sets a dismantling! Implore you fellows I do insist - quench what hole, convey what matter, seal what differs, partition what matches! Make new auld! Make new auld! MAKE NEW AULD! Seven had the sense of a sound moving into its brain as the entity¡¯s presence suddenly rose up around the reaching-fellow like a constellation of wasps. It demanded, it dictated: kill everything that wasn¡¯t a fellow. Kill everything that was a fellow. Kill everything. Seven cast off the imperative; not without difficulty, but with far less difficulty than the alternative of obedience. Not far off, though, a brunt-fellow with the designation of Five Minus Four Times Four shuddered and bent in the middle, turning to a stubby fregnost and preparing to make the biped into food. The fregnost fell backward, and the brunt-fellow leapt straight over its intended target, but awkwardly twisted in midair to land within biting distance as it turned around. It clearly wasn¡¯t used to the gritty loose substrate underfoot, as it kept jerking minutely when taking steps, obviously reminded of Home¡¯s inconstant material and finding it hard to dedicate to a trajectory with each footfall. Training weights tugged at opposing principles in the reaching-fellow¡¯s mind. Injury shall not be done. Permission of injury shall not be done. Two first order directives that could only be reconciled in a complex system so long as no actionable hostility pervaded the system¡¯s function. It had very often run into cases where one person¡¯s demand-which-needs-to-be-met contradicted another, and the stronger of the two bore out, albeit weakened somewhat thereafter. Consistent instruction from those like Friend Gorar, who were part of what it had heard called the ¡°Pastoral Division,¡± did something unusual: not the reinforcement of a set of directives, but the forging of loyalties. A competition between allowing harm and causing harm was novel. Yet, to its surprise, it found it easy enough to overcome one demand-which-needs-to-be-met with another, in favor of doing harm to the brunt-fellow. Its nails lengthened, and it split the difference between itself and the brunt-fellow designated Five, then negated it. One nail went through the brunt-fellow¡¯s flank. Seven pushed and lifted its target from its feet, carrying it along for almost twenty meters before slamming the creature into a flat table of stone. The quadruped voiced a yipping confused protest without words. Five tried to bend its neck backward and gnash at Seven¡¯s limbs. Seven gave voice to its disagreement with the implicit assertion that it had any right to do so by picking it up and performing upon it what the reaching-fellow learned was known as a pile driver. As with most injury to fellows, the reaching-fellow¡¯s opponent began to recover quite quickly. A rapid fanning of slashing nails over its eyes and other notable bodily features deferred that recovery by a wide margin. Five¡¯s hind legs kicked out several times, prompting Seven to step lightly. Even so, it continued its defamation of the brunt-fellow, hoping to quell its need to worry over the creature. Seven¡¯s attempt to further erode the brunt-fellow¡¯s capability met a seawall when it got tackled by a cladding-fellow from one side. It tumbled, lost its footing, regained it, then got tackled a second time. Far far away, far past any place it could matter at that moment, it registered the ur-fellow continually bellowing its ire. The exhalations each struck Seven with tiny daggers of demands-which-need-to-be-met, but it still managed to resist. The long sharp blades which gave a reaching-fellow its identity lanced out of their respective fingers, nicking the cladding-fellow on one side, then seriously menaced the air. An explosion of dust resulted when the new contender¡¯s leg joint encountered one of the bladelike extrusions, and it tripped. The tripee stabbed its beak through the tripper. The tripper objected. As the reaching-fellow tumbled once again, it wrenched the cladding-fellow aside just a bit farther. Seven kicked it in the middle, and then shoved the two of them apart with a long guttural braying. Spumes of grit flew as though lifted by Home¡¯s wicked winds, wings that splotched the ground with thin shadows. The reaching-fellow smashed into its opponent¡¯s arm, bending it backward, then got a vicious slap across the fangs for its trouble. It flew sideways, bumbled past a trio of robed people armed with¡­ something, ignored their shouts and several attempts to slash at it, and then resumed the disorderly attempt to produce peace through superior application of force. It leapt upon the cladding-fellow just as the cladding-fellow leapt upon it. A proboscis swept in huge carving arcs, back needles scraped against nails, howls and hisses abounded. The unknown cladding-fellow incurred a massive gash down one side courtesy of Seven¡¯s talons, while one of Seven¡¯s digits became crushed beneath a flat heel. The reaching-fellow managed to avoid being skewered again on its opponent¡¯s leering proboscis, but not a systemic perforation by the long spines adorning the creature¡¯s upper body. It was dashed to the ground, then picked up again, before the cladding-fellow slammed its back down and started propelling itself along the coarse ground. Seven¡¯s body quickly began shredding, and it groped at the rough anvil of its torment, looking for purchase. Even as the cladding-fellow turned its head about to try and poke Seven¡¯s eyes out with its snout, Seven managed to grab a large submerged hunk of rock with one limb, the cladding-fellow¡¯s head with one limb, then smacked the moving thing with the non-moving thing until both of them were temporarily non-moving things. Even the fellow hesitated in its efforts several seconds later as the world went almost white. It turned upward, seeing the midnight ingot of the ur-fellow shot into perfect relief. The land became molten metal, the people tiny impurities swimming upon the surface, the sky a vast vessel descending to draw a deep draft. In the center of the stilled chaos, a solid point of order hovered in the guise of a man and a person made of murder. From the point of order emanated an explosion of luminescent rivulets, gleaming ribbons refracting off the dust and playing in the wind. The ribbons moved, and very shortly after the ur-fellow did likewise. Spinning up into the sky, a cluster of the tight-wound spirals of light smashed into the sand where the ur-fellow previously hunched. The volcanic sounds of pulverization strangled out all else. Seven¡¯s legs unevenly shook as the world seemed to contract and swell beneath it. When a string of identical light projectiles bore down from on high, traveling through both spatial and non-spatial intercept plots to strike at the evasively warping ur-fellow, the subsequent concussions threw the reaching-fellow to the ground. SUBSET OF UNIVERSAL-NOT! BE NOW! The massive creature brought its full repressive might down on the glowing source of the scything motes. Nineteen vertices sweeping outward as though they were expanding. Nineteen vertices nearly colliding with a perfect ringing silence. Nineteen vertices exerting a kind of not-gravity, hauling in every direction simultaneously to deconstruct the form of Friend Lord Artaxerxes. The lights wavered in protest; their targeting continued, but became ever so slightly more erratic. Even as they recalculated their respective trajectories, the ur-fellow persisted in its dodging from place to place around the platform¡¯s gravelly topside. The pinwheeling lights slowed. Seven found itself once more blindsided, this time by another reaching-fellow and a hopping-fellow. It recognized neither fellow. The second of these rebounded from its victim, inflicting no more than a hard blow. It rolled along the glowing sand, righted itself, and then sprang away in the direction of the robed people. The other reaching-fellow, unfortunately, took a more direct interest in Seven¡¯s presence. Their nails met each other. Seven forced its way past the biting edges, and cut out one of its foe¡¯s eyes. A new orb began bubbling up and congealing in the ragged wound immediately, but by that point its near-future owner was flying through the air, hurled at tremendous speed. The disabled reaching-fellow then managed to intercept seventeen bullets with its face - courtesy of a fleeing robed person - after hitting the ground and sliding a short distance. It did not get up. Climbing to its feet, Seven turned just in time to see Friend Louis do something else to his weapon, raise it, and loose one last projectile. Its speed sufficed to set the air alight between him and the ur-fellow in a shrieking pipe of white. The shot went wide when its intended recipient dodged away again, yet it actually drew some notice from the preeminent presence as several eyes reallocated themselves to examine the line of decaying heat. Seven saw Friend Gorar then. She had closed the distance with the ur-fellow, she had prepared her massive tubular contrivance, and she had taken up a good position for launching its cargo. The tube coughed out something that looked like a lengthy metallic cone. The metallic cone hit the ur-fellow and abruptly became a sphere, carving a chunk out of the towering creature¡¯s side almost a quarter the size of one of its eyes. The ur-fellow fellow temporarily halted its flickering motion, making as though to crush the gnoll. Yet as it did so Seven saw another of the fizzling light streaks penetrate the creature from above, then partition into a forking graph that fixated a suddenly-wailing creature. Creeping from a thousand endpoints of its bulk, lucent quills bristled and skittered. The massive entity flailed, streams of itself curling down and over, in and out of existence in fits and spirited spurts. It gave off a steady stream of hatred or something so near as made no odds. Friend Lord Artaxerxes instantiated in front of the ur-fellow, a single candle against a darkened sky. A strange blurring. A thin straight-line zapping cord exploding from Friend Lord Artaxerxes, and tapping into the jagged arteries of the branching solid light. A sound like the mating of atoms. The light fractured. Every single creature for a hundred kilometers heard a vast and rapidly narrowing scream in their mind. The light compressed. Every single creature for a hundred kilometers donned the garments of unmarred stillness. After a second that never passed, merely flipped over from one side to the other, the unending glow in the sky softened without terminating. The desolate plains of the platform retained a single sign of the now-vanished ur-fellow, in the form of a racked and ruined glass crater. At the slippery fissured rim glittered a dusting of dead diamonds. Just outside the nigh-glowing border touched down Friend Lord Artaxerxes, who strode toward the gradually-reforming crowds of survivors. Several vehicles began closing in on his position, including some of those things called disks and one of those things called gemships. They were moving very fast indeed. As they closed in, Seven also noticed the reappearance of Friend-Foe Argyva and her cohorts. ¡°I want that I had not done harm,¡± Seven heard from an upturned dune not fifty paces distant. Its attention went out in that direction, and it found Five unmoving on the ground. The brunt-fellow¡¯s limbs were perfectly operable, and its eyes had recovered to their full size and original placement. Seven didn¡¯t know. It left for the more hospitable climes of Friend Louis, where it joined him in watching the unfolding events of afar. ¡°What shall happen now?¡± it eventually asked, watching those unfolding events with what it realized was apprehension. ¡°NOTHING CAN BE DONE UNTIL WE TAKE BETTER PRECAUTIONS FOR TYPE NINE WILLABARM EVENTS,¡± said Friend Gorar. She had reappeared covered in dirt and looking all the more natural for it. She stood braced on her weapon. ¡°THAT CHILD IN CHARGE OF THE FACETARY OPERATION PREPARATIONS OUGHT TO BE SLATHERED IN GRAVY AND PUT IN A PEN OF LONG-LEGGED GOATS.¡± ¡°No,¡± said Friend Louis, ¡°the appropriate response is a bout of sievemind that leaves you nearly vegetative. Or maybe getting thrown into the Wordapenny House.¡± He failed to restrain a very long sigh. ¡°There¡¯s a very specific demographic of people who won¡¯t last long if we don¡¯t step in and import their populace, and soon. Can¡¯t do that with¡­ this.¡± A relatively soft stomp. ¡°We¡¯ve gotten too complacent about type nine events. It¡¯s always been, ¡®Oh dear, something is wrong! We might draw Beast attention!¡¯ Now what, after we¡¯re starting to make nice with Beasts? What do we do when we stumble across something else like THAT!?¡± He had disposed of his weapon. Now, he reached up to his head and did something that sucked up the dark cloth covering his form. His paler flesh and other paler cloth better suited blending in with the sand about his form as he pulled the headwear from its perch and tossed it down. It splashed a tiny spill of grains away in every direction from its point of impact. He turned away from the titanic scene unfolding across the windy dusty plains. ¡°We¡¯ll try again. Not today, though. Not today.¡± ¡°WE OUGHT TO BE AWAY,¡± said Friend Gorar to the reaching-fellow. ¡°WE DO NOT WANT TO WAIT AROUND FOR DUE PROCESS TO FINISH CLEANING UP. IT WILL TAKE QUITE A WHILE.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Seven awaited the gnoll¡¯s favor or disfavor, as she considered the gently expanding rings of slowly reinstituted control, emergency responders, and the sorts of people who had decided their presence would improve a situation in desperate need of improvement. ¡°THIS IS A FINE MESS,¡± Friend Gorar eventually declared. Seven agreed completely. Live, Beige, Live ¡°... And on that day, the prophet Petteri said, ¡®Let those who seek wisdom write this down! A time shall come when all palimpsests die, and each written word will to its original story be restored. As the child to the parent, and the sand to the stone, and the word to the story, what is sown will be recalled to its place of origin - be it good or ill. On that fantastic day, for each for the worth of its progeny an accounting will be due.¡¯¡± -Hadith of Gwenba, Witnessed-by-Allah, Age of Insight translation, recompilation seventy two ¡®Twas the second Zeroday of Zeromonth, the beginning of the hand whose closure marked the downhill slope toward tooth-and-nail fighting with Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s paladin of poorly disguised self-interest. The good news with Yrdky¡¯s war games was that one needed no major practice with one¡¯s weapons to be effective, having every conceivable manual and all the veterans of the estate making themselves available in easily digested sensory format. Of course, there was familiarity with oneself and one¡¯s assets, and there was familiarity with one¡¯s opponent. The tactics and advice of House-of-Werub proved inestimable for the latter. Seroku Adz Tataki Ba¡¯fus found that allied forces of ?lthlant, and even the temporary armistice with House-of-Werub, became ever so much more cohesive with the addition of just a little bit of good-natured competition. That delightful ageless game known as Grediwe (with which Adz had never grown enamored, on account of the element of chance) allowed competitive competition and enjoyable enjoyment. More to the point, it never forced even Yrdkish players to n-minus-one duels when one person had a spectacularly terrible game. However, Adz had also seen more than a couple of games not involving Yrdkish players put one or more participants in medical suspension - or even the local revivification clinic - when someone got caught cheating. Perhaps it was something common to dice games. In any case, Adz hoped to find several people in the Second Step platform gaming bar called the Lunar Glass. Not technically as a matter of state, but knowing their minds served to buttress the estate¡¯s security. It wanted to check up on some individuals it considered friends, in that Venn diagram intersection of those who had lesser or ambiguous tracking of their goings-on and those who occupied a currently precarious position in the public eye. Not to put too fine a point on it, but those precarious positions might become far less precarious and far more openly volatile within the course of the next month. The truth was that it and its husband had been discussing the recourse of Pennat Gate in light of the negative goodwill it had accrued in the sight of Nor¡¯ridge and other such powers. Lord Artaxerxes had shared a disturbing but very real possibility of the estate¡¯s potential future political status, a possibility that was both plan and fallback. None of the very few parties they¡¯d tapped to gain prophetic insight had pronounced that possibility as ¡°likely¡± and yet none of them were ready to discount it, either. Not the sporadic talent of Lord Tuoamas, not the confidential consultations with the College of Prophecy, not nobody not no how. In that spirit of grasping groping hopes and aspirations, checking up on those people who mattered to the estate¡¯s character seemed well-advised. Two of those people, as it happened, were on premises, and entrenched in the tumescent abject jocularity of Grediwe as the Lady slid through the yawning front entrance. Reltenifor Seven-thousand-ninety-four-centimeters was the foremost of the Lady¡¯s concerns, was a conjugated pohostinlat who had gone out to pasture in the years since his heyday of helping shape Pennat Gate¡¯s war games, was the past recipient of a small portion of Adz¡¯s previous work as a simulation designer, and was losing a match with almost pitiable speed. Despite several different kinds of pleading and some frankly undignified attempts to bribe him with various kinds of carrot, the conjugated strategist considered his futile defense against the forces of Caladhbolg to be the swan song of his career. After a short layover of grooming several candidates for his old position and landing on one Earl Stuttgart, the noble had come to Tuoamas with a very straightforward attitude about the whole ordeal. ¡°Losing against Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s one-man demolition of multiple platforms¡¯ worth of combat materiel? Being on the front lines of arguably the most interesting challenge to warfare in the age? That is something worth a tale of its own. Asking me to stay beyond that milestone is either inconsiderate or wasteful. I now take my leave.¡± And Tuoamas had given his blessing, and that was that. Reltenifor had also come into a sort of amanuensis role for the domestic martial nobility. His guidance was one of the primary factors in deciding what was necessary for ensuring the safety of the local and foreign rabble. Doubly so for the recent over-Beast-fueled immigration mishap. He¡¯d been exonerated in the matter of the rolling disaster caused by the junior staff involved in interfacetary operations, and praised for how quickly he¡¯d started taking mitigatory action from his strategic command post. He¡¯d ungraciously accepted the forgiveness, and promised to keep extraordinary checks on who was permitted to do work on similar interfacetary operations in the future. The rising star of Beast study that was Kallahassee Jones Esckel Marion Lille Bartimaeus the Thirty Fifth had one of his game¡¯s opponents on the ropes, and was desperately trying to fend off the predations of another. Apparently the digital dice weren¡¯t nearly as kind to him as the majority of his estate¡¯s populace. Given how much credit he and his wife and their colleagues had received from the people of that populace, in recognition of the ongoing scientific effort of banishing the ghosts of uncertainty from modern civilized Beastkind, the dice would have needed to spontaneously generate more pips on his turn to approach the favor of the adoring public. If they had, Adz suspected the man would self-consciously insist that it was entirely unnecessary, and that he didn¡¯t really need any special treatment, and please stop rolling natural hundreds. His hands were constantly shaking; either a nervous tic or a very fast beat to a song playing over his mesh. Every so often, one set of fingers rose to scratch at his tunic neck in an itchy twitch. Both of them were getting their clocks cleaned by a pygmy wi?fr from ?lthlant, and a young human woman from either House-of-Werub or the Trisected Republic, based on her clothing. The wi?fr was quite civilized, both in the sense of relating very effectively to all three companions¡¯ mindsets and showing the courtesy due a host by a guest. The woman had good tactics, which Adz appreciated; poor sportsmanship, which it did not; staggering Bequastish accent, about which it felt very little one way or the other. ¡°What kind of card is that?¡± asked Reltenifor of the woman when she triumphantly tossed a quadrangle onto the projected playing field¡¯s main area. ¡°Power word,¡± she answered with a crystalline laugh. ¡°Modifier for my Hiek machine. It means that all other machines which are not finished by the time this one is completed get scrapped.¡± ¡°Never heard of it,¡± said Kallahassee. Where Reltenifor obviously wanted to know more about it for future application, Kallahassee wanted to know more about it for objective study. The woman¡¯s face lightened and she giggled out a pun about hearing and cards in Mefonite, which astoundingly enough didn¡¯t lead to her murder. Perhaps it was that the foremost fregnost tongue managed to take punnery out of the realm of miserable rusty-blade execution offenses, and elevate it to something that was almost tolerable to even civilized people. ¡°I do not intend to denigrate your skill, Ms. Genna. But that seems like an inefficient use of your current resources to hand.¡± Kallahassee jabbed a digit at the wi?fr. ¡°The greatest threat to your current good health is setting itself up for non-thaumaturgic field strategy and a long-term victory.¡± His eyes squinted at the wi?fr¡¯s fluttery limb-fins as they prepared the other competitor¡¯s next move. ¡°Unless I am mistaken, of course.¡± Ms. Genna, with another of her laughs, indicated the passing of her turn. The wi?fr began taking action. ¡°See, Bartimaeus, that is why you are losing. I do not care about him-¡± She nodded in the direction of Reltenifor. ¡°-or it-¡± She did the same toward the pygmy wi?fr. ¡°-because one is already out of the running, and the other is going for a quite strong endgame that will not arrive.¡± The wi?fr played a card and a die that made Reltenifor loose a pohostinlat laugh: arms diagonally oscillating toward and away from each other, like a series of almost-claps. ¡°Oh, well done, especially for picking up with such a terrible strategy at the beginning,¡± he said. ¡°The point of this stage in the game if you have more than two players,¡± continued Ms. Genna, ¡°is to winnow out viable threats in order of ease. You do not go for the kill with those who might still have the means to hold you down and let the rest tear chunks out of you. You do not pour away time plugging inconsequential holes in the game.¡± Her eyes glinted, and Adz tried to pick out which of the three or four possible directions of that obvious double entendre best fit her character. It decided the answer was ¡°all of them.¡± The wi?fr announced that such a mentality was terrible, ruthless, and utterly effective - as it was hoping to currently demonstrate. Ms. Genna found herself staring down the wrong end of a field that her wi?fr competitor had assembled and completed faster than everyone - including she - had expected. She underwent the delights of the field¡¯s applied effects, and she nearly got flattened where she stood. ¡°Well,¡± she huffed. ¡°Let us see about that.¡± Yrdkish didn¡¯t even HAVE contractions and that accent was nearly putting them in anyway. Another rotation around the players, and Kallahassee and Reltenifor were both still technically in the running. Kallahassee had managed to abandon his attempted Hiek machine and start up a couple non-magical fields instead. Reltenifor had an abrupt interest in extremely abstract mathematical constructions, which kept him both out of the line of fire of the other players and ensured that he could do virtually nothing to any of them. The woman gained the main portion of the wi?fr¡¯s attention, and Adz could only watch impressed as it cut her Achilles tendons and sent her grand scheme sprawling. She didn¡¯t suddenly get all petulant and mopey, exactly, but even someone with no exposure at all to human behavior could tell she now had a bone to pick. ¡°Not bad,¡± said Kallahassee. He leaned back and considered the slithery form of the wi?fr across the playing field, one eyebrow cocked like a hip. ¡°Were you planning that strategy from the beginning?¡± The pygmy wi?fr stated that it had intended to wait a bit longer in the ideal scenario, but had accounted as best it could for the others¡¯ early preferences in style. It admitted that it could have done better. ¡°Good day,¡± Adz ventured, moving up to the Toothskin refractor. It drew the attention of the other people patronizing the Lunar Glass, and its honor guard gave a series of don¡¯t-try-anything body signals. The audience successfully managed to not try anything, and went back to their various occupations after a few looks - one from a forithka who wore a mock-Caladhbolg patch of opaque orange on his right arm and the right third of his face - and a happy child chattering away to its progenitor and pointing out the Lady. ¡°Lady,¡± said Reltenifor, rising to attention, followed closely by Kallahassee. The udod aodod warded off the gesture. ¡°Please. The now is a small pleasant islet in the ocean of needs-doing.¡± True, if incomplete. ¡°If you could deal me in, I would be quite happy.¡± That got a look from Reltenifor, who was well up-to-date on the Lady¡¯s less-Grediwe-more-maypoling tastes thanks to his connections. However, he said nothing on the subject. ¡°More is better,¡± said Kallahassee with a thin smile. ¡°For most things, leastwise.¡± The wi?fr agreed and set up a new match with the Lady introduced at the fifth spot, and Adz took a seat at the edge of the matte black table. Ms. Genna didn¡¯t argue, but she obviously didn¡¯t know how to behave when put into a competitive environment where one of the participants was the pinnacle of domestic nobility. The wi?fr had no such reservations, and immediately asked the Lady if it would like to start. The Lady replied that it would. The Lady very soon regretted its step outside the bounds of its comfort zone, if only because it disliked doing poorly for reasons outside of its control. A handful of unrefined jewels, without the right equipment to polish them, thought Adz as its eyespots fluttered and it pored over its hand. At the same time, it was performing rapid-fire mental somersaults as it shuttled its thoughts back and forth between the game and the framing of questions. Fortunately, it quickly garnered the best possible plans of action it could execute, and deduced the likelihood of each being neutralized by the opposition. It started off with a transitional strategy that could fork one of three ways, then ended its turn and waited for the pohostinlat to make his own (far better) play. ¡°I understand that your family have recently taken in a new member,¡± said Adz. It drew to replace the two dice it had expended, and recognized neither of the new additions it got in exchange. ¡°We did,¡± said Reltenifor. ¡°Pretty as black glass, but a terribly silly creature. She still wakes up at night on occasion, looking for how to get to the latrine. She also still has no interest in obtaining a cerv-mesh. But that is the nature of free will: the ability to make as many poor decisions as you would like.¡± Adz felt its budding comfort at Reltenifor¡¯s words abruptly die off, when he added, ¡°My sister has been taking more and more responsibility for the little scamp. She now spends half of her day at the bottom of the hive, helping to sort out the greenware, until Solrigenen gets home - then she follows her around. At this rate, I could probably leave Pennat Gate, and she would not particularly mind.¡± The Lady shuffled its cards and dice, as though it didn¡¯t have a decision tree model for the next four turns already coaxed into full bloom. ¡°Of course, you could do that,¡± it said with as strong a mantle of calm as it could fabricate, ¡°but then Lord Tuoamas would miss you, Earl Stuttgart would miss you, and we would miss you.¡± More importantly, it didn¡¯t suffix the observation with any of the legion of worried thoughts it also possessed. After all, history had long showed that adding any sort of tension to the cookpot of humans, those legally treated with the same rights and regulations as humans, and those who simply bore a great deal of resemblance to humans could end badly. When that person was, as they said, on the edge¡­ Perhaps the worst part was the way Adz had to operate: treating the old warhorse like his personal fate hung the future of the estate. Unfortunately, if some exceptionally intemperate misfortune befell the man in the next several hands, a person of the prestigious service he¡¯d rendered, that might be enough to turn the whole place into a pile of smoking pegs on its own. The wi?fr composed and submitted to the group a literary battery upon the character of the human male player, in a strikingly unusual display of cultural congruence seen in its species about as frequently as one found hens¡¯ teeth. Adz heard ¡°Oh. Oh.¡± It looked over at Ms. Genna, then at the table. Kallahassee had set up a rigorously defensible position with two proto-machines that weren¡¯t getting disassembled anytime soon. Ms. Genna clearly considered it some kind of gaffe, judging by her tone of voice. She threw down a bilious little reply in the form of a die-card combination whose only purpose was to eventually grow into a poisonous flower in the seedbed of Kallahassee¡¯s turn. ¡°Ah.¡± Kallahassee pulled a tetchy scowl at her. ¡°You scoundrel. I need to pay you back for that sometime. Maybe¡­¡± ¡°Introduce her to Mrs. Bartimaeus, perhaps?¡± poked Reltenifor. ¡°No. She ought to feel ashamed, not disabled.¡± The wi?fr played two dice, which naturally upset all of those pruned and groomed decision branches and required the full of Adz¡¯s attention to counteract. It took thirteen seconds to begin effectively thinking about the problem, and two hundredths of a second to solve for the most flexible response. ¡°Indeed,¡± said the udod aodod. ¡°This is a time when we ought to consider the examples we set. Lord Artaxerxes has been doing just that to the best of his ability for quite some time now.¡± Just before someone might have begun to bristle, Adz added, ¡°It heartens me to see how many grand exemplars we have in this little corner of existence we call home, especially in light of how many near-setbacks we have weathered of late - doubly so between the people seeking kidnap and murder, and those simply hoping to reach out and hurt our ambitions. We have perpetrated no atrocities in retaliation. We have not made impetuous or exploitative demands for justice.¡± It waited, as though weighing up its words again. ¡°If they bother to remember this upheaving transfigurative period of Yrdkish history, when we were busy trying to turn an ageless fear of the Purple on its head, they will recall it as a time of rebirth. They will see us as people picking up the pieces.¡± It played a card (superoperator cards were one of the few things the udod aodod enjoyed without qualification about the game) and a die. Only the fact of the d20¡¯s rolling a natural twenty - when its effect was to increment all results by three except for twenty, which it zeroed - dampened its authentic if ephemeral enthusiasm. ¡°They will see us as a force for the improvement of our little country, and our little country as a force for the improvement of everything else.¡± Reltenifor sniffed. Reltenifor threw down two cards. Reltenifor sniffed again. Reltenifor extended one of his wrist-spurs, rubbing it by the small indentation where it retracted into its toughened fleshy home. ¡°In the final calculus, for what more could a person reasonably ask than a reputation that succeeds them?¡± he muttered. ¡°Besides, of course, a limitless supply of supremely attractive people all straining their every sinew to garner your attention.¡± Adz couldn¡¯t tell how it ought to interpret that sentiment. Acquiescent? Content? Despondent? Rather than distressing itself over the prospect, it gave a strong exhale. ¡°I did not take you for the kind of person who neglected such company,¡± it not-accused, eyespots fluttering as it adjusted its placement on its seat. Reltenifor¡¯s hands began oscillating again. As naturally as it could, Adz rubbed the soft scales on its hands together, ears quirking, then considered Kallahassee. It waited until he obviously lay between action and thought, then attempted to discommode him with sudden questioning, in a way that - hopefully - implied its willingness to resort to underhanded distraction rather than its discomfort with continuing discussion involving Reltenifor. ¡°How is Magdod, by the by?¡± Kallahassee¡¯s mouth nearly flipped on his face. He was both pleased at the question and upset with its timing. Excellent. ¡°Oh, she is chattier than a scared dut on milk teeth. House-of-Werub, as it happens, is planning to begin their own Beast acceptance program, and they have requested her and me to give seminars on our findings. One of us needs to stay behind and keep the flocks organized, of course.¡± He started to throw down a single card, tweezed it between his digits, stopped, and thought it over. He put it back. He pulled it out. He put it back. He grabbed a die from his hand and set it down almost before the tackle of his fingers began strangling it. His hands were evidence of all the ambiguation that his face was not. Eventually, Ms. Genna clutched at her eyes. ¡°For the love of Dlg, we are playing Grediwe, not gluefinger!¡± ¡°I am aware, thank you very much!¡± The man¡¯s scowl graduated from pupa stage to a broad-winged frown. ¡°If one must resort to sarcasm,¡± he muttered, ¡°they needs must recall that it has very particular times and places for being used.¡± ¡°Just take your turn, child, and let us get on with it.¡± In response, Kallahassee threw a card down on the table with so much force it caused the other virtual contents of the Toothskin refractor to jostle. Adz felt pleased, and hoped that Magdod felt just as happy with her husband¡¯s prestigious accomplishments. It didn¡¯t have the firmest idea of precisely why - and it certainly hadn¡¯t any talent of prophecy - but it was struck with the pale conviction that Kallahassee and Magdod wouldn¡¯t have too long to enjoy the limelight their investigations had earned. Their insights into the ontological, biological, sociological, theological, technological, epistemological, and virtually-any-other-ological realms, particularly where they intersected with studies of the Purple, were very, very big. They were the sorts of things that might lead future calendar authors to delimit the beginning of the Bartimaeus studies as the inception of a new epoch, if not a larger subdivision of macrotemporal designation. The Lady hoped they¡¯d get their just desserts, and fretted that they would not receive any such gift. Hopefully those worries lacked any real teeth, and hopefully it and its husband¡¯s upsetting predictions would bypass the slim footprint that was realization. On the subject of predictions, Adz was no Connisel Frena Frena Pjo?tet. Yet, even it managed to pick up that the game had probably no more than three rounds left before it found itself knocked from the running. Good; it did want to meet up with several other notables before the day was out. The excuse to extract itself from the errand of trying to reinforce Reltenifor¡¯s psyche was not unattractive, either.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Before it could try to pass along pithy or overgeneralized wisdom to the man, though, it found its attention grabbed by a feed on the nearest holojector on display. As the wi?fr said something to which the udod aodod didn¡¯t bother attending, the Lady made a surreptitious request to have the feed¡¯s content passed to its cerv-mesh. It was rewarded with the image of a familiar, disconsolate naufer with fur of white and the face of a fugitive from oneself almost as much as the sum total of people who might wish one ill. ¡°BET LESREDAT FLIES FROM NEST, TO AN AGGRESSOR¡¯S COOP!¡± read the headline. Adz flicked a glance up and down the bloated article, happy to see the way in which - outside of the raging inferno of the ticker-tape-strewn announcement - it eschewed any sort of opinion on the part of its creator. The only less-than-objective elements of its production were the fact of its existence, and that the author (someone named Phus) went about their research in an obsessive manner suggesting that they were also udod aodod. It made it perfectly clear that Heggad had explicitly declared his intent to pull up stakes, and find new a place to call home far from Pennat Gate, far from ?lthlant, and very far from Nor¡¯ridge. Well, that was simply unacceptable. The estate¡¯s competitive maypoling quality would go very slightly down. Adz was happy the poisonous little snot had removed himself from the rapidly-degrading linear program of posturing and power games unfolding around the length and breadth of Yrdky. Adz was upset at the deliberately contrived sabotage of the delicate equations its estate was trying to bring into alignment. Adz was uncertain about the fact that Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes¡¯s schemata were involving more and more editing, and less and less pure creation, as time marched. Adz had accrued more fatigue since its elevation to the nobility than it had over the prior entirety of its life. The wi?fr produced an interesting combination of dice. The dice produced an interesting combination of inimical effects. The effects produced an interesting combination of (relatively mild) profanity. Adz drastically revised downward the size of its window of figurative survival. It managed, as things transpired, to get out another pair of actionable turns before its actionable impetus went to zero. ¡°Again! Again!¡± A suddenly very eager or very bloody-minded Ms. Genna obviously intended to throw good money after bad. She possibly intended to go and earn more good money just to toss it into the pot as well. Kallahassee snorted, then said, ¡°Fine. I would like to proffer a wager, in that case.¡± The Lady almost interjected. It hadn¡¯t said all that it needed to say. After several moments, though, it began to wonder if that was, in fact, true. The udod aodod decided it ought to leave, and return to searching out those for whom it was concerned. Its leg-cables raised it smoothly to something equivalent to a light crouch, to better navigate the standard-sized doorways and other architecture. It looked down at the slightly disgruntled human man. Kallahassee looked up at it, one eyebrow raised. ¡°You will make sure to give an update if there are any breakthroughs with Jenner¡¯s project, yes? There are a great many people who would like to know how far a Beast can go in making autonomous decisions before their prior instructions stop having an effect.¡± Adz received an oblique gesture of acknowledgement from the morose-looking man. ¡°That will be the case, Lady.¡± Adz turned, and started for the door, only to draw up short. Its ears flicked, its eyespots flashed, as Reltenifor stared up at it, his trapezoidal maroon eyes connecting the dots of its facial scaling. ¡°Why?¡± he asked, quiet and intense. Why indeed? Adz felt its lips part ever so slightly, airway squirming. In this moment, Adz felt itself acting once again as editor. It was taking the opinions of the Lord it had married and helping to reshape the world to fit his desire, even if it required deviating from the implementation he would have preferred. It could almost hear its husband¡¯s voice. ¡°Lady,¡± he said, ¡°the man does not appear fully stable. Perhaps leaving without agitating him is the best course of action.¡± the Caladhbolg half of him would ask. No. The greater danger is that we might leave those important words unsaid. ¡°Why? Why is King Question. When you ask ¡®why,¡¯ you pull on the end of a thread, and on that thread lies every other question you can imagine. To ask ¡®why¡¯ is to try and peel back the hull plating which keeps one universe in and all else out.¡± The pohostinlat gave it a small, stillborn down-sign. ¡°Sometimes that hull plating needs peeled back,¡± he replied. The udod aodod could have replied to that in a hundred ways. In its sadness, it chose, ¡°¡®That is the nature of free will: the ability to make as many poor decisions as you would like.¡¯¡± It waited, then let its eyefibers close its eyespots over completely for a moment. It felt its scales shiver. ¡°As the Followers-of-the-Way say, our hope is that you carve that free will into the right sculpture.¡± Nothing at all came from the humans, or the wi?fr. ¡°Let us be away, Lucas, Lily,¡± Adz said to the armored figures who had been standing at its back, and then it abandoned its waiting in favor of the door. ¡°Come again!¡± said the greeter spirit just inside the establishment¡¯s limits. ¡°Thank you,¡± replied Adz, emerging into slatted bars of daylight. The Second Step platform was intentionally built to evoke the taste and feel of Rhaagm¡¯s greatroads, its unfeasibly tall towers, its decks of vertical layers. It had no Tower, of course, nor did its many subdivisions fit into the nice single-square-kilometer district layout of the Parsed City-State, nor did its layers admit the sun despite the outwardly apparent opacity of it constituent materials, nor did it use redmetal for paving its ground road network. But it came close enough to Sebastio¡¯s historic home - and that of any other Rhaagm-born - for them to forget about the Yrdkish nature of the place. Forget it, at least, until they encountered another person whose mother tongue was Yrdkish, and had the illusion popped. As it trod the faux streets, looking for others with whom it wished discourse, the udod aodod found signs of contentment, signs of worry, signs of determination. Its estate was running out of time at a rate of sixty four seconds per minute, sixteen hours per day, and the finish line was Zeromonth thirty first. The people knew it. The people were waiting. Most of them, anyway. At the sight of one unfolding scene in particular, it had to pause and slowly flutter its eyefibers for several of its long breaths. Its mind, busily running a stitch up the garment of its ruminations at lightning speed, suddenly came to a screeching halt. It began unpicking the seam, re-sewing again at a slightly deviated angle. It repeated the attempt at plotting a new mental course, fell short, repeated, fell short. Eventually, it and its guards took a short detour toward the interesting debacle of a small boxy crowd. At the center of the small boxy crowd was a person neither placid nor especially cogitative. It was a cexticak from House-of-Werub, less needle-thin than most of its kin. It tromped around a fairly open stretch of sidewalk in that rubbery way which reminded Adz of its own leg-cables when it was still sleepy. The long pale torso wrenched around the joint where it descended from the pelvis and legs with nimble muscle-beneath-skin tension, and its grasping limb passionately swung an ornate ivory walking stilt. Its antics had garnered a small crowd. The crowd obviously intended primarily to see the foreigner make a fool of itself, secondarily to listen to the message of an unintentionally entertaining preacher. Adz was starting to sense a pattern of stumbling into scenes featuring subversives while having no intention so to do. It watched the marching House-of-Werub visitor as its walking stilt cut the air, pointing at the audience with the fermented thunder of condemnation. ¡°Pennat Gate exists in set of less-lovable union set of those loved implies Pennat Gate exists-not in set intending House-of-Werub unlove. Allied estates exist in set of grade-increasing nouns implies danger of allied estates¡¯ relations. Fairweather friends exist in set of things which are infectious.¡± Lord Gwonderfeld is happy to help out an ally who is not a threat. Doubly so when they both share the aim of sundering the fist of a vile man like Lord O¡¯Casey. But those who succor Beasts may yet become House-of-Werub¡¯s enemies in due time. The Lady found itself less hostile to such doomsayers with the advance of time. All the same, Adz didn¡¯t exactly have to pick up the shattered pieces of its heart when the long-legged foreigner found itself the brunt of some well-placed mockery. ¡°Well, well, Giggles! If you hate Beasts so much, then you will love the chance to see our information warfare center!¡± hollered a fregnost, who had paused as she passed by the scene. The cexticak, as with all its kind, found no humor of any kind in the exchange, as it found in any exchange. Conversely, the cexticak did not recognize to what little or large degree the statement might be facetious. It was about to reply to the fregnost when a human (another of the House-of-Werub visitors) suggested (in a state of slightly wobbling inebriation) that all of the love going around deserved consummation. Fortunately, the brewing philosophical complaints defused as the participants became engulfed by the promise of more concrete drama. The cexticak tried to resume its dissertation. The shouting back and forth on the subject of acceptable public behavior stole the foreigner¡¯s thunder, ruined the fight for which it was obviously spoiling, and buried its masquerading-as-cerebral concerns under the far less intellectual dirt of knee-jerk chastisement. Adz couldn¡¯t have handled the situation better if it had written the script itself, but sadly the salacious scene was probably only one of several such events taking place in its home at that instant. The Lady suspected that its keepers would be much happier if it left the salacious scene behind, reducing the likelihood of incurring salacious unnecessary sucking chest wounds and salacious revivifications. As it happened, they were. And so, they left behind the increasingly contentious tidings. It was when the udod aodod came across the pillbox, entrenched at the end of the firing lane cleared to the edge of the platform, that it stopped dead. Adz managed to get a glimpse through two open doorways, a small planter trellis, and the armpit of a statue it did not recognize. In the coincidence of those vantages was revealed a familiar figure. The familiar figure had a familiar color of aura around her, and she was obviously focused on interfacing with the pillbox¡¯s informational equipment sprawled in front of her. The Lady assumed she had only begun her little project within the last dozen or so heartbeats. The powers secular had kept a very close eye on the Etruphana problem, for years and years. In all the time since she¡¯d been accosted, skinned, and rebuked by a younger Sebastio, she¡¯d had but a very few outwardly discernable hiccups. As the greatest of those hiccups had been to come to Adz in person and seethe at the world¡¯s incomplete justice, the people in charge of such decisions had elected to extend her the clemency of mildly reduced surveillance. They¡¯d known where she was, pretty much any second of any day, and despite the danger signs woven into that recent incident they¡¯d assumed they¡¯d have warning. Adz had assumed they¡¯d have warning. They¡¯d spent more valuable sparks on tracking down that subversive Upswitch, and had so very much to show for it. The udod aodod would confront her and make an end to vagaries. One of the guards who was charged with Adz¡¯s wellbeing tried to help. The udod aodod¡¯s eyespots flickered. It made it clear that Lily¡¯s dedication was admirable, but the executioner could potentially give the game away. Even as it remonstrated with the woman, Adz invoked a collection of extremely powerful and extremely restricted networking utilities. Through a mixture of scrying, minor prophetic talent, frame interception and mirroring, and several other more subtle techniques it deduced the woman¡¯s purpose, level of progress in her aim, and specifics of the content she was manipulating. It determined that the immediate destination of said content was a proxy node, at the beginning of a massive chain of like proxy nodes. It managed to discern, thanks to a complex reflection algorithm, that the final recipient of the intelligence was a small shell organization, with a controlling interest held by none other than Gernasot mun Cecilia mun Alice munnin Erliseth the Grand of Nor¡¯ridge. The Ripper. The absolute RIPPER. Adz didn¡¯t repeat itself to its guards; the changes to its body language and the sounds it couldn¡¯t restrain told them everything they needed to know about their charge¡¯s level of ire. Namely, that it was considerable, and unlikely to be slaked short of bloodshed. They both made themselves useful by setting up a watch to ensure anyone approaching the Lady would be seen. The not-so-subtle implication of the observed being nicely boxed in for easy quelling required no articulation. {I need a cuff,} it informed Lucas, silent so as to not inform its quarry. He provided one. The Lady hefted its weight, felt its ears tilt, and ground the lunes of its dental hardware together. Had Leanshe Etruphana kept her various integrated facilities open to the world around her, she would have easily spotted Adz. By the same token, she would almost certainly have coated herself in daylight-bright garments for all the digital and extrasensory world to see. How precisely she hadn¡¯t taken notice of Adz in the very short time before she got to her clandestine perusal was a mystery that would bother the udod aodod for the rest of the next four minutes. The Lady contemplated the distance separating itself and the autumn elf, and the likelihood that she might see it if it were to sprint. Out of pique, it nearly tried anyway. It put such childish things aside, and folded to directly behind the leaning woman. It had no concern that anyone would find it at fault for its actions, considering the magnitude of the faults it intended to confront. For a single breath, the woman remained oblivious, and the udod aodod stared at her back and the aura of artificial calm she emitted. It knew that, for its husband, the urge to take his time and possibly reconsider the onrushing irrecoverable step would have probably proven taxing. Adz felt no such restraint. In the moment of Leanshe¡¯s far-too-slow turning, the Lady slapped the cuff onto her arm. It immediately snapped closed around her bicep, the click sounding like a decree of the tiny whispering tempter¡¯s voice Hssi was supposed to possess. Just as immediately, the autumn elf¡¯s aura almost disappeared, and when she faced the Lady of her estate it was with trembling and budding outrage. Upon finding the dudgeon, the vast dudgeon, the great and terrible dudgeon which held Adz in its long cold hands, Leanshe Etruphana came to the realization that she would not live her present life much longer. ¡°Hello, Leanshe.¡± The average udod aodod had maybe a tenth the average vocal range of a human. Even so, no one could possibly mistake its tone. Adz later replayed a sensory of the confrontation, and - if not for the fact that it had put a cuff on its subject, and the fact that it had lived the portrayed events - it might have assumed that the person it addressed would receive the treatment of its d?mon cluster, its machina ad deus. But it did not mean to destroy her; not yet. Leanshe said nothing, high of color and low of breath. ¡°I am afraid that time wears most thin for our home¡¯s preparations,¡± the Lady rasped. ¡°For you, it is yet thinner.¡± The woman still said nothing. Adz bent down, eyefibers almost flat, and its nostrils swelled. Leanshe¡¯s clothing ruffled ever so slightly in the negligible wind. ¡°We lie upon the brink of the informalities of war, we ask the best of those dear people who will contribute to our survival of the coming storm, and you trample upon our interests like so much filth.¡± The woman flinched as Adz projected a document upon the Monolith¡¯s naked-eye layer. The document¡¯s contents were damning. Those damning contents had already gone to the Sledgecraft Guild. Apparently, the Sledgecraft Guild was casting lots to see who would get the honor of getting on-scene first. The martial nobility was right behind them. ¡°Leanshe Etruphana, you are hereby under arrest.¡± A large scaled digit stabbed at the document. It displayed a moment-to-moment breakdown of the autumn elf¡¯s recent network operations. She had communicated a very, very great deal in the short time she¡¯d been transmitting. It wasn¡¯t a fact in her favor. ¡°You have surrendered data, directly pertinent to the estate of Pennat Gate¡¯s capacity to wage war, to the estate of Nor¡¯ridge - data both confidential and classified as secret. You have committed perjury in attesting that this emplacement - and others of similar design - are provided in part or in whole by representatives of Bhushalt Fabricants and Design. You have committed perjury in attesting that representatives of Bushalt Fabricants and Design have assisted this estate in preparations intended for times of war. You have conspired with our enemies.¡± The muscles of Leanshe¡¯s thighs sharpened, as though she would throw herself upon the udod aodod. Then her every joint became so much loose warm wax, and she almost crumpled like once-rigid thulite snapping back to its original shape. Either shut up and talk, or come quietly, thought the udod aodod. ¡°Do what you will with me, then,¡± the woman muttered. ¡°I regret not my actions, only their necessity.¡± She looked up at the Lady, determined to say nothing that would give the lie to her final and most deplorable treachery. ¡°I do not blame you for doing what you feel you must. I merely wish it was done for something other than the service of that creature perverting the opal throne with his presence.¡± Adz paused without breath, staring at the woman in amazement. It thought about the autumn elf¡¯s angry halfhearted extension of truce those years back - technically speaking, the motivation which had brought it and Sebastio together. It thought about forgiveness borne of malice. It thought about the need for confession it saw so often in human-congruent races. It thought about taking care of business. Then it nearly fell to the floor, so great was the need for its leg-cables to wind themselves, to the point of tearing cartilage and muscle. The humor held not a little darkness in it, but it could be called no less genuine for that fact. ¡°You,¡± it growled. ¡°Do you think I care in the slightest about what you think of me?¡± The udod aodod knew that it should be getting itself gone, telling the Sledgecrafters to come and take this woman into custody with a minimum of gentleness. Adz¡¯s eyespots became pinholes. ¡°Worrying about what you think, worrying about you as a person rather than a delivery system for tribulation, is like worrying about the status of the region¡¯s redmetal because things have gotten a little bit chilly outside. Your little attempt to implicate Bhushalt in our dealings has successfully created the kind of problem that we must defuse through truly drastic measures.¡± Now, there lay understatement. Lord Harrison O¡¯Casey¡¯s framing of some kind of dirty deal between Sebastio Artaxerxes (Lord of Pennat Gate and possessor of Caladhbolg) and Iggez Artaxerxes (a sitter-of-the-throne in Bhushalt¡¯s executive echelon and one of the richer people a person was likely to meet) were initially considered another symptom of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s spite and paranoia. Anyone willing to view Pennat Gate¡¯s side of the argument would probably yet extend them the benefit of the doubt. Anyone whose camp fell in alignment with O¡¯Casey¡¯s ambitions would spit on the doubt, and back his version of the story. The less fully decided public would, in general, take information as seasoning and opinion as meat for the meal of their politics. Now, Adz had the sense that its leg-cables had been amputated, and its fall to the ground would take forever. Its hands of spirit grasped at the time spooled out into the abyss, so far into the past that no sane person would have rolled back to a salvational temporal savepoint. If they had simply pulled the woman¡¯s licenses and certificates, deprived the shipwright of the Engineering Compact¡¯s credibility, that would have prevented her from starting any fires such as they now confronted. If they had¡­ but they hadn¡¯t. Now, someone with real, local authority had gone and made pegs of them all. When it was O¡¯Casey, that was to be expected and relatively easily discounted. The man¡¯s bile toward those of opposing placements was well-documented. Leanshe would grow to nothing less than folk hero status among their ranks, a disillusioned foe tired of the games being played by her unstable countrymen and their unstable Beast-loving ways. She had invested so much in Pennat Gate¡¯s mission against her better judgment (an actually true statement, funnily enough) and eventually decided to support the Nor¡¯ridge spirit of justice. Minister Gernasot would produce a shockingly detailed manifest of reasons why Leanshe, like any rational being, simply could not tolerate the fractured throne¡¯s vainglorious ambitions any longer. Leanshe had no backup from which to revive herself, if the worst were to ever befall her. If Adz had just edited her out of the picture earlier¡­ Its flesh suddenly tensed beneath the insulation of its scales. If it had done that, the Lady would have seen Sebastio¡¯s face grow dark, lighten again, and forever retain a little of that shading beneath its surface. It would have always and ever known that he had irretrievably suffered, and suffered needlessly. If it had stuck her with a legion of Ktarebte machines to monitor her, that was one thing, but disappearing her was another. That ancient saying of its husband¡¯s birthplace came to mind: ¡°¡®Good¡¯ is that for which to die in vain be just.¡± Just. Right. Moral. Upstanding¡­ no. Moral. Immortal. Inevitable. Inevitable. And then suddenly, Adz felt two separate parts of its mind quickly come together, two stars finding a short-lived barycenter and forming a binary system for the duration of a fairytale. What did it really matter? Yes, the repercussions of poisoning the opinion well with rumors of collaboration would set Pennat Gate back years. Yes, it would probably spill over into refreshing misgivings of the wisdom in admitting Beasts as thinking, privileged civilians. Yes, it would probably bring frustrations to a fantastic sublimation. But it changed nothing about the fact of the upcoming clash of personalities. Adz¡¯s estate would probably do little of consequence differently from the original script, aside from spending a bit more time in debunking the credibility of certain critics. It and its people would have to weave pictures of themselves not just for exterior consumption, but for their own good as well. And because that delimited the art of creation, that delimited the soul not of bending models but breathing the breath of life into thoughts, Adz felt politician-mind join up with designer-mind¡­ and for the first time in years, the touch of peace joined the joy of its work. Keep your faith alive, Adz. Go. Do. Believe. Its palms came together, its leg-cables straightened. An ear flicked. It did not look at the autumn elf. ¡°We are going to subject you to eleven kinds of dowsing,¡± rumbled the Lady without unkindness. ¡°We will determine the truth of your story, one way or another. Then, we shall see.¡± After a moment of removed frivolity, it added that Rhaagmini turn of phrase in Bequastish. ¡°She is too stupid to be stupid, and that is worth preserving a little longer.¡± As Adz began to divert its attention to something of greater import, it stopped. It triggered its overclocking. It reconsidered. It went back through its previous chains of thought. Udod aodod did not often possess extraordinary talent in the realm of reading other races¡¯ tells, and Sebastio Artaxerxes¡¯s spouse was no exception. However, the time since its ascension had necessitated picking up some degree of proficiency in the skill. Adz was a long way from differentiating a mocking smile from a playfully insulting one without aid from its utilities. Even so, it began forming connections on the subject of Leanshe Etruphana where before there had been none. The descent of unbearable grief upon the autumn elf¡¯s shoulders, driving her to suicidally assault Sebastio with a causality sabotage. The respectful disdain after Sebastio had skinned the shipwright, restored her to her body, and released her. The uneventful years of slowly gaining back professional trust, if not necessarily worth of character. The way she had approached the Lady in the early days of Beast integration, both dirty in spirit and clean in confession. The few moments of curiosity Adz had harbored, hearing of how she assisted the Lawmasters¡¯ community in inspecting the estate¡¯s armament and logistics chain; having opportunity to neatly frame Pennat Gate or at least besmirch it, and forgoing the chance. The present afternoon of shamelessly worrying away at the estate¡¯s integrity. Today was a break in a pattern. The Lady toyed then with a memory of the look she¡¯d had in her eyes, as she¡¯d instructed it to do what it thought best. That look which wasn¡¯t too far removed from what Adz had seen in its prey on many a tenshe past. It was a glimpse into a creature with a millstone hung around its neck, just before it was pushed into a quarry. Adz considered in a new light how Leanshe¡¯s motivation when assaulting Sebastio grew from the loss of her family. It reassessed the fact that her closest non-nuclear living family - an aunt and uncle (bonded to each other¡­ ugh¡­) - resided in one of the rare communities not intimately tied to the Yrdkish estates. They lived not far afield of one of Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s annual circuits around the broad territory¡¯s landscape. Hostages to fortune were worth so very much to those already subject to bereavement. ¡°Do you think this kind of conduct befits those who have any remaining vestige of honor?¡± the Lady asked, low and intense and threatening. When the shipwright shivered, and looked it up and down, the Lady knew it had hit its mark. ¡°Do you think your family would be proud of you?¡± the udod aodod hissed. It didn¡¯t press, it waited. ¡°I think that those whom we love and by whom we are loved constitute one of the only truly telling metrics in life,¡± answered Leanshe, her aura going still and silent as a subterranean pool. ¡°When you ask me whether they would be proud of me, I can only answer that I hope so.¡± The whole time, her eyes never left the udod aodod¡¯s eyespots, and its eyefibers quivered in mute comprehension as it noted the shapeful gaps around exactly what the woman said. How she very specifically never stated that Nor¡¯ridge had gotten antsy and decided she needed to step up her timetable. Adz didn¡¯t think it very likely that either she or her nears and dears would escape O¡¯Casey¡¯s scheming intact; the man¡¯s bullying character might very well force him into jettisoning such plausibly inconvenient creatures, even if only out of the need to exert his influence. Did that explain her behavior? Quite possibly. It was the best justification the udod aodod could figure, in any case. Did that justify her behavior? A thousand times, no. A crime under duress, no matter what justifications one might offer, was still a crime. It chopped the air in the autumn elf¡¯s direction as the first Sledgecrafter folded into existence just outside the pillbox. ¡°Take her away. Gently. We have very much about which to talk.¡± Later on, reliving sensories of that day, Adz wondered at the fact of its hand¡¯s obverse edge lying exactly at the woman¡¯s neck height. It wondered if that was an implied blessing, or a desire for visiting relief on her person. It counted among its own blessings the fact that it faced ever more profound adversity in the forge-heat of contention. The Verdigris Bleak ¡°Salutations! If you are reading this, you are paying visit to that gem of civilization, the Parsed City-State of Rhaagm. You are a human, or otherwise a creature whose physical attributes and basic requirements for life are comparable to those of many subvarieties of the human species. Welcome, and may your stay be fruitful, enjoyable, and informative! With time, perhaps you may even wish to call our city home.¡± -One of several English translations of the pamphlet A Human-Analogue Visitor¡¯s Guide to Rhaagm No worrying about the Lesser-Greater Sifters of Cubic Ganglia. No worrying about the festivities over the hill of tomorrow. No worrying, period. ¡°I don¡¯t much care for talking in Yrdkish,¡± Louis confessed. He gestured with his kylix (roughly the size of a buckler) and the drams of golden mead yet in it sluiced around the containment. No drink cells for the festivities today, they had to gain class somehow to make up for all the other ways they were surrendering class. ¡°It makes me sound like a stageplay. No matter how hard I try to sound like a stipp.¡± He giggled, the motion rubbing his coat up and down against the green hill¡¯s tall soft back-prickles. The miracle of the technology of guided speech: enabling people everywhere to not sound like drunks. ¡°You know what I mean?¡± he asked Alarusx Iinitosl, shining star of the dying light. ¡°No,¡± she replied, chewing a stick of rank cinnamon. She pushed the long tails of her coat aside, switched the stick to the other side of her mouth, and sneezed. So beautiful. Almost as beautiful was the reverberation of demented distortions of light and not-light coming from the distant amphitheater, playing faintly against the canopy of the greatoak towering above. According to his brother-of-no-blood, the outfit known as Shear Boot lay a whisker below God in the great chain of being. They were certainly well-liked enough. Considering how many average Yrdkish could be expected to recognize a particular example of anything, the band had to be practically atypical in their rapport. Now, as for the actual music¡­ Louis Artaxerxes wouldn¡¯t have called himself a musical pleb, or even a musical anything, during his young years in near-Earth-Standard France. The Black Death- He suddenly drew off a tiny draft of mead. Even thinking the name motivated him to very temporary, very cutting sobriety, lasting just long enough for a private sousing in memory of the fact that he¡¯d never again revisit that lugubrious time and place. It wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d ever explained to anyone, it wasn¡¯t something he ever intended to clarify. -had made the act of simply keeping oneself alive its own crucible. Children didn¡¯t often do well, even without the ill will of disasters. Especially, they didn¡¯t often do well when they were under the poor sufferance of men of malice such as Niall Bennosuke. He swirled the kylix, put on his smile, and looked down the hill again. When he looked back down the hill, it was with suitably rapturous eyes. Two executioners, two fregnosts, a pohostinlat, and a human: six cogs of the Shear Boot machine all wired up, busily making art happen. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s really music,¡± said Penowa, from Louis¡¯s other side. He spoke in wavering Rhaagmini, thanks to the freshly introduced cerv-mesh sticking out of the back of the mmnmomn?¡¯s neck. The gang¡¯s attendance of the faintly manic events was one part salute to their newest member¡¯s graduation to ¡°proper¡± extrafacetary citizen status, and one part pre-competition celebration anticipating the bullets and bombs to be released starting tomorrow. ¡°That¡¯s what some people say,¡± replied Al, continuing her vehement mastication. She sniffed, tossed a hair out of the way of her face. ¡°This isn¡¯t a style for everyone. But that¡¯s the point of genre, one might suppose.¡± She made a resigned forehead-swipe and turned away, just as Louis began to tell her how very pretty and charming and smart she was. He cut himself off before beginning a monologue that even he realized would have faithfully come across as drunkenly earnest. He sighed. He sipped another tiny breath of the delightful stuff. ¡°I¡¯m just waiting for the followup act,¡± griped Celnn from above and behind both Louis and Penowa. He was wrapped around a half meter globule of nutrigel containing far more mild but still intoxicating controlled substance, as he studiously failed to watch any of his nearby chums. ¡°Dominion Those Tell are simply the greatest thing to ever exist.¡± Louis couldn¡¯t tell if that was sarcasm or snobbishness. ¡°It sounds a b-¡± Penowa couldn¡¯t have stopped talking more quickly if he¡¯d been shot. Actually, Louis thought, the little experience he¡¯d had on the subject suggested people got really obscenely loquacious when they got really holey. He looked in the direction that the little trunkface was looking, and what did he behold but a small crop of other mmnmomn? walking and chatting among themselves, of the fairer sex if he wasn¡¯t mistaken. They all bore a style of utilitarian full-body wear that managed to clothe all, yet - judging from the little guy¡¯s obvious consternation - left absolutely nothing of consequence to the imagination. The human leaned over, and accidentally rapped an elbow on the ground. A drop of mead achieved liftoff from his vessel and landed perfectly atop a grass leaf¡¯s tip. His diagnostics told him that he had roughly an extra twenty three percent reaction time tacked on to his normal reflexes, and that his judgment about what constituted ¡°stupid¡± needed the help of a digital crutch, a second opinion, or both. Naturally, he disregarded the warning. ¡°You know what you should do?¡± nettled Louis, feeling a positively evil look alight on his face as he glanced down at the fluffy shape. ¡°What?¡± The large soulful features of the smallish fellow condensed, tentatively plumped up to almost-normal proportions, then ran screaming for the hills without leaving his face. Louis wished they would scream more quietly. ¡°Stare right at them,¡± said the youngest of the estate¡¯s Artaxerxeses. ¡°Stare right at them, and if they notice, stare more.¡± ¡°No,¡± tossed off Celnn. He was staring at the human over the bulge of his nutrigel like Edward sometimes looked at his owner in the morning, demanding something and then complaining in his squeaky hooty voice because he hadn¡¯t received the correct something. ¡°You stare until you get caught, then you offer them an obviously unacceptable gift as though you found it on the ground and thought it might belong to them.¡± Louis felt his brain start reaching outward for an expected event that wasn¡¯t there. He grappled for it, missed, and his neck ratcheted over to one side. He started paying attention to what he was actually seeing with his eyes, and not the eye-of-his-mind, and turned to the person who was supposed to have chimed in but had instead missed his cue with aplomb. eGarra was busily and quite expeditiously not doing things that involved the others of the group. Specifically, he was growing and twining harmless little yellow-and-ultraviolet flowers together into a chain with some gardening magic Louis didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°Hey, oleethf-human!¡± the once-Frenchman said. He almost laughed at the sound of his own joke, which alarmed him several seconds later because it wasn¡¯t a joke, it wasn¡¯t funny, and it wasn¡¯t something worth repeating. eGarra snorted. He rolled the slowly lengthening snake of flowers around in his hands, not saying anything. ¡°What do you think?¡± asked Louis. The vessel sloshed as he rolled to a shoulder, another little slurp of its precious cargo slipping free and wetting the tip of the mmnmomn?¡¯s ear. Nobody, including he, actually glanced away from the flower aficionado as they all turned toward eGarra, but Penowa¡¯s ear began twitching madly. Waste outside notice, want outside notice. Eventually, the once-oleethf¡¯s youthful face bore itself more directly to the sky. A slinking florid chain began wrapping itself into a noose around his throat, the little recursing tattoo on his cheek winking just above its edge. He glanced down at Louis. ¡°What do I think about what?¡± he prodded. ¡°What should you do if you see someone you really, really like? The kind of person-¡± ¡°No!¡± wailed Penowa, not inebriated or accepting in the least as he gently shook the shoulder of the ruffle-haired grinning human drunk currently providing him with room and board. His protest drowned in the sound of Shear Boot embarking on their next overture. It was The Dreaded Hand, and it was as subtle an allusion to Louis¡¯s brother as it was quiet. The flurry of music getting dumped out of the diminutive stage took on more of a thrash leaning, arhythmic and bludgeoning and full of savage glissandi. ¡°Yes,¡± Celnn almost whispered in Penowa¡¯s ear, lurching about in a quick spiral to put his cerv-mesh speakers immediately next to the mmnmomn?¡¯s head. ¡°-who you think¡¯s a real cat?¡± finished Louis, as he waggled his eyebrows at Al, whose reaction was to shift her cinnamon once more and not so much as cough in his direction. He stopped when he realized that there might actually be an uplifted feline or a member of a feline-like species in his vicinity, and hurriedly looked about to make sure he hadn¡¯t stuck his foot in his mouth. He saw none, and felt doubly relieved that he had both caused no undue offense and garnered no hangers-on who assumed that he considered having a catlike appearance especially attractive. He had enough sort-of-conflicted feelings about his udod-aodod-in-law without injecting more awkward interspecies relational entanglement. Oh. Speak of the Ripper, and it will appear. ¡°I think you ought to be thinking on more constructive matters,¡± replied eGarra as he draped the last curl of his improvised lei about his throat. He didn¡¯t notice, or didn¡¯t care, when Louis failed to give him the attention he¡¯d more or less promised by questioning him in the first place. ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± asked Celnn. He lassoed his nutrigel in the coil of his tail, dragging it after him, and half-crawled-half-slithered along the ground to a slightly less verdant patch of hill. ¡°You can¡¯t be constructive at an event like this. It¡¯s practically against the law.¡± If a zsel¨¦tael could hammer back a glass instead of just going experiencing the joys of fluid consumption through osmosis, he probably would have done just that. Instead, he wound around his prize more tightly. ¡°I agree,¡± said Louis without hearing a single word of his longest and thinnest friend¡¯s verbal disbursement. He started to tell his d?mon cluster to refill his mead (having abandoned himself out in the wilderness beyond the influence of or access to culinary units). He stopped himself. No, no, no - go and attend now, not later. ¡°With whom?¡± asked eGarra, finally directing his flickering gaze to the human male who was younger than himself in every sense of the term. ¡°Well, not with you, and not with him,¡± Louis said, backpedaling to make himself sound less like an idiot and failing as though he was a sportsman in the art of failure rather than maypoling. The fact that he realized he was making a laughingstock of himself didn¡¯t help. ¡°With myself, I guess.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± snorted Al. She gave Louis a look like she cared for the stench of frustration on him far less than she cared for the stench of alcohol. The lad decided to cut his losses, had his integrated systems purge his ethanol content and smooth the metabolic processing thereof, then compressed his ceremonial drinking vessel. Completely sober, he stood, facing up the hill toward the little tree-ceilinged plateau coming from one side. ¡°Hang on,¡± he muttered to the little crew. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a bit. Need to take care of something first.¡± He resolutely set off in the direction of the plateau and - more importantly - its occupants. ¡°I¡¯ll keep this spot warm for you,¡± Celnn shouted after him as his ankles started shoving the grass aside. The zsel¨¦tael mutt curled around his treat much like a centipede winds up to better protect itself, murmuring something under his breath about maypolers having to compensate in all sorts of interesting ways. Louis didn¡¯t stop, but he did hear the pitter-patter of little feet as Penowa Teso clambered after him without prompting. Louis might have sighed. Instead, he chuckled. Like a faithful hound constantly licking his hand, but with even less understanding of human preferences for personal space, his friend. ¡°What is it?¡± asked the ball of fluff, marching along behind. Louis rotated slightly at the waist without slowing his ascent. He put his minute smile away, and took out a serious frown, as he realized the shorter individual held genuine concern for the human he¡¯d begun to call friend. ¡°I was going to talk with a few people a bit later,¡± said Louis. ¡°They¡¯re all here now, though.¡± With a fatalistic forehead-swipe he indicated the trio currently in congress, all intimately known to him: a run-ragged yet composed udod aodod, an executioner in very striking belted robes, and a blue human the size of a Kodiak with a crescent-shaped plate in his face. The trio in congress had taken to a set of flat-topped benches, arranged into an open pentagon. They all had taken idle note of Louis¡¯s approach. Each, to some degree, ignored him; each, to some degree, gave sign of happiness at his approach. Penowa recognized the latter two of the three with some little trepidation, and the first with quite a great deal. As the pair approached the trifecta, he looked up at his ¡°landlord¡± with something that split the difference between a return to the epiphany of Louis¡¯s connections with Pennat Gate¡¯s leadership and irritation of the bowels. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to come along-¡± started the human. ¡°I do,¡± interrupted his friend, a small serious expression settling upon him. And so we earn that which cannot be earned. The moderately tall grass cut off, and the ascending pair had a few seconds to enjoy the slightly therapeutic sensation of walking over a hard woodrubber path. The material broadened and thinned, seamlessly transmuting into the ceramic pavement of a circle-shaped courtyard. Tall and curious crystalwillows clambered over one another, trying to filter out the light of the unliving sun where it managed to pierce the platform¡¯s massive arboreal ceiling. Their faintly translucent shadows grated the ground, a display that brought to mind once again the swarms of warriors and weapons that would be crosshatching the preselected Pennat Gate platforms before sundown tomorrow. ¡°Hey, killer!¡± said Francis ¡°Bugbear¡± Pickering, planting a solid elbow on a solid knee as he rubbed the left section of his face, idly tapping the metallic surface with a perfect fingernail. A hand like a shovel patted the air next to his seat in assurance. He smiled on one side of his mouth, as his biological eye winked, and his artificial eye sparkled. ¡°Oh, and you too, fuzzy. Hey, fuzzy.¡± The massive human forehead-thumbed a greeting to the mmnmomn?, chuckling in that well-too-deep-to-plumb way that he had when Penowa¡¯s ears pulled back, followed by the rest of him. The short creature stood still for a moment longer, caught in the debate between his dedication to Louis, and his dedication to not tempting fate. His kind tended toward cavalier attitudes about the whole personal space thing, but that trend reversed itself with a poisonous glee when faced with less familiar and possibly antagonistic figures. Seeing how Louis slowed for him to catch up, the shorter fuzzy boy - surely a man now, in light of those things which he¡¯d overcome - forced each of his legs ahead one pace and then another and then another, tail aswish. He drew up short again when he noticed the female sitter of the triad, but only briefly, and he didn¡¯t look at her toothsome maw. For Louis¡¯s part, he smiled a briefly sheepish awkward smile at the woman named Sun-Beneath-Skin, and she self-consciously brushed her soft quills. The executioner who Louis had called ¡°Big Sister¡± for a short dusty golden period of his childhood watched the youth with a downward-curved smile on her own face. Her seat wasn¡¯t terribly far from her husband. Her heart and his clearly beat within a single chest. The spot between them, which Bugbear continued to indicate as ¡°free¡± with one of his huge mitts, quickly became occupied by Louis¡¯s posterior, then Penowa¡¯s gradually-decreasingly-nervous presence. Louis schooled his expression into seriousness as he looked up, and then farther up, at the udod aodod who technically had closer relation to him than the other two, but with whom he¡¯d never felt quite as comfortable. Seroku Adz Tataki Ba¡¯fus was nothing if not spotless in its behavior, and nobody if not a perfect gentleudod aodod. It was just that in addition to the oddments of alien psychology, it had a kind of perfect sterility to its nature. That kind of sterility which, long ago, characterized the occasional eras of Rhaagm where undisciplined exploitation of privilege and practical omnipotence saddled society with frustration and existential crises and a genuinely unparalleled suicide rate. In the case of Louis¡¯s in-law, it was just the nature of its species to trend more toward the static. Actually, he thought, that was far less true of Adz now than it had been for quite some time. It wasn¡¯t exactly happy now, but he thought it had begun displaying a greater propensity for something like ¡°peace¡± within the last few hands. It was no less sterile or static, but it had a certain serenity, a certain confidence about itself. He was happy for the big person, and with the smile of providence their relationship might continue to improve with time. There was one clearly visible service agent with a vantage of the Lady some distance from the little courtyard, armed for skin eater. The figure, of course, was one clearly visible service agent. As with a great number of things, the visible implied a great deal of non-visible. Given the important event coming up tomorrow, Louis figured walking up to the udod aodod and trying to chin its hand might draw aggravated response from overprotective minders. He figured he¡¯d give it a miss. ¡°How¡¯s that stipp I got for you, little brother?¡± asked Bugbear with a glint and a grin. It was said with malice of forethought. Louis had once called Sun ¡°Big Sister¡± on account of her being married to the guy who Sebastio had claimed was closer than a sibling in some ways. Paradoxically, while he¡¯d had little enough trouble humoring her in this respect, he¡¯d never felt any inclination to call Francis anything except the name by which everyone knew him. ¡°Edward¡¯s alright,¡± Louis said. He jumped a bit when the band down at the bottom of the hill made a round-robin ululation, and carved up the eardrums of any listeners unfortunate enough to possess eardrums. The band then embarked on a piece that was ¡°inspired¡± by the studies and victories of those many individuals throughout the history of inhabited facets who had each respectively first opened the gift box of applied subnuclear physics. It was both extremely loud and very carefully crafted. ¡°Detonate¡± was the word which came to mind; it sent shafts of sterile tin-smelling air up the rise where they speared the brains of the audience. ¡°Alright,¡± Louis repeated, feeling for a moment that Shear Boot had caused a very shallow back-step against the current of time as the dulcet tones of Alinoso, ¡°the handsomest blue fregnost to ever live,¡± shattered reality into numbing colors and skillful caterwauling. ¡°He¡¯s found a new friend,¡± he added, a smile bending one side of his face as he emphatically didn¡¯t look sideways at Penowa. He heard the flipper-flap of ears going back and forth, somewhere in the neighborhood of nervous intercut with upset. ¡°He keeps waking me up by trying to put his feet in my ears,¡± came the mutter with the nasal quality of a trunk pinching itself partially shut. Louis knew it signified some amount of less-than-joyous almost-resentment, a discomfort ¡°less than having my fur get all glued together, but more than forgetting the last stair at the bottom.¡± The slight whine to the declaration gave Bugbear a slightly more sober expression. Sun got that look her perfectly black eyes had gotten shortly after Louis had started briefly living with them at the Hammer and Scapula, when he¡¯d failed to correctly use a Rhaagm toilet for the first time. To his left past the executioner, Louis noticed Adz restraining its leg-cables from knitting together, and restrained a smile himself. ¡°So¡­ what did you want to discuss?¡± asked Louis. ¡°I¡¯d guess it¡¯s not about the ¡®birthday present¡¯ you gave me and his current bill of health.¡± At that, Bugbear - and Adz, to lesser extent - contemplated the presence of Penowa. They both showed slightly different kinds of unease at the fuzzy fellow¡¯s presence. Louis subtly showed both of them a very emphatic endorsement of his friend¡¯s suitability. The kind of endorsement which nonverbally stated that the human would be taking his leave if they forced his small friend to take his. ¡°You¡¯re guessin¡¯ correctly,¡± said Sun, in that not quite unpleasant rumble of hers. ¡°We¡¯re here to discuss plannin¡¯ for contingencies.¡± The shorter human no longer had to restrain his smile. It didn¡¯t actually fall off and break, but he felt a chill roll down him like thunder across a dry lakebed. ¡°What sort of contingencies?¡± someone else asked with his voice, from far away. ¡°The sort where it is a very real possibility that we may have to subject to a forfeit,¡± answered Adz. It felt moderately odd to hear the creature speaking any of the tongues of the Big Three besides that of its home, with that same broomstick-straight-through-the-digestive-system stiffness it had when speaking Yrdkish - as all Yrdkish would do from now until doomsday. ¡°The autumn elf of the day has not extinguished the bonhomie of our allies with her exposure of our weaknesses, but we have not terribly many true allies in our odyssey regardless.¡± The udod aodod¡¯s ears flicked. Penowa¡¯s ears flicked. Adz¡¯s eyespots fluttered. The air suddenly seemed thicker. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t understand,¡± said Louis, but of course he did understand. There was a deep sad breath from Bugbear, just as Adz¡¯s lips parted slightly to show its arc-shaped dental adornments. Louis, as he occasionally did upon seeing the tic, wondered at the absence of tongue from mouth. Louis, as he occasionally did upon recalling the life to which he was now beholden, considered the many ways even his short pre-extrafacetary life had oriented him so such small details still pricked him with their thorns as he grasped them. ¡°I and my husband, Lord Tuoamas and the estate¡¯s great tactical minds, our allies, our visitors, and those who could be turned to our temporary aid have been drawing battle plans to wrestle with potential repercussions from tomorrow¡¯s reckoning.¡± Adz¡¯s tentacles or leg-cables or whatever were wound beneath its seat, looking like a closed flower bulb in their fanciful overlapping. The scales covering the udod aodod had the dusty color of a fine cheese in the mellow light.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°What we mean,¡± said Adz, ¡°is that a very real possibility we may face is ridding ourselves of a significant portion of our population. Should Nor¡¯ridge emerge victorious from the confrontation we will formally initiate tomorrow, those Beasts we call our own will require alternate arrangements.¡± The udod aodod slipped its hands across each other, glancing aside toward the scene down the hill as Shear Boot kicked things up a notch with psitechnic engineering and shafts of radiation meant to blind more than illuminate. ¡°And that¡¯s why we¡¯re here,¡± said Bugbear. Without looking at Louis, he bent forward at the waist. The artificial left eye gleamed again; like a ball bearing, not like a knife. ¡°We¡¯ve done some interesting placement of washed peoples and the like before, we of the Hammer and Scapula. Beasts? Intelligent ones at least, we can probably get shoved into a new home. A suitable home, though?¡± He made a curious little gesture with a hand, and produced a flickering bolt of magus-fire; the conflagration crawled over his blue sausage fingers like a coin trick. Its Hiek machine had the beautiful elegant sharpness of an obsidian rose. The guard standing a short distance behind Adz quite obviously tightened a grip on the lengthy warsash draping the lengthy frame as the conflagration danced. Louis knew that actually holding the thing was unnecessary, but as far as visual impact it made an even more effective ¡°no funny business¡± than holding up and obviously examining a destabilizer construct within neck range. ¡°Not suitable. Probably not acceptable. But better than being stuck in permanently hostile territory.¡± Bugbear popped the sphere of flame into the air just as he would have done with a coin, and for a second as it spun in the air his birth eye looked past the construct, straight over at Louis. His face was harder than redmetal. Louis blinked. He blinked again. It wasn¡¯t working, he was still sitting there in the wavering sunlight filtered through the translucent trees, he was still listening to the squawks making nuisances of themselves, and he was still picking up the faint ambient body heat of the mmnmomn? beside him. ¡°The Pastoral Division is now effectively dead,¡± Adz added, ¡°and the last positively identified incident of Beast-caused peril was the debacle of the ¨¹bertier with which you yourself were involved. That is not to say we cannot possibly expect further difficulties of that vein in future, even if we never have a feral Beast escape from the Purple investigation headquarters. No; the problem now is drastically different, and one on which we hope you might be able to offer advice.¡± ¡°Also, matters of logistics-¡± began Sun, before Adz cut her off with a fanning-out of its digits, even larger than Bugbear¡¯s. ¡°No, not now,¡± it said, not quite reprimanding. ¡°Louis should not concern himself with anything besides what we require him to contemplate; our task has enough complications as it stands.¡± ¡°Please get to the point,¡± said Louis, his throat gone stiff, his back held straight, and his voice perfectly even. He stared at the udod aodod with the intent to bore through its head. When Adz looked far down at him, Bugbear twitching at the tone of his words, the youth felt those simmering coils, which had returned in force after the over-Beast attack, start polymerizing. For a moment, that wavering heat remained below the level of conscious influence. It wouldn¡¯t for long. ¡°You know what? I¡¯ve changed my mind,¡± Louis hissed, face turning grotesque, and rose. He pushed up and began walking off. His boots on the courtyard¡¯s buttery-smooth surface made sounds less like pleasant clicks and more like knocking on an ornate door; a door made of glass and filthy ivory. He wasn¡¯t running, he wasn¡¯t even trotting, but he took on a long stride that multiplied the distance between himself and those other bipedal two-armed creatures. A determined exclamation from Penowa, and the sound of feet falling to the ceramic behind him, almost elicited an about-face. He hardened his resolution, and kept going. He heard a levelheaded Bugbear¡¯s not-quite-remonstration of the fuzzy fellow¡¯s eager pursuit. ¡°No, friend. Don¡¯t follow. Your friend¡¯s a good one, but his mind sometimes goes down roads that are a bit immature.¡± Immature? He¡¯d had enough of mature. He¡¯d had enough of doubting. Sebastio Artaxerxes hardly escaped the compass of Louis¡¯s anger - especially when the elder was doing something patronizingly protective of the younger. Yet, what he¡¯d done for Louis constituted some of the only unilateral good he¡¯d experienced since his being taken in by the mistress of the Great Mountain. There were very very few cases where Louis could muster up the willingness to extend good grace to those who needled his brother¡¯s designs. Acknowledging the Lord¡¯s faults was one thing. But- The intellectual side of himself quietly mentioned that Adz hadn¡¯t criticized Sebastio, hadn¡¯t even said that his charted course for the estate (and those people for whom he was responsible) seemed suboptimal in any way. It had merely indicated prudence in constructing alternate fallback plans. The rough-shod flames running through the youth didn¡¯t argue with that reasoning; Louis just let the thought slide past him unmolested. A small still insipid voice in his head asked Louis whether he enjoyed leaving this problem behind as much as he enjoyed leaving the misbegotten climes of his birth France for the extrafacetary locales. He pictured that small still insipid voice as belonging to a white naufer named Heggad, then pictured the white naufer receiving a counterargument in the form of a studded mace. It didn¡¯t make him smile, but it loosened the rib-creaking tension of his chest enough to let a scalding breath out of his nose. Especially over the last few days, that had become an exceptionally short-length track that his thoughts ran. He wondered (for far from the first time) if that bore some resemblance to the cerebral beating and tacking done by any udod aodod. ¡°Are you perhaps keen on embracing the future and how Sebastio propelled you out of the past, so that you can better escape the past?¡± ¡°No, and shut up. I¡¯m worried about more important things, like whether I¡¯m still secretly afraid of our Beasts on a subconscious level.¡± ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re interested in moving forward?¡± ¡°Of course, and I said shut up.¡± ¡°Oh, so are you perhaps keen on embracing¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go, see that he won¡¯t be doin¡¯ somethin¡¯ unwise,¡± came Sun¡¯s mellow voice, and Louis felt the hairs on his nape standing when a pair of large hooves started clapping in his direction, and he heard the jangle of her horn jewelry. He didn¡¯t want her coming after; he could already tell he was probably going to be throwing a tantrum. The strange commonality shared between himself, herself, and Sebastio - one a once-harlot, one a child of a harlot, and one raised young in a harlots¡¯ den - gave him a strange and powerful aversion to disappointing his brother or Big Sister to their faces. When Adz said, ¡°No, I shall attend,¡± he didn¡¯t know if it was relief or yet greater agitation that curled around his heart. The slap-slap-slap of slewing tendrils piled along after him as Louis continued on his unflagging way. Without really considering it, the human aimed himself up farther up the hill, moving toward the distant trunk of the ancient hybrid tree whose branches capped the platform¡¯s skyline in every direction. The darker, thicker stands and gardens of vegetation on the behemoth¡¯s side of the rise drew him in like the mouth of a well. More specifically, he stepped free of the little ceramic plateau and started climbing the short difference between his coordinates and those of the moderately-sized open-plan temple to Missing Gods at the hill¡¯s utmost apex. The temple in question was that in which Louis, Sebastio, Lord Tuoamas, and - curiously enough - Bugbear and Sun had assembled the prior year. They¡¯d met in the name of salvaging the mmnmomn? populace that would have otherwise been subject to Beast devourment on their home facet. Some of their number now met again to contemplate a not dissimilar problem from the Beast side of the equation. Symmetry? Subconscious design? Divine nudging? Why he¡¯d felt the urge to return to the temple didn¡¯t signify just yet. Just as Louis reached the path going through gradually sprouting herbaceous groundcover right up to the open pillars of the majestically minimalist structure, the lofty sounds of an udod aodod in pursuit dropped off. Louis drew up to the stone design of the temple¡¯s entry arch, then pulled up short when a spectacular flash of light from the concert below threw up a hulking silhouette before him against the doorway. Within the temple¡¯s confines a couple of visitors huddled, taken with the nonexistent altar and barely noticing his presence. He felt his quadriceps rising and falling beneath his skin like the connecting rods of pistons with his final step, and breathed out once with gusto before looking to one side. ¡°Louis.¡± Adz towered above him despite a ¡°footing¡± that lay almost a vertical meter down the hill, keeping itself to the heart-leafed shrubbery on one side of the temple¡¯s path. Its soft, grainy speech made it sound like a naufer getting the inside of her throat sandpapered down to suppleness. All four of its eyespots lay revealed in the nests of their eyefibers, its ears almost plastered to its skull, and the lines of its long heavy arms and shoulders had the angles of a set square. The Lady¡¯s leg-cables, unlike the ever-flexing tendrils of a hudenot, supported it with the rigidity of hard thulite. In the shade of a couple not-terribly-close trees he noted a few figures keeping watch over the udod aodod, possibly to ensure he didn¡¯t try to shoot it or do things to its person with R¡¯gaonit or Tufcich thaumaturgy or such. If not for its breathing, the human might have considered the variously light and dark off-brown shape to be a still sensory capture. If he wasn¡¯t mistaken, that expression indicated its getting caught in the weirdly shaped eddies of mentalism common to its species; not reaching out to the tree of speech and picking words as needed, but starting at the beginning of the alphabet and pulling its vocabulary through its cognitive center one lexing operation at a time. If he hadn¡¯t run off, that long process would have been unnecessary. Louis pondered to himself, in the name of keeping his mouth shut for a bit longer until he completed temporarily calming down. His large relative¡¯s sometimes roundabout thought patterns weren¡¯t terribly different from the way in which he would eventually have to travel back up his threads of social entanglement. First, engage with Adz. Then, go back down, make nice with Bugbear, apologize to Sun. Reassure Penowa that he didn¡¯t hate his housemate, or even harbor any animosity. Rejoin the rest of ¡°the gang,¡± as they¡¯d come to know themselves, before the- ¡°I know that things have not been easy for you of late,¡± said the udod aodod. ¡°You do not have the luxury of humoring yourself as you would like. Remember that it has been easy for none of us.¡± Louis ran a palm down one of his hairless cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± he said, quarter-joking. ¡°I can¡¯t forget anymore, after all.¡± He flicked a fingernail against the little metal quadrilateral prism of his cerv-mesh where its side emerged from the back of his neck. The osmium exterior of the box made a tiny clack, and he felt his scruff¡¯s epidermis twitch a micrometer or so. ¡°Why in God¡¯s name do you need me?¡± he suddenly demanded. ¡°You know what I think of¡­¡± My brother? Your husband? Our Lord? ¡°... Sebastio. Sebastio¡¯s plans.¡± He almost pointed at Adz in accusation, avoiding the gesture at the last instant as he saw the tone of his not-quite-shout reach its guardians. Instead, he grabbed at his hair as though he could pull his scalp off like a hat. For its part, the udod aodod lowered its trunk to the ground. It became not much taller than himself even with the wedges of its ears, perhaps trying to adopt a more psychologically vulnerable position. Its palms flattened themselves in the thin carpet of ferns and grasses, and its thick outer garment pulled taut against its torso in a sudden stiff wind. ¡°What do you think we are trying to do?¡± it asked. ¡°Bugbear and Sun and I - do you suspect that we want to damage what he and Lord Tuoamas have accomplished, after all this time and effort?¡± ¡°I suspect that what you intend to do might be seen as a lack of confidence in Pennat Gate¡¯s mission,¡± was the acerbic response. ¡°After bringing in a Beast population, after staring down that walking putrescence that is Harrison O¡¯Casey, after what happened with Leanshe three hands ago, can you deny that loosening expectations of victory will undermine this estate¡¯s cause?¡± When in doubt, speak from the heart¡­ unless completely inappropriate. ¡°I can tell you that we have been discussing possible negative consequences nearly since the Lordsmoot,¡± Adz said. ¡°What we do is no betrayal. If we succeed despite the daunting elevation of this hurdle then we shall become all the better for the effort. If we fail, it is our responsibility to outline how we might best edit the sensory that is our estate¡¯s dream manufactory. If that should be necessary.¡± The young man who was athlete, artist, magus, immigrant, and much more slowly turned to look at the massive tree growing near the Step¡¯s center. When he exhaled next, he was fairly confident he was ridding himself of necessary bodily moisture, because it felt like his face went wrinkled and misshapen and colorless. He glanced over the temple to Missing Gods, where he and Penowa¡¯s uncle and that schlrikt Seven and others had all gathered two and a half lifetimes ago. Thinking about how they¡¯d all gone and gotten plastered for an hour or two after that little get-together made him want to bring out his kylix again, and start drinking once more. He grimaced instead, and spun so quickly that his clothes tried to whirligig him off his feet. ¡°Lady, I¡¯m scared. I¡¯ve been scared for a long time. I¡¯ll probably be scared for quite some time to come.¡± He tapped the box on his neck once more, with a shaky hand very different from the lackadaisical joking manner he¡¯d had when tapping his cerv-mesh a minute past. ¡°After that Sifter popped up and¡­ well, I¡¯ve been jumpy, distrustful, and easily turned around. I guess you¡¯d call me a mess.¡± Louis briefly pivoted on a foot, and took half a step in the temple¡¯s direction. Then he undid that directional progress by turning back to Adz and moving half a step. Indecision was evidently something his brother had indeed passed along, if in a roundabout and non-genealogical fashion. He repeated the utterly useless dance shuffle several times, the Lady silent the whole while, before his eyebrows came together and his voice became almost rusty. ¡°Have you any idea what it¡¯s like when your life changes to something better than you could possibly have imagined, because of one single decision you¡¯ve made or accepted? Do you know how scary it is to know that that option might be dashed to the ground for whole universes of people?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Adz. ¡°Well, it¡¯s-¡± He came to a screeching halt, contemplating those simple-eye-like lenses, and suddenly suspected from the udod aodod¡¯s unspoken argument that it told the truth. I support your brother. The thought of his grand ambitions for a safe haven coming to naught strikes at my very heart, and people like Harrison O¡¯Casey will continue to oppose those ambitions with their every fiber¡­ and yet I keep the faith. Then the human¡¯s gaze caught a gleam bouncing from the gorget marking the Lady¡¯s office, and with a feeling of profound foolishness realized he no longer suspected. ¡°I see,¡± said Louis. When the band far below came to a shuddering climax in their musically-empowered spiritual journey, the rooster tails of flame shooting from the tiny stage failed to raise his spirits, or even do more than draw his idle gaze for a bauble of time. He felt his tongue rasping the insides of his teeth. He looked down at Adz. He looked down at Celnn and Al and eGarra. He looked down at Sun and Penowa and Bugbear. ¡°I see,¡± he repeated, and for all that it was a sketched-on mask he couldn¡¯t prevent a small smile from shooting past on its way elsewhere. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m just¡­ No, you do mean well. Prudence. Prudence, that¡¯s one thing he¡¯d wholeheartedly support.¡± He managed to make himself believe that last statement was conspecific with the truth, or at least something with equivalent truthiness value. Our Father in heaven, but I¡¯m a mess. ¡°Let¡¯s go and¡­ talk, then. I¡¯ll be good.¡± Nobody said a word about his stomping off. The only reminder of his leaving the event was the fact that he elected to stay standing opposite Adz¡¯s perch, taking a few steps every so often to ward off nerves like he had popped a triple dose of fidget. ¡°If we have to propose a refuge for unwanted people, the quirks of Beasts that make them so unappealing to everyone else would put them right at home in the Trisected Republic, or New Armis.¡± Bugbear¡¯s sales pitch lost a bit of its air and he actually adopted a sheepish expression when Louis gave him a look like he¡¯d grown a second head, the second head was that of a fish, and the fish had a doctorate in fertilizer manufacture. ¡°There¡¯s no way anyone is going to try putting Beasts into a general circulation which might use them for traditional warfare; they¡¯d probably get a visit from Rhaagm¡¯s big man Jonathan himself to make his displeasure clear. But they¡¯re uniquely suited for information gathering, what with the ability to identify which of a dozen decoy ¡®meat puppets¡¯ actually possesses a gestalt, or what part of a network is inhabited by a true eidolon and not just a jumble of expert systems.¡± ¡°Have your contacts been dissuaded by the Etruphana hullabaloo?¡± Louis asked, eyes squinting in Bugbear¡¯s direction. ¡°Dissuaded in the sense that they¡¯re leery of the black box that¡¯s Yrdkish statecraft, yes. Dissuaded in the sense that they don¡¯t enjoy the thought of either being patsies or getting fingered as interfering busybodies, yes. Dissuaded in the sense that they won¡¯t have anything to do with us on the matter of Beast adoption, no more than a few.¡± Bugbear growled something that sounded a great deal like, ¡°I¡¯ll give that strobing banshee ¡®unstable and infighting-prone.¡¯¡± ¡°So, have you found a¡­ buyer, as it were?¡± asked Adz, hands clasped in front of it. ¡°We¡¯ve talked to a few mayors of the Republic, and between them gotten grudgin¡¯ admission that they¡¯d be willin¡¯ to give a trial period a shot. A few thousand unusual immigrants each, at least. Less so for New Armis, but they¡¯re in the same bracket in most respects besides the number of intakes they¡¯re acceptin¡¯.¡± The points of Sun¡¯s slightly bared teeth told Louis she was far from happy with the thought of cutting the newest beneficiaries of Pennat Gate¡¯s dreams loose. For that - regardless of the personal reservations he yet held about those beneficiaries - he loved her a little more. The shorter human present cleared his throat. Well, if we¡¯re already dealing with unpalatable options, perhaps it¡¯s time to throw all the disgusting cards on the table. ¡°When we last talked, Sebastio mentioned some kind of plan to ¡®take care¡¯ of Nor¡¯ridge and other antagonists of that stripe,¡± Louis said, every word a bitter wafer. ¡°He said that it won¡¯t get anyone hurt or dead, but Pennat Gate won¡¯t have to worry about a lot of things if it goes into effect. I don¡¯t know anything else about it, but¡­¡± Adz tensed. Sebastio¡¯s spouse obviously possessed some details about the plan in question. It also obviously thought that the plan in question might fall into the category of fundamentally toxic compromise - something Louis had suspected but not wanted to believe. Hating himself with an oceanic depth, Louis asked, ¡°I gave a bit of thought to¡­ putting that plan, whatever it is, into effect early. Before our contest is resolved. It might not be the honorable thing to do.¡± Understatement. In the eyes of the Republic Lords and Lawmasters, possibly - probably - a capital crime. The Lady gave no indication of what it thought. From his experience with it, though, the once-French lad guessed that its outward placidity came from the dual fonts of its thought structure and a self-discipline of towering potency. He couldn¡¯t deny that his own sense of integrity scalded him for the impropriety. And yet, when he glanced in Penowa¡¯s direction, remembered how the mmnmomn? woke up on his little bed on the other side of the little house they shared, how the expression he wore each morning was one not of forebearance but contentment, how he had gotten laughing on more than one occasion simply seeing his troublesome stipp waddling around and failing to locate a good spot where he could situate a nest on Penowa¡¯s garb, Louis found the steel in his soul to persist. ¡°If it would keep our people together under one roof, though¡­¡± ¡°Louis-¡± started Bugbear, before falling silent as the peripherals of most of those watching detected the approach of a new personality. A new personality who most certainly wasn¡¯t on the short list of those who the Lady and its guests would have approved seeing in their present context. Long before he actually stepped into view farther up the hill, coming from the more arboreally-blessed side of the platform¡¯s topology toward the little crystalwillow-shrouded plateau of discourse, a very significant number of offensive tools trained themselves on Hereld Upswitch. In turn, as he drew to slightly outside comfortable talking distance, he trained upon Louis Artaxerxes a baroque flourish of that same hat he¡¯d worn when they¡¯d first met. ¡°Young sir Artaxerxes,¡± the man said, with that same ear-gouging accent exhibited before. ¡°I hope you will do me the pleasure of admitting breeze and tell me how you are doing of late.¡± He twitched that same pestiferous and loathsome facial adornment he¡¯d previously sported. His thin garments, haughty bearing, resolutely serene expression, and utterly unwanted presence collaborated in such a way to give him the appearance of a statue made for a person that the sculptor simply couldn¡¯t stand. Next to Penowa, Louis saw one edge of Bugbear¡¯s mouth turn up ever so slightly, and the look in his eye of flesh was the look of a man whose thoughts were, ¡°So you¡¯re the fun-loving soul who decided to harass two of the most important people I know.¡± Louis felt himself grow hot, and then immediately cool. His many rehearsals of what he¡¯d do if he again clapped eyes on the excuse for human excrescence that was Hereld Upswitch all clamored for space in his head, and got pushed away in a single heartbeat. He felt his eyelids begin to droop, started to prepare one fistful of poet-fire, reached for his trusty quadratic accelerator in its compression storage, and- ¡°Please do not force me to use a hermetic chamber function upon you. I would prefer to avoid such indignities.¡± Adz¡¯s voice was the spearpoint of reason. It clearly wouldn¡¯t accept any sort of defiance or belligerence from Louis, implicit or otherwise, and intended to make sure his youthful exuberance was sealed away if he decided to be ornery. Hereld looked at the Lady, his face a complete blank. He adjusted the angle of his hat, adjusted the fit of his coat, gave a little unconscious up-sign, and turned his cuffs with unconscious grace. ¡°I think,¡± he said with a faintly astonishing purge of his abominable accent, ¡°that you need to go throw yourself in a culture of hot pink. You ought to mount your head on the claws of a particularly ugly Beast.¡± The fevered look he had was beginning to become worrisome. ¡°Sir,¡± interjected Sun, with her interjection summarily ignored by the fresh arrival. He continued his monologue of abuse and the others slowly took in that monologue of abuse, their collective ill-will sharpening with every word coming from below the greasy mustache. The agents began to step out of the shadows like so many scavengers. ¡°You need to purge yourself from this life and bring us all that much closer to moral Pareto efficiency,¡± said Hereld, looking into the Lady¡¯s eyespots the way some children might look at a particularly delicate gewgaw whilst holding a hoop-hook staff. ¡°Mr. Upswitch. You are coming with us.¡± One of Adz¡¯s squad with the legal right to do so had folded herself just behind the behatted human. The aaned¡¯s body was draped with a warsash, and the hand which had not just slapped a cuff around Hereld Upswitch¡¯s arm held a shiver knife that looked roughly the size of a zweihander. Behind her floated a magus caber, with an angry light swirling above it. ¡°I-¡± began Mr. Upswitch again, only to get cut off by the aaned bodyguard hitting him with a compulsion. The magus caber picked up and mutated the thaumaturgical working¡¯s Hiek machine. Even if he¡¯d had something on par with a Rhaagm auditor¡¯s resilience against mental magic, he would have needed some very specific defensive measures to fend off the compulsion¡¯s entwining tendrils as it wrapped around his brain. Hereld¡¯s reappearance marked the fourth run-in the Artaxerxes family had had with exceptional personal danger, since the debut of that curious bohemian creature Seven. On the first such occasion, Sebastio himself hadn¡¯t exactly been in danger until the appearance of that morphite. On the second such occasion, Louis was under the terribly mistaken impression that being in the immediate vicinity of a gun battery, with attendant highly-proficient artists in the discipline of war, exempted him from abduction. On the third such occasion¡­ well, over-Beasts didn¡¯t precisely constitute a member in the ¡°actuarially significant¡± camp of eventualities. This time, the minders put their experience to very good use. The kinds of personal armoring and protective countermeasures available to a culture like Yrdky - a culture with the ability to arbitrarily if painstakingly set and reset a universe¡¯s elemental triple-points, bring certain of the dead back to life (for some definitions of ¡°life¡±), dictate to all sorts of minor deities and their adherents when and whether they would be permitted communion, compress two bits of data into a little more than one and a half bits of data, and construct a perfect sandwich - were quite formidable. As soon as the threat represented by that most wanted excuse for human excrescence appeared, many such defenses were immediately erected around Lady Adz, Louis Artaxerxes, Francis ¡°Bugbear¡± Pickering, Sun-Beneath-Skin, and (after a moment¡¯s consideration by Lily, the de facto leader of Adz¡¯s current detail) Penowa Teso. Despite the deliberate cultural avoidance of such technological demigodhood during the normal course of extrafacetary life, it was standard operating procedure to protect persons of interest in such a fashion when confronting a clear and present danger like Upswitch. The personae grata might have been harmed if they were subject to, say, the will of a Being of Old, or artifacts that played by the rules of nonstandard arcane Rochambeau sequences, or another over-Beast, or perhaps a causality sabotage. Pretty much anything else would be stymied long before it could even think of doing them ill. Unfortunately, standard operating procedure for defense of a principal usually prioritized the principal¡¯s health over that of everyone else, and in this case the everyone else included one Hereld Upswitch. ¡°I¡­¡± he said, the eyes vaguely covered by his hat¡¯s shadow suddenly gaining a billion-year stare. Every muscle in the human¡¯s body slowly relaxed by a sniff or two. ¡°I¡­ ah¡­¡± Hereld looked, almost contentedly, between the udod aodod and the young sir Artaxerxes, mouth open just wide enough to permit the insertion of a knife if one were so inclined. He blinked slowly. ¡°Ah, well,¡± he said, fighting for self-control as the aaned behind him moved to grip one of his arms in her scaled digits. ¡°I guess you aren¡¯t even curious as to why I¡¯m here, now.¡± ¡°I can think of more than a couple of reasons,¡± Adz said, revealing a mass of razor dentistry overlapping itself betwixt mandible and maxilla. ¡°I find none of them appealing to the interests of this estate.¡± Upswitch¡¯s dazed expression gelled for the tiniest span of time. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s hurtful, Lady, especially when coming from such a waste of good proteins as yourself. I came here, after all, for this.¡± His little giggling return fire earned him a smack across the head by the guard holding him prisoner. Later on, the aaned guard declared that the action resulted from a temporary lapse in her self-control. She claimed that that self-control had been significantly taxed even before the appearance of Hereld Upswitch, for a plethora of reasons. That lack of self-control led to a blow which happened in tandem with a series of directional charges, embedded in Hereld Upswitch¡¯s skull and vertebrae and clavicles, going off at a single remote directive. The blow coincidentally made it seem, to the security sensories later produced on the subject of the incident, that its applicator used sufficiently excessive force to cause a conversion of everything between the applicatee¡¯s hat brim and the applicatee¡¯s sternal manubrium into a great deal of fibrous pulp and red mist. Interruption was immediate and - given the fact that his cuff made continuing to store the thread of his gestalt a crime nearly on par with illegal possession of a cuff in the first place - almost certainly represented a cessation of his self, not merely a strange continuation of identity picked up elsewhere in a revivification clinic. With a sound much like a thick branch being tossed into a mud flat, the number of living carbon-based physical bodies correlated to on-site sentiences decremented by one. The corpse¡¯s legs folded up as it fell, the dispersed residue began softly raining down in a very wide arc, and that hat landed with perverse stability right on its ex-owner¡¯s back, just below the savaged crater of ex-Hereld¡¯s neck. And thus did technology once more demonstrate its talents to the assembled: the alchemization of less interesting and more stable problems into more interesting and less stable ones. Louis, as it turned out, had many unexpected demands on his time that prevented him from rejoining the rest of ¡°the gang¡± that evening. As usual, almost everyone who attended the pre-war-games festivities later voiced the opinion that Shear Boot was, quite simply, the greatest. The Kingdom ¡°We have an almost ubiquitous grasp of ¡®home.¡¯ Not everyone, perhaps - there are those who do not have the corresponding emotive and perceptive mechanisms. For the majority of us, though, there¡¯s a place in and to which we most belong. Not a place where we might just survive. It¡¯s not hard, in the grand design, to come up with the appropriate collection of implemented functions to keep us relatively safe and well. If you don¡¯t understand what I mean, go ask an aaned to get some suitably artsy vocabulistics. The point is, existence has this intuitive hemmed-in idea of the gestalt as a key, a key searching out its lock and only finding itself at ease when they meet, which is independent of ¡®better than adequate for survival.¡¯ Show charity to those who haven¡¯t found their locks. Show charity to those who have no home. It¡¯s a shame when you have a lock misplaced from its key¡­ but at least a lock in isolation may still serve the purpose of restriction. What purpose serves the lockless key?¡± -Eihks Richard There were, despite all appearances, weapons not firing on that day and in that conflict. Ever since he was young, when he nearly killed a certain well-meaning naufer, the crack of electricity arcing from point to point had signified a place of belonging for Sebastio. That strange talent for bioelectric manipulation, not directly controlled by alterations to or creations of Hiek machines and all the rarer for it, made him feel at home when the snap of positive and negative violently resolving their differences sizzled across his flesh, or played with suitably conductive toys in his vicinity. There was something oddly soothing about the stink of nothing at all, when energetic discharge sanitized that which it caressed. Perhaps for this reason, the cacophonous thunder of Yrdkish games didn¡¯t unsettle him as much as it probably should. From East to West, a line of one hundred twenty eight platforms faced an equally-large line belonging to the opposition. One array for Nor¡¯ridge, one array for Pennat Gate. They lay just past the flat expanse of the Fountain Forest, the strange creation of the Maker that had given the Fountainists their name. A long-ago day it was, when their order was chartered at the region¡¯s border in the primeval depths of the oubliettes of history, and quite a famous one. Probably a great deal more famous than the present date would become to future historians, but very little had come of the prophetic attempts to verify or refute that assumption. On one side and the other of the very clinical showdown, the distant zipping rattle of autocannons, the Doppler effect of jets delivering metal messages of umbridge. A relatively awesome directed thaumaturgical energy punctuated the action every so often, sending assets to scurrying away for safety before the claws came out again. Multitudes conspired to hamstring each others¡¯ capacity to generate casualties, and hopefully few casualties would emerge. Very little of it actually happened close enough to fall within the biological perception of those on any of the platforms involved (besides extremely local evolutions, of course), but the wealth and diversity of telecommunications meant that every platform of the estate was getting a faceful of an average of about twenty platforms¡¯ worth of action. Until the sound and the fury stopped, there was a war on. So, the fact that Sebastio had decided to set aside his incredibly valuable time to meet with a certain annoyed guest that day said volumes about that person¡¯s importance. That certain annoyed guest had contacted him quite early that morning, with a very terse and very intense manner. They NEEDED to talk. Not just lives, but the reputations upon which many other lives would depend, lay across the altar. The question wasn¡¯t whether sacrifice would be required, but whether it would be a living sacrifice or a burnt offering. Even considering the guest¡¯s identity, Sebastio would have cast aside the not-quite-demand without much qualm¡­ except that he himself agreed. For the moment, he stood just outside a thicket of decoratively-coaxed greenware bamboo, on the edge of one of the busier plazas of the platform. He smiled as he surveyed the pedestrians wandering from business to business, awaiting the arrival of his upset person-of-interest and enjoying the sunshine. Caladhbolg mused. <¡°The improvement of difficulty of a task correlates to an improvement in the self-¡±> Yes, and thank you for quoting Dnul at me. Sebastio felt himself grin ever so slightly on the inside, tickled¡­ if not pink, then at least a very diluted rose. It had been a long time since he and his ¡°other half¡± had so distinctly come to loggerheads. <-but in this particular instance, the breadth of danger posed by distraction may well counteract the benefit gleaned. The timing is decidedly suboptimal.> Again, yes. But you¡¯re interested in my achievements bringing laud to your creator, correct? Failure on the battlefield will prove decidedly painful, true. If I succeed, though - especially with the debilitations of distractions - it will do nothing but amplify the reputation your bearer, and by extension... The entity was silent. ¡°And besides,¡± said Caladhbolg¡¯s host, for the simple reason that he wanted to hear the sequin-spangled Yrdkish words spoken aloud. The words gave him spine. ¡°Think about the¡­ adventures that we will have, win or lose. Logistics bottlenecks eliminated. Ex nihilo engines refurbished. Dead-drops and other asynchronous communication established. Type nine event pathing mapped out for at least the next three ages. We have more clock cycles devoted to setting up skeins and other tuning fields than any thousand of Rhaagm¡¯s High Arsonists. Pennat Gate is as prepared for this paradigm shift as we can possibly make it, short of a near-perfect prophetic matrix.¡± He frowned, as he saw the approach of the anticipated and dreaded party, coming from the nearby folding concourse. ¡°I wish we could have told Lord Galt about it, but I suppose that I wish many things. She will find out soon enough.¡± ¡°And I suppose that we would deserve it.¡± He shuddered ever so slightly, the circlet on his crown prickling the body of his mind with anxious thorns. ¡°Like I suppose that this is going to be deserved as well,¡± he added, then began walking toward his rendezvous with the past. ¡°Whatever it is.¡± One of two people crossed the diorama of Yrdkish life at a measured speed, and drew Sebastio and the world toward himself with every footstep. The second one of that pair stuck to the leader¡¯s back. Neither seemed particularly disturbed by the distant yet close cacophony, but the way both of them kept their gazes gradually bobbing and weaving and stiffly returning to him reminded Sebastio of dead flowers in a breeze. Black-Green-Season¡¯s writing come a-stepping through his mind for the second time in a year. It was as good of both a warning from his security-contracting days and a bit of situational commentary as he could ask. ¡°Step down? I shall never step down. I have risen; I have seen; I have surveyed. Much there is wrong. By the ceilings of Hssi and the floors of Dlg, I anchor myself - fall upward, ye Rhaagm sky.¡± ¡°Lord?¡± he heard from one side, and didn¡¯t look at Argyva where she had folded immediately next to him. Sebastio thought about the eight or nine different ways he could set her at ease. Instead of any of these, he said, ¡°You heard me, Armsman. If this exchange goes sour, I will either be the cause or the solution.¡± The armored woman said nothing. ¡°Protect as you see fit, but ensure there are zero interruptions,¡± her Lord added. ¡°There may be danger; it will not come from our guests. Cloak-and-dagger agents among our own people? Who can say¡­ but I can and will say that I know my family enough to extend our finest courtesy. I will count on your skill in keeping prying souls from screwing around with the area¡¯s Rochambeau sequence.¡± Argyva gave a curt up-sign that was close to a salute, then folded away once more, just as company arrived in the form of a strong-jawed strong-willed Cambrian human. ¡°Hello, Lord Artaxerxes,¡± said Iggez Artaxerxes in Yrdkish so firm and well-developed it would bring tears to the eyes of any developer of speech therapy software. The speech in question held about as much surprise at seeing the patchwork appearance of the Lord he addressed as it would have if he¡¯d woken one morning, and found himself astonishingly enough in the possession of exactly ten fingers and exactly ten toes. A fierce man, this solid Cambrian. Member of Bhushalt Fabricants and Design¡¯s executive board¡­ and incidentally, a person who might be accurately named ¡°Father.¡± ¡°Mr. Artaxerxes,¡± named Sebastio. ¡°I apologize for not extending my greetings earlier. Unfortunately, war has a way of getting into the gears of etiquette and doing a mischief.¡± After a short pause - it at least seemed that father dearest hadn¡¯t expected his son¡¯s reputation for baldness to contain quite so much truth - Iggez gave a small up-sign. He considered a tall holojector not twenty meters away, showing a Third Step Pennat Gate platform bombarding two Norridge platforms with suppressing strikes. ¡°Yes, it does.¡± Neither father nor child showed the slightest emotional acknowledgement of the other¡¯s status. Iggez Artaxerxes¡¯s face could very well have been made of stone. Now, behind him¡­ ¡°Hello, Nessro,¡± said Sebastio, smiling with something approaching melancholy at the single most wonderful naufer alive. A second father? Not quite. Compared to how much actual child-rearing had been done by his blood daddy, though, the thought had more than scant merit. The Artaxerxes manservant had the neatest professional attire that a butler might conceivably don, striped and collared and not a single hair bent out of true. That part of the manservant¡¯s personality was as integral to him as Sebastio¡¯s small sharp-toothed enjoyment of violence was to the Lord of Pennat Gate. What birthed the sliver of upset in the Cambrian¡¯s bruised happiness was the look the naufer wore. Nessro was usually unflappable except when the safety of his charges hung in the balance. He had the tenacity of any psychotic when it came to maintaining the vicarious dignity of his employer. When ¡°... Sebastio¡­?¡± leaked from him in something approaching disbelief, it ran a fissure across all the warm joy the youthful Lord had felt for days. The fact that the man hadn¡¯t managed to truly believe - hadn¡¯t been able to make himself believe - the wealth of changes Sebastio now wore upon his flesh said some disheartening things about his emotional equilibrium. The Lord gave a small forehead-thumb at the naufer. The incredibly keen fangs on his smile¡¯s right side pulled forth a hesitant nose-twitch from the butler. ¡°It is me, Nessro,¡± he affirmed, ignoring the tremendous and often fatally unforgivable breach in protocol that was a Lord being addressed without title. ¡°I am aware of the similarities between myself and GedGetKroDra. I assure you, though, that this is my only prosthesis, that I do not make a habit of killing people with it unnecessarily, and that I do not have a collection of hands from those I have tricked into clasping arms.¡± The tinkling sound of his father¡¯s laughter enriched the world of the far past, but not the present. The naufer¡¯s ears turned back, and his figure-eight-pupils couldn¡¯t seem to keep away from the orange and the gold eye and the chains of metallic hair adorning the person before him. A hale and intense young man he¡¯d once instructed in martial arts, magic, the basics of philosophy and character. The human who had nearly killed him, something close to a century ago - both yesterday and on the precipice of an elder time. For just an instant, Nessro hurled his stare past Sebastio and into the untidy sprawl of the Step¡¯s grand mechanism, the many sentient teeth of its gears meshing and unmeshing over the course of business-as-not-quite-usual. The tableaux held for much longer than it ought. Then the Lord understood that this, right here before him, was real life, and let out a breath that seemed to draw his toes into his feet. ¡°Come, come!¡± said Sebastio, back-stepping with adroit grace. He pushed the air with the flat of a hand in the direction of a construction which had caught some form of architectural cancer - Selen Gazebo, where he¡¯d dealt with other politically-sensitive matters - not too far away on the hillside. ¡°Let us retreat to a prettier vantage, and enjoy the finest fruits of hospitality.¡± Iggez waved off the offer, but wryly snorted, ¡°We can at the very least move to a¡­¡± He looked around the bustling and hectic square, and intuited the presence, or the suggestion of the presence, of Sebastio¡¯s many trigger-eager servitors. ¡°... place less fat with people. Might we perhaps go in the described direction without confining ourselves to the skyless indoors?¡± Sebastio thought about that one for all of a tenth of a second. ¡°That would be agreeable,¡± he allowed. The pack of three, plus armsmen attending to their welfare at a distance, left the plaza behind in favor of the more verdant stretches of the platform. Eventually, they arrived at the precipice of a short steep hill with dry-mangroves ringing its base like a picket against the encroaching buildings. It was a place of emptiness. The sounds of squawks and birds were notable only for their absence, and the grasses covering the curved land thinned to micrometer length at the height of its arc. The paths cobwebbing the hill¡¯s surface glimmered with the kind of precious dross that Yrdky took for granted: shards of aquamarine, corundum flakes, tiny chemically-interesting-but-visually-dull stones with messy molecular design and even more messy quantized structure. Far away there was ugliness, and a hard unapologetic beauty was close at hand. ¡°One thing I have always appreciated about Yrdky is the way its mountains are simply everywhere,¡± Iggez breathed. He digested the unhumble and unboasted majesty of the nearest spire, a dragon among dogs. Close to thirty six million kilometers across at the base, its very presence demanded accommodations in the contest between the two warring estates. It was the kind of terrain feature which would have been drastically more difficult to measure if Yrdky had been a simple planet, no matter the planet¡¯s size. ¡°Those peaks are nothing compared to many a work of thinking, rational mind. Yet, they lie far, far outside the limits any of us are likely to witness in the wild, short of natural adornments found upon strange-geometry facets and the like. Soaring. Uncompromising. Immodest.¡± His tone grew sharp little hooks. ¡°Are they?¡± asked Sebastio. He traipsed over to the left side of his father, a small pleasant smile upon his face. The teeth he flashed bared a little bit more of those little sharp inhuman fangs projecting between his lips. ¡°Nessro,¡± said Iggez, with a sudden swerving of tone and bearing that fell upon the naufer manservant like a starving grenwall. ¡°Remind me.¡± Well. When your cerv-mesh possessed access to eidetics sufficient to flat-pack virtually any knowledge and trivia in which you had even the slightest interest, that sort of statement was about as subtle a way to say THE FOLLOWING IS RHETORICAL as¡­ Sebastio¡¯s lip curled when a particularly sizable holojector in the near distance depicted a cluster-bomb pandemic descending from a fleet Nor¡¯ridge squadron. ¡­ well, that. ¡°Certainly, sir.¡± The manservant sounded as clinically detached as Sebastio could ever remember him sounding, but Sebastio didn¡¯t particularly think was actually separation of self. More likely, the naufer was so intent on preserving Iggez¡¯s charade that he had slipped into the same kind of automatic function that had helped him survive Sebastio¡¯s upbringing. Oh, but ¡°survive¡± was such a poor choice of a word. ¡°What was our business with Tillasg supposed to yield?¡± asked Iggez, almost smiling in his voice, and clearly the furthest thing from happy imaginable. ¡°That massive seventy six facet contract that we drew up two hexadecades ago? An extra quarter, or two extra quarters, depending. And what did Bhushalt get out of the arrangement instead?¡± Nessro¡¯s nose twitched, a humor obviously more in spite than in recollection of the specified dealings. ¡°I believe it was something to the effect of a seven year loss,¡± he supplied, tone as naked as any eulogy and as rough as any pumice. ¡°A seven year loss,¡± said Iggez, teeth grasping the air like shank nails. ¡°And how many of our clients did we lose after the Western Sunrise, between deaths by Beast and partners going under and other maledictions?¡± ¡°Your personally-vetted contracts and supply, or those of the rest of the company included?¡± Iggez turned farther away from Sebastio. He sighed, and seemed to deflate. ¡°Let us start with those specific to my own departments¡¯ portfolios,¡± he said. ¡°Thirty seven percent, plus or minus two tenths of a percent.¡± Iggez brushed something invisible off of himself, acting as though some filthy recycling mass that needed gamma-sterilization had been dropped on his clean-cut accoutrements from a great height. Then he faced his son with a gargoyle¡¯s ferocity writ over his whole person. ¡°More than a third of the work I have striven to maintain, upkeep, make better with time,¡± he said. ¡°Gone. Completely unmade. That, Lord Artaxerxes, is something that would be ruinous to any facetary corporation. What do you think it is like to incur that sort of damage in Rhaagm, where anything greater than half of a percent gain in a single year is essentially equivalent to usury?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Sebastio didn¡¯t bother falsifying any amount of passionate sympathy. He didn¡¯t bother falsifying anything. ¡°I suspect ¡®quite bad.¡¯¡± ¡°QUITE BAD.¡± Iggez¡¯s whole self curdled, and he glared back out toward the distant spoor of warfare as a huge spaceplane convoy zipped right by their platform, doubtlessly headed for the front line. Nessro glanced once at Sebastio, then averted his attention, ears twitching. It was a good several minutes before the elder Artaxerxes spoke again, with shut eyes and wide nostrils and hands around each other like pneumatic clamps. ¡°Let me be perfectly frank, Lord Artaxerxes.¡± With planetary languorousness and total stiffness of the back, he turned to his son, clean-shaven face frowning almost gently. ¡°Our business ventures have not been the worst of Rhaagm¡¯s casualties. Indeed, there are not a couple of companies even worse off than we at this moment - God watch over them.¡± Those hands of his untangled once more. ¡°We, for that matter, have had leaner times than the present; long past, but still true.¡± Nessro jumped, and more than a couple of instances of unseen offensive apparatus trained themselves on the man as his voice knifed out with quiet razor phonemes. ¡°But the difficulties that have come from one single shipwright of Pennat Gate, and accusations made concerning the administration of this estate, have¡­ in the space of a single month¡­ brought us to our knees.¡± Sebastio found he hadn¡¯t really known what father dearest was going to say to him after all. Not in the slightest. ¡°I have heard great things about this great estate,¡± reminisced Iggez, turning once more aside from Sebastio, staring out into the distance among the violent fireworks. ¡°I have heard some shrivelling lies.¡± ¡°Indeed?¡± The elder Artaxerxes pointed far, far to one side of the platform, at the hive of activity kicking up as a clan of Nor¡¯ridge shock-troopers arrived in a carrier. They fanned out, and in practically no time at all coalesced on a hill hosting a massive quantity and variety of guns. Obviously intending to disable the weaponry at the site, they quickly got swarmed under by the camouflaged battalion who intended to keep the weaponry at the site functional. They settled their disagreement with firearms first, loud words of a military content and mentality second. After several bullets seemingly managed to triple-book enemy combatants, the defenders cleaned up the rest of the assault element in good order and started taking their prisoners off to await exchange. ¡°Those assets,¡± he said, ¡°are¡­ not¡­ ours.¡± Sebastio kept his surprise from showing on his face. The words, he¡¯d expected. The densely clenched fists holding their leashes, he had not. ¡°Indeed,¡± repeated Sebastio. The laconic response drew forth a response in turn, and Iggez turned to Sebastio. He actually looked like he was about to advance on his son with intent to box his ears, Lord or no. When Sebastio¡¯s gilded Caladhbolg-eye settled upon him, though, the mogul froze. For half of a quale, the elder¡¯s eyes moistened. But then, the moment passed. ¡°It would be beneficial to bring Lord Tuoamas into this conversation, one would think,¡± he grated. For some reason, that particular pronouncement made Nessro¡¯s ears perk up and quiver. Sebastio brushed a braid of his human hair back, fastening it into the curve of his circlet. ¡°Lord Tuoamas and myself have each others¡¯ full confidence. If you wish to confirm this, I will be more than happy to arrange a meeting to that end.¡± ¡°... No. If you claim to be of one mind, I shall take your word.¡± Sebastio eyed a small commotion upwind of their chosen place of respite, where that irrepressible armsman Bark was discouraging a family from coming any closer to the VIP trio. A world-weary hum from behind Sebastio. ¡°Now,¡± said the mogul, ¡°Bhushalt Fabricants and Design hope that this meeting can help bring some sort of final happy conclusion on the matter of lost face. I would like, but do not expect, to find an easy out.¡± ¡°I sympathize,¡± Sebastio replied, and meant it to a painful extreme. ¡°I am not happy with gross negligence of the truth,¡± the other Cambrian declared. He pointedly did not look at his son. His son pointedly did not look at his father. ¡°It would be far stranger if you were.¡± Sebastio rubbed his chin. He let his warped focus transfer to a nearby gleaming sculpture, grimacing as he realized that it depicted himself and Lord Tuoamas - thankfully now only nearly in the nude. He made a note to get the thing moved to some other distant section of public property. ¡°You did not prevent such libel from occurring in the first place.¡± Iggez had the sound of a man gradually working himself into a froth. ¡°Also, I enjoy having no answers of any kind released to the public about a man who may have represented a danger to local authorities. I enjoy it very greatly.¡± A sensory was extended to Sebastio, and he accepted. He fiercely scowled on the inside as he watched and heard the cranial evisceration of Hereld Upswitch once again. The gory display resembled what usually happened to a person on the receiving end of a quadratic accelerator projectile, when the weapon¡¯s configuration was set to ¡°spalling.¡± ¡°That is privileged information,¡± Sebastio said, allowing a bit of his frown out through his teeth. He didn¡¯t add that Pennat Gate had been in a minor uproar over the fiasco in the hours since, and that he and many others had been pulling every string within reach to try and track down what organization or corporate entity was responsible for managing Upswitch¡¯s backups. He further didn¡¯t add that, should such records come to light, there would be a mad dash to organize many, sanctions. Many, many sanctions. ¡°Do you have the right to tell us that it is privileged information?¡± The question came not from Iggez, but Nessro. It contained some confusion, some amount of interrogation, but a very considerable freight of surprised hurt as well. It was the sort of question very obviously deployed as a smokescreen, a substitute, for another question of greater value. Its voicing contained, or perhaps referenced, a flowing-forward of the lips whose purpose in social contexts evolved from the fact that naufers - like a great many creatures - lacked the versatility of tear ducts available to humans. Sebastio had taken a country by storm, had killed a Beast not meant to be exterminated by mortals, had forcibly come to terms with both his old divided self and the differently divided new. None of those feats came close to how difficult he found it to keep his eyes on his father of blood and off his father of spirit. Please, Nessro. Please don¡¯t do this to me now. ¡°This is a delicate matter,¡± said Sebastio. He debated saying more. He debated saying less. Neither sustained. ¡°Your association with Bhushalt means that Upswitch debacle has indirectly caused us an impossible-to-predict amount of damage.¡± Iggez cut off, visage as wrinkly with rage as any sail thwarted by an ill wind. Then it softened a bit, allowing through something that might have been bemusement if it were less lethally serious. ¡°This is the sort of thing that makes one wish for the ages before context distribution. One light-day out from this little mishap, and we could be picking up conclusive visual proof that the man in question had nothing to do with¡­¡± He trailed off and left the thought unfinished, something which had not happened for at least three hexadecades to the best of Sebastio¡¯s knowledge. ¡°Regardless, Bhushalt offers you conditions, Lord Artaxerxes.¡± ¡°¡®Conditions¡¯ sounds suitably - dare I say uninformatively - broad. Conditions of what variety?¡± ¡°We of Bhushalt intend that we might yet do business with you and yours. That state of affairs is contingent upon your cooperation in a partial disarmament program.¡± Sebastio felt something inside himself, concentrated along his right arm. Caladhbolg silently said something in Mefonite that was a pun on ¡°disarmament,¡± and Sebastio graciously accepted it by not ripping half of their own shared body out in protest. Besides, he did actually want to hear the gory details on what sort of deal was being floated. ¡°Disarmament of what, in which sense, for whom?¡± One imperious digit speared out from Iggez¡¯s hand, indicating once again the now-uncontested battery. ¡°Those, along with any other components of the machine of war fallaciously held as some product of favoritism between our august bodies. They must be removed.¡± Oh. ¡°Within what parameters?¡± he asked, though by Iggez¡¯s slowly modulating timbre he knew, and he had known before they¡¯d even come together once more. ¡°Upon extricating them from the theater of war,¡± the executive said with a mechanical drone, ¡°the utilities of this estate which were identified as associated with Bhushalt Fabricants and Design¡¯s make shall be consigned to recycling via destabilizer construct. Upon their recycling, receipts for their mass-energy will be presented to myself or another representative of Bhushalt, along with their bills of model lading, any Ktarebte machines or other proof-of-ownership, and a fee equal to or greater than fifty percent of their estimated collective production cost, as measured by the company¡¯s manufacturing and informatics standards.¡± Sebastio remained silent, one eye squinting. ¡°In exchange, Bhushalt shall credit this estate with two hundred percent of the surrendered monetary-equivalent specie in any form that Pennat Gate desires, redeemable in no less than one hexadecade¡¯s time.¡± ¡°And how long do we have to perform this extrication of the concerned utilities?¡± Sebastio asked. ¡°Until the end of the ninth hour.¡± A little less than one hour in total, to perform a fairly involved series of bureaucratic and engineering contortions. Probably, unless he was mistaken, about half of an hour less than they actually required. ¡°If you wish to see the contractual details, they are these,¡± said Iggez. He extended another digital resource. This time, Lord Artaxerxes accepted and activated his overclocking, taking his sweet time to peruse the document. He put out a call, and requested that Telmbian leave off his other stewardly duties and examine the contract as a second pair of more-worldly eyes. {That, Lord, is a blatant example of psychological bullying if ever I have seen one,} said the entity. Sebastio weighed. Sebastio measured. Sebastio divided. {Thank you, Telmbian,} he told his personal eidolon. {That will be all.} ¡°No,¡± he said, rubbing the gilded sphere of his inhuman eye with his inhuman hand. ¡°That is your adjudication?¡± asked Iggez, with a sudden total flatness; a storm passing for but an instant. ¡°It is,¡± Sebastio managed to heave from the depths of his lungs. Then the storm arrived, delivered in a drink cell and all the more rattling for it. ¡°When the game is untenable, you must lose. When the game is rigged, you must quit.¡± Iggez stared salty flames at the Lord, obviously trying to parch the parts of his progeny¡¯s skin that were still recognizably human. Behind him, Nessro¡¯s hands suddenly clenched as the naufer¡¯s eyes shuttered, and his employer spoke. ¡°The man who left the world with the Beaten Brow, who engages in the thoughtlessly arrogant trade of words for trinkets, who will give us a place where Beasts roam in their darkened glory¡­ that man does not strike me as one who wants for anything.¡± Abruptly, the condemnation in his voice dropped, split, became rotten, and turned to dust. It made Sebastio¡¯s flesh and Caladhbolg-stuff crawl. A squawk tittered in the distance, a-too-a-too-tooooooOOOOoooo, and another called in reply. Iggez Artaxerxes bent forward and spat on the ground before the feet of his son. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, shortly after half a dozen armsmen materialized from thin air, brandishing a slew of weaponry and offensive functions at the mogul. ¡°If Lord Artaxerxes does not want for anything, then presumably ties to people such as myself are little more than burdens.¡± Sebastio¡¯s father forced a scowl onto his comely face. ¡°I swear before the assembled witnesses, upon pain of judgment by Crippled False, that Bhushalt Fabricants and Design, and its representatives, will have nothing to do with this estate from this date forward - if I should have the capacity to prevent such dealings.¡± That scowl turned yet harsher, as Iggez extended a resource to his son over the Monolith. His son accepted, feeling the dull I-cannot-believe-you-said-that nerve ache that all Rhaagmini felt upon hearing the formal framing of an oath before Crippled False. ¡°You are eywoalgnhi to me,¡± came from Iggez. In some far away place, Sebastio heard that sentence echo a thousand times; from the pronouncements of gods and ghosts, from the deeply sorrowful and the apathetic, from loud objection and silent atrophy. In the hands of his mind¡¯s eye, he held a formal digital document, serrated with such sharp embroidered borders that to ¡°touch¡± it made his cerv-mesh feel like it had received a paper cut. ¡°Like as ancestor to descendant, you are not, you deliverer and you recipient,¡± said the blocky Rhaagmini in the underused center of the reproduction page. ¡°Go your own ways forevermore.¡± He¡¯d imagined that he¡¯d have to formally separate ways from the man that was his father at some point in his life, like almost all good extrafacetary families eventually had to do. Declaring a cut-off point for those officially recognized as family became a logistical requirement after so many generations, lest ancestral trees stretch back to include cousins of relation practically expressible only through exponentiation. That was one thing; Sebastio had actually expected to discuss becoming eyworith with his father, and part amicably. Well, expected at an earlier, simpler time of his life, at least - maybe expected to work out the terms of his severance of filial bonds with Iggez over drinks, then take on a new name and start his own family someday. Now, eywoalgnhi and entrenched in a fight for the continued amity of his people and possessed of sibling as well as spouse and intending that he very well might not see his father or Nessro ever again after the conclusion of this confrontation with O¡¯Casey¡­ ¡°So as of today, I have no paternal lineage,¡± said Sebastio. ¡°Think of it as you will,¡± growled Iggez. ¡°Consider that a small measure of interest to go atop our grief.¡± He began moving off, and barked, ¡°Come, Nessro! We are done here.¡± The naufer looked after his master, and gave languid chase. As he followed Iggez¡¯s footsteps, Sebastio extended a direct connection request to his naufer caretaker. Nessro declined to accept. Sebastio declined to credit such refusal, and for the first time in a while abused Caladhbolg¡¯s talents. He effectively forced his way into the naufer¡¯s mind. An almost imperceptible wobble in the other man¡¯s gait signalled his distress. {Nessro.} {Sebastio!? What-} Sebastio the Effulgent put down his crown, and Sebastio Artaxerxes the no-longer-son took his place. {Nessro, you have done a very great deal for me throughout the years.} {... Yes. I have.} The manservant¡¯s bytevoice had settled down, if only to the level of frantic rather than outright terrified. {You know what Iggez did. Thank him for me.} {I do not-} began the naufer, defensive of his employer by reflex. Then, like a stressed woodglass log, he ruptured and released little microscopic emotive razors everywhere. Sebastio remained silent as the manservant put together his thoughts. {No, No. I will admit breeze. This affair does still conform to the shape of honor, but it is an empty shape, an honor that deals you a mischief.} {There is no other way he could have realistically wriggled out of Leanshe¡¯s accusations of collusion. I would not have surrendered our resources and will not do so in future. But an oath before Crippled False - that is something no person in a position of judgment will undersell. The¡­ change in our relationship is good stage dressing. Very good.} {I regret that any of this was necessary,} Nessro replied, sending the sensation of a nose-twitch. Sebastio thought it was actually legitimate humor, and not demi-ironic or pohostinlat-being-exceptionally-rude behavior. {I as well.} {But one thing I do not regret, Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes, is that I was there when you were younger - just as you were there likewise.} {Godspeed and may the wind favor you, Nessro bin Simon bin Ittush binnin Loalph the Grand.} And just like that, the Artaxerxes line fragmented. A human and a naufer walked away from the altercation, permitted to leave in almost-conjugal fashion by an array of armsmen. Before long, they were both gone. ¡°No,¡± said Sebastio. ¡°I think I will see them again, but perhaps not as myself. If I need to pattern a digital personality or begin coming up with¡­¡± But of course, a digital personality would have different state, different behavior, different identity - if not immediately, then eventually. ¡°Ah. I believe that we will find some acceptable solution. Eventually. But no matter what creature Lord O¡¯Casey might be tomorrow, today we shall teach him how to fear, and that with conviction comes power. Enough power to reconcile? Well¡­ we shall see.¡± That was the final bridge the Lord needed to cross, to let himself remember the times past when he¡¯d cut loose, and allowed himself full rein to do violence to those truly deserving. The stuff that ran through his veins, whether blood or the less concretely defined substances contributed by Caladhbolg, chilled as he felt his teeth unlimber themselves. Eywoalgnhi. Well, we shall see. Sebastio the Effulgent had the dire need to quench the flames of his tears in the water of others¡¯ weeping. He didn¡¯t need to resort to violence, though. There are more ways to kill than interruption, after all. The intricacies of Yrdkish warfare made for very interesting perfectly acceptable loopholes. Terms of engagement usually limited virtually all aspects of conflict resolution to a very specific range of inputs and outputs: munitions and the equipment for disbursement of munitions, spectra of thaumaturgic disciplines, vehicles, augmentations and alterations to one¡¯s soldiery, recovery and reclamation and restoration means. When your culture had long sharpened the practice of codifying and reconciling nearly-infinitely-esoteric protocols of battle, certain bottlenecks had to be excused while others came to the forefront. As any nation with networked information technologies might happily explain, the coaxing of different computational devices to play nicely together constituted a pinnacle of social and engineering achievement. To avoid recriminations of computation and telecommunication rulebreaking, custom and regulation alike dictated aggressive establishment of closed network environments. In a standard disagreement, each platform of each participant could host at most a single hub for passing information into and out of the scope of the conflict¡¯s participants. A very few access point centers were permitted in Pennat Gate¡¯s architecture as constantly available sources and destinations of intra- and inter-estate traffic, and through these came and went all orders and eidolons and network penetration payloads and the like. Each such center had to comply with standards anal and rigorous and arbitrarily restrictive enough to bring a Rhaagm auditor to joyfully appreciative bureaucratic sobs, and was subject to spot-checks by a Lawmaster¡¯s appraiser - usually one distinguished by having exceptionally unforgiving standards. What happened inside the doors of one¡¯s digital house, though - that was one¡¯s own domain. Plural law operations or self-constructive quine frameworks or any number of symbol manipulation tricks (including retrotemporal functions) were permissible inside the restrictions of an estate¡¯s informational ivory tower. The confines of a particular access point center formed a black box, and inside that black box all restrictions were off. Rules were, you could put anything or do anything within an access point center, and nobody would bat an eyelash-analogue. You could set up a fun little honeypot that caused eidolons who broke through to hallucinate the mother lode of confidential operations documentation, then drew them in and fork-bombed their cortical processes. You could load up a server with enough stupid popular sensory audio-video productions to outlast the expected lifetime of every universe or multiverse or sub-reality on a facet. You could, say, integrate an immersion suite into which a man with a killer godlike sword might socket himself and act as domestic information warfare warden. When you were a good little contestant in wartime, you both published the findings of those Lawmasters associated with your estate and invited unaffiliated Lawmasters to do the same. Failing to do so didn¡¯t quite qualify as illegal, but it was the sort of gaffe that made your allies and enemies seriously reassess your value as a friend or foe. In the case of Lord Artaxerxes, he had no intention of bringing about another incarnation of something in the vein of the ?lthlant Goldspire-Traders conspiracy. He and Lord Tuoamas were very clearly on the ¡°good standing¡± side of the Lawmasters¡¯ approval for their ongoing showdown¡­ doubts about the clandestine providence of certain supplies notwithstanding. Now, Sebastio intended to exploit the perfectly acceptable loophole in digital combat restrictions by putting himself into the fight on the homefront. No, it wasn¡¯t guaranteed that turning Nor¡¯ridge back conclusively on one front would result in his estate¡¯s eventual victory. He just had a very good hunch that that would be the case. Though it wasn¡¯t strictly necessary, he sat down, closing his eyes. He mentally prepared his composite self, ignoring the breathy tide of winds fluttering his clothing and setting his gold-chain hair to ringing like windchimes. He stretched his hand forth, to set it not on the face of a building, or a monument, or a crystalwillow trunk, but the pure thought-stuff of semiotic-syntactic-semantic communication. This will be unpleasant, perhaps, but at least the Maker¡¯s name will be magnified. It¡¯ll be¡­ somethinged. I hope that he¡¯ll be happy. If he is not, presumably it¡¯ll be because we committed some offense on par with the Great Indiscretion. Despite their many years in each others¡¯ company - very many indeed if one included their extemporal incarceration - it seemed that the Cambrian Lord still had the capacity for surprise. All was well. Then he thrust himself through the veil separating him from the warfare network. He dove out into the digital realm, spun across the fray of embattled abstractions, and found the local traffic to be a howling tangled mess of data structures, trenchworks of anti-patterns being thrown up in droves, steganography, failed steganography, and a profusion of frustrated digital personalities. A Lord knelt to the anvil of war, and a cold-forged weapon rose to drive back the distributed masses. And in him there was no mercy. The Power ¡°Sixteen chimes in five fourths time / breaking our backs we yet climb. / By poor rhyme and pond sublime / we alight midst hilltop¡¯s rime. / Ere we live and after lie / we into clouds gray do cry. / Reach topward for future sky / to well dream and never die. / Tarry and more music make / cold songchimes brook no mistake. / Lose ourselves in the sky-lake / silent we the zither break. / Beaten brass, chills, mountains, day / sky, string, wind, wood, fountain - nay. / Rise from dream and rise to stay / music, mortal, music¡­ play.¡± -Rol Bangulorian, Winter-Wedded Wakeful Liberty, from Many Poem-Songs of ¨²da Seven¡¯s experiences of Home had prepared it for a great many things. In the last several hands - as it now understood people measured eights of days - it had begun establishing equivalences between its grasp of Rhaagmini and this moderately different thing people called Yrdkish. According to Friend Kallahassee, it and its other fellows - or Beasts, or what have you - exhibited tremendous ability to learn, but exponentially greater ability to form connections between known graphemes of understanding. Unfortunately, this did not greatly prepare it for fully novel experiences as they happened along. However, it made the reaching-fellow more capable of mentally catching hold of its ideal prey by the trailing tail of linguistics. Words and turns of phrase that encapsulated ideas it wouldn¡¯t have been capable of effectively using even in its recent past. Words and turns of phrase such as ¡°jinxed.¡± As in, at times it seemed like the whole jinxed world outside was exploding. In the sky, clouds of destructive matter took on nearly every conceivable state; some liminal, some extremely bizarre. On the ground, agents of all forms traded insults of many bents and magnitudes; short range firearms exchanges, quick combative altercations, one or two summonings of magical entities which were almost universally targeted on the instant of their appearance, employments of those curious metal-studded belts called warsashes. Craft flew, phased, rolled, sprinted, and (in some memorable cases on one of the Nor¡¯ridge Steps) swam between platforms and engagements, just slowly enough to avoid causing their own destruction through collision. Chemicals sloshed and adhered to their favorite reagents, bugles and wracking beeps and whistles and chuffing growls peppered the almost-chaos, plans of action pulled themselves forward through the axes of probability until they reached success or failure. Through the circuits and open-bounded systems with which the reaching-fellow now communed, it watched as a storm raged in the ether of managed information flow. Friend Lord Artaxerxes strode through the data frames of Pennat Gate¡¯s interchanges, crying havoc as he demolished those few digital personalities who managed brief invasions of the estate¡¯s processing nexi. Protocols were theorized, implemented, compromised, scrapped, and recycled at a furious pace; packets lanced through the various strata in various stages of hiding. Seven¡¯s hands-on understanding of the concept of war now possessed a great deal more wear and tear than it could had claimed even a short time ago. Its interest had peaked when Friend Lord Artaxerxes described the training exercises he¡¯d inflicted upon the local eidolons several hands prior. The reaching-fellow hadn¡¯t known what to think about the idea of information-based combat the first time Friend Lord Artaxerxes tried to explain it. He¡¯d put a great deal of thought into the many lines of inquiry Seven opened up. He¡¯d used analogies and constructions that it had never before encountered, spiraling ever outward and upward into abstraction. Eventually, he¡¯d settled on giving the entity a front row seat to the festivities, and provided for it a specialized console through which to view the less-than-fully-tangible battlefield. Within a day, the reaching-fellow had grasped the order and structure of how ciphers could be employed to belligerent purpose, and how knowledge lent itself to tailored destruction. ¡°Hello,¡± the reaching-fellow now said to an arriving unwelcome digital personality, though a specially-designed interface that allowed it to communicate with the wondrous infinite Monolith. {Dear Maker and all the past eidolons, what-} began the digital personality, just as it began to spool up a slowly-buffering utility. What that utility might be Seven could only guess, but its experience in the realm of warfare (or lack thereof) suggested some sort of payload meant to breach the intrusion countermeasures of the network. Unfortunately, the biggest (and most effective at the decision problems of is-a-person and is-hostile) intrusion countermeasure of this tiny portion of the network happened to be a Beast, and the Beast¡¯s associated paraphernalia. Seven pointed out the set of discrete shifts which provided for the entity¡¯s cortical actions, and immediately saw one of Pennat Gate¡¯s defenders pounce upon the compromised region. It wrapped up the ingoing-outgoing patterns of the datastream, lassoed the qubits and particle operations and traditionally-represented information, and quarantined the enemy digital personality. {Thank you very much,} said the friendly eidolon, as it siphoned off the operations and states representing its quarry to a demilitarized zone for disposal. ¡°I hope to do more worth more thanks,¡± replied Seven, which earned it some kind of salute from the friendly eidolon before its departure. {Hey, schlrikt!} Seven consulted a partitioned section of its special interface, completely separate from the continuous stream of information which it normally sifted. A small indicator that corresponded to another friendly entity was striving for its attention. The reaching-fellow obliged the newcomer. ¡°Are you speaking to me?¡± it asked. {Yes, I am,} said the digital personality¡¯s voice. {I need you to take a look at this if you have the time.} The entity proffered another datastream for Seven¡¯s perusal, and the reaching-fellow accepted the material. After plugging it into its interface, the display altered radically, and made the reaching-fellow quirk its head. ¡°For what am I supposed to look?¡± it asked, having picked up the trick of ¡°reading between the lines,¡± as they said. {Do you see any sort of sign of intelligent behavior or residence in this packet set?} Seven¡¯s head quirked the other way, as a grid began seething over the interface in a two-dimensional depiction of memory interstices. ¡°I see a great number of individuals, possibly exchanging information at great speed and with a great number of¡­ peers,¡± it replied, weighing its words. ¡°The exchanges are done at very close range with very high throughput, if so. Of the packets contained here, some eighty six percent represent the direct presence or articles of digital personalities in action, and some seven point three percent are manipulators or sub-processes descending from the same.¡± {I see. Thank you for your diligence.} Seven looked down through the console of its interface, and saw the entity flee at speed. A different digital expanse spread out once more as eidolon and eidolon¡¯s little map vanished; the local playing field for which Seven acted as warden and siren. Then a flood of warnings and imprecations flowed inward as a number of attendants fled from the edge of the access point center¡¯s firewall. Seven saw what resembled a great number of razor-edged digital tendrils spreading out into the system. They sliced into the compartmentalization of the resident processes, violating segmentation limits, and crushed a considerable percentage of the information-and-entities contained within. The information-and-entities thus afflicted were compacted into a scribble of riven supercompacted data, and the data then got zeroed in a single commutative operation. A nearly audible rumble of protest echoed up from the interface as many eidolon instances perished, without the chance to send synchronization or acknowledgement packets back through their private channels. The dread weight of Friend Lord Artaxerxes sorted and searched through the wreckage that he¡¯d left in his wake, releasing the locks on the affected storage, and flagging the borders of those sectors he¡¯d left untouched. With a silent whisper of presence becoming not-presence, the titan that was the reaching-fellow¡¯s friend abandoned his current hunting ground in search of more and target-richer environments. A few million clock cycles went by, and then the domestic eidolons began to pick up the shattered pieces of the structures their Lord had destroyed in his fumigation. They offered analytic descriptors of the remains of the until-recently-intruding enemy processes, helping build up the network intrusion detection priors. Their improvements of automated domestic measures made it possible for more of their number to abandon the defensive, and adopt an expeditionary attitude. Between other operations similar to this one and the services of other fellows, Seven¡¯s Home had managed to send off nearly ninety percent of its virtual combatants in a series of rapid-fire ping payloads. As a result, the people of Nor¡¯ridge had to cope with increasingly-compromised management in the centralized command of their war effort. Not visible to Seven from its protected information-processing enclave, but one didn¡¯t have to actually see the effects in person to appreciate them. Guns fired at inopportune moments or failed to discharge at all. Coordination of point defense and cross-channel communications had effectively trickled down to the company level if not lower, in the name of operational security and maintaining the necessary services. At least a full brigade of armored troops ended up getting hard-locked into their footsteps, and had to be manually set free from their extremely fancy straitjackets. Seven paused, as it trod back over the mental steps it had just taken. Its Home. The reaching-fellow considered its designation. Yes. Yes, it now considered this Pennat Gate to be at least as suitably fitted by that name as what its colleagues termed the Purple. Seven examined the restricted world of the access point center, contemplating the size and shape of the wider realm in which it now lived, and realized that it was more than happy to place such a term in association with the existence of Pennat Gate. It felt right. It was still entirely applicable to Shine Backward, but those two things were very different, very compatible applications of the same idea. How strange. That thought repeatedly visited it as it continued its process of helping to get hold of and liberate the systems it was policing from the presence of yet more enemy eidolons. One hundred here. Twelve there. Sixteen in transit from one enclave of the system to another, fifteen of whom were legitimate but with the final one being determined to be an interloper. {I like this guy,} said one eidolon as they carted away the entity in the midst of vociferous protest. {The Destrier forkings have been out trashing those Sixth Step industrial nodes since three hours ago, and they say the entirety of the opposing air power is grounded until they manage to correct the positioning system gizzards.} {A true testament to good taste and quality in our comptrollers and actuaries,} replied another, smoothing over the noise left over from a series of apprehensions that Seven had expedited. {It is-} Friend Lord Artaxerxes came whickering through the center¡¯s intangible representations once more, reaping bits and bytes with abandon. He came whickering through at such a speed that Seven only really parsed his ephemeral presence in retrospect. Then he made a second pass several context changes later, sweeping up the few more complex quines that had escaped his initial predations. {Ye elapsed gods!} shouted the second eidolon, as several of its method invocations suddenly referenced null pointers. {Do not attempt to infiltrate the second-West-most enemy First Step platform,} advised Friend Lord Artaxerxes. His digital presence was like that of the ur-fellow he¡¯d slain: as easy to ignore as a dowel through the abdomen even when completely still. {Is there something the matter with its filtering? Is it intended as a honeypot?} asked one digital personality. {No, and yes. They have put a series of one-time private keys in storage. Unfortunately, those private keys were generated to specifically yield readable but false plaintext out of the more important enemy chatter. Misdirecting orders to reallocate and reconsolidate clock cycles on one server farm when they were actually rigging the farm with an on-access encryption system, that sort of thing.} {How did you pick up on this?} Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s digital presence emitted a little indicator that showed up on Seven¡¯s interface as a blinking light, hovering above a now-cauterized section of memory. {That one had fairly convincing circumstantial evidence in its protected files. When coupled with the memory contents left behind by several others in plaintext, the picture becomes far more plausible.} {It could be a false message in itself. For that matter, the message-surrenderers might be participating in some kind of double-blind scheme.} Friend Lord Artaxerxes didn¡¯t sound thrilled or upset. He just sounded focused. {A possibility that we should not discount, but the argument of ¡°the opposition may have designs on doing the converse of their apparent action plan¡± is a very dangerous trap to traverse. In this case, I simply report what I have noticed.} He dumped a compressed file to the center¡¯s main memory storage. {Do with it what you will.} {Lord,} said one eidolon as it entered through one of the auxiliary buses. {There is a strong push at the Fountainist camp. Sheavecore-model kernels, coming through gaps in an availability-denial attack.} {Really?} asked Friend Lord Artaxerxes, shrinking his digital footprint down for better navigability. {I shall have to detour, then. Keep fighting the good fight!} And with that he was gone again. An hour passed. Two hours passed. Three hours passed. Seven believed they passed, in any case; it turned out that fellows had a poor sense of that semi-continuous thing called time unless they could attach themselves to some kind of reference point. It usually preferred to contemplate the position of the sun, or any local moons, when it had them available. When Friend Lord Artaxerxes was in the vicinity, he helped quite a great deal, by providing more exact feedback on the subject. Eventually, it noticed that the eidolons occasionally making backtrace journeys through their access point center were acting strangely. It debated how or whether it should attempt to raise the subject (having a firmly embedded memory of the several incidents it had caused with its curiosity), and eventually turned to another reaching-fellow also serving in the same capacity. ¡°Three Plus Five,¡± it asked, ¡°do you understand what is going on?¡± ¡°What is it that you mean, Seven?¡± The other reaching-fellow looked up from where it hunched over its interface, nails very very slightly exposed to better manipulate the system¡¯s input. Seven felt uneasy; the people who¡¯d provided the employment to the various fellows had stressed the importance of their not actually damaging the hardware. ¡°It could kill a LOT of people if you accidentally puncture a part of the system that is hosting part of a digital personality¡¯s gestalt,¡± the nice naufer had said. ¡°Please avoid using your talons if at all possible.¡± ¡°I mean the people coming back through this section of our station seem to be behaving differently from normal,¡± Seven answered. ¡°They are moving at greater speed, and they do not have as many extremities attached to themselves.¡± Three Plus Five Plus Six Plus Six stepped back from its interface, contemplating the observation. Seven would have outwardly expressed relief, if a reaching-fellow had the ability to do so in any meaningful way, when Three Plus Five put away its nails and ran its fingers along each other. However, reaching-fellows did not. ¡°I do believe I know what you mean,¡± it said, head tilting, eyes blinking rapidly, fangs rippling a bit like how humans sometimes rapped their fingers in rapid succession across a surface. ¡°They are being¡­ cavalier, I think they call it?¡± The reaching-fellows both took notice of a human running past them. He wore a thick toothy smile across the width of his face. The fact that he displayed both upper and lower teeth might have been enough reason for Seven to consider it a threat behavior under other conditions; something Seven wouldn¡¯t even have known to factor into its observations three months ago. The jitter of his body and the way his eyes pressed out against the world¡¯s membranes made him stand tall, stare unabashedly at the fellows as he skidded to a halt, and wheeze a bit through his teeth. ¡°Hey!¡± he said, using Rhaagmini. Many people still did that around fellows - Beasts. Seven didn¡¯t know if it was habit, or preference to use one particular mode of expression, or something else with which it was unfamiliar, but it simply watched him as he caught his breath. The clothing and insignia he wore both stated that he was a person of nobility. Nobility was a concept Seven knew it grasped on only the most basic of levels even now, but the fact that it was to be respected and obeyed under all but very unusual circumstances made sense enough to the reaching-fellow. This human apparently occupied a place very far above Seven in the ¡°chain of command¡± - a baron, unless it was mistaken. ¡°You two! Come with me!¡± he said, almost breathless. ¡°What is the matter?¡± Seven prodded, starting after him. Three Plus Five followed them, at a very short distance, so as to avoid collisions. ¡°Have we done something wrong?¡± ¡°Wrong!?¡± the man barked, half-laughing, as his hair flared out and his head spun back to look at the fellow without losing a single iota of his speed. His cackle echoed through the tall corridor as they lunged in slow motion for the main entry-and-exit of the building. ¡°You have just about given us the enemy on an anankite platter, is what you have done!¡± he said, making a wide gesture that looked to hug the whole world close. The door slid open, and the sounds of celebration were resounding with unparalleled volume around the yard of the platform as the group exited the access point center. More doors flashed open across the building¡¯s length and breadth, vomiting forth a bevy of technicians and analysts and fellows and various factotums. Into the yard they spilled, an anti-confinement of small glittery rocks and perfect Cartesian cement path functions. Outside in the blusters of the wind, Seven found itself in a concert of people trying their best to say tumbles of things at each other. Those tumbles of things were very excited, and only a little apprehensive. Some of them wound their tentacles into signs they brandished at each other in shows of obvious camaraderie, some of them danced little skittering or flapping jigs around the square, some of them slapped or prodded the rigid stocky dimpled succulents dispersed through the open region. ¡°Okay, okay!¡± said one voice. Seven noticed its source was a small round stony dais, upon which stood a small round stony hexapedal creature. The creature in question - a mar-luph - bore scarves or some such tied around their joints. Most of the crowd was slowly congregating around the creature. ¡°Your attention, please!¡± said the creature. ¡°We are, to be blunt, making spectacular progress - and it is thanks to you!¡± A cornucopia of huzzahs and near-huzzahs spat forth from mouths and near-mouths. ¡°Now,¡± the mar-luph said, trying and failing to rein in the excitement, ¡°we still have need of your talents. There will be a short respite for those who desire, but we need to reallocate these activities as soon as possible to the appropriate departments in other centers or Steps. For now, though, we have a message f-¡± That furor of self-praise cut short just as the reaching-fellow detected a large gemship, flickering into a free space in the square. Seven watched the contraption, and watched the way that attention very quickly swung over to the contraption. From the gaping rent that opened in the contraption¡¯s side emerged Friend Lord Tuoamas, the small shiny circlet of metallic substance glittering around his head. No ritual, no announcement to precede his arrival. And yet his step from the unfolded entryway was a strange and beautiful galvanic marker all its own. Every gesture, every self-alteration, every exhalation of Friend Lord Tuoamas had a strange anti-self, an other-life to it. The reaching-fellow had long tried to assemble an adequate depiction of the perception. It had long failed. The man simply possessed an ability to make himself an object to everyone else¡¯s subject - a trait he shared with Friend Lord Artaxerxes. He was facilitator, and the people of Pennat Gate were the true focus. They were the ones worth celebrating. ¡°Our dear people,¡± the human began. He raised a calming hand to the small convocation, to try and instill placidity. A screechy revving of approval rising from the several-hundred-strong assembly almost drowned him out. He smiled, faintly, even as he raised his other hand. ¡°Our dear people,¡± he said again, more quickly in the name of marginalizing disruptions. ¡°We have done great things this great day, all of us.¡± The Lord of Yrdky pointed to the far-distant shape of the enemy¡¯s platforms. ¡°This is but one stop on our tour, and yet this single waypoint comprises both an invaluable asset and the cherished blossom which makes the current struggle worthwhile.¡± He gradually and gently swept that pointing digit across those gathered, like how Seven had seen some simulation designers do when they were beautifying their work with the ¡°manual touch.¡± It was going through the motions of devoting more attention and respect to something that eventually came to deserve that attention and respect because of that something¡¯s lavishings. He expunged old air, and new air indwelt him. Even the reaching-fellow realized that what little he had to say would be great, perhaps magnificent. Not necessarily in the content of the speech, but in the personhood that he would give to his words. But no speech would be forthcoming.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Seven would later have it explained in simple terms that it better understood. It did not comprehend the abundance of ways in which the following events broke the many classes of sovereign Yrdkish law. It couldn¡¯t intuit the level of investment required to undertake such a scheme in the first place. It had no inkling of how completely one would have to discard their self-preservation to engage in the strategy it beheld, or how thoroughly the things one held precious would be scoured from the face of existence in retribution. It would never have predicted the way the perpetrators had sat on their plans for just such a moment; a moment in which Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s desperation pushed them into a massive offensive aimed at a handful of key enemy platforms, and which required an inordinate amount of attention from Pennat Gate¡¯s people. A non-whitelisted gemship folded onto the access point center¡¯s property, directly in front of and above Friend Lord Tuoamas¡¯s vessel. What peacekeeping resources were free from participating in the inter-estate engagement immediately painted the gemship with a massive target, and began broadcasting very insistent cease-and-desists. A very insistent battery of functions began very insistently warming up when no quick reply came forth. As the vessel had very little interest in hanging around for long, though, those peacekeeping resources diverted the majority of their already-diverted attention once more, when the gemship left almost the instant arrived. In its wake, the gemship left a package in the form of exactly seventy eight intruders who were armed and armored in the way the past godlings of Rhaagm and Bequast and Yrdky had been, when readying themselves for times of war. Those past godlings who decided that the whole ¡°stagnation of self¡± thing against which their elders warned was clearly just a fad their crusty ancestors fabricated to keep them down and underfoot. To their despondent upset, the peacekeeping resources of Pennat Gate very briefly considered the truant gemship to be the bigger threat (reasonable enough under normal circumstances, but not accurate in these). Each of the intruders possessed exotic congruent-matter bodies, a combination of impenetrable and impossibly flexible, stuffed to the brim with deadly trinkets and full of malice, their shells shining with perfect construction. Detaining one would have been a challenge with Pennat Gate¡¯s usual bag of tricks; detaining a small army would have been impossible, except for the next arrival on-site. Seven had never seen any other fellows exhibit the use of thaumaturgy, let alone that power-of-prophecy which it had witnessed in Friend Lord Tuoamas. And yet, it wasn¡¯t surprised or disturbed when a low rumble began in the distance, and became rapidly less-distant. Thunder rasped, then snarled, then detonated directly above the gathering of now-panicking citizens, before Friend Lord Artaxerxes rode the lightning to ground and left a steaming crater in the square. asked the person made of murder, using his mouth. ¡°Give us the son of the Maker!¡± screamed one of the human-shaped new people, who¡¯d retreated to the roof of one of the nearby structures. The human-shaped new person had one limb extended, its end morphing into a bristling lateral grotto of cylindrical extensions. ¡°Give us the son of the Maker!¡± echoed the cry, taken up by the others. The first-spoken armor-skinned individual had already taken and shaken off a massive number of ripmap slugs, cavitation barbs, conventional bullets, and Hiek machines. The munitions had left little sign of their employers¡¯ destructive intentions. The same could not be said of the weapons discharged by the interloper - or those of their compatriots - which were busy cutting down swatches of residents en masse, compressing them into perfectly flat representations of themselves, melting them, consuming them, destroying. Friend Lord Artaxerxes answered by extending the person made of murder in a single rippling cord of lethal intent. The cord pierced the first-speaking interloper¡¯s body, an instant before thousands of tiny spines tore omnidirectionally outward from the person¡¯s flesh. For the tiniest observable span, most of the chunks that began flying away from the detonation of personhood hung in the air, then attempted to recollect themselves one and sixty three hundredths meters away from the morning star of deadly spikes. Body parts began stitching themselves whole once more, working to recreate the limbs, the trunk, the head. Unlike every other victim it had previously seen assailed by the person made of murder, Seven realized that the person was somehow returning to their ruptured physical form. No. No, wait; it was not the same person - merely another that looked identical. A different self mapped the same. This, concluded the reaching-fellow, must be that revivification thing of which it had heard a fair amount. Friend Lord Artaxerxes spoke a cutting word, then, as the person made of murder retracted and gave off a semantic pulse. Something else happened that made the resurrection process abruptly halt, as the person didn¡¯t just fall apart once more, but dissolved into a fine particulate mist. That mist swept into the air, and then vanished into nothing. No additional or repeating person appeared. This time, not remained not. Seven took a second to examine the rest of the impromptu battlefield. Many of those with whom it had been mingling not five minutes ago clearly weren¡¯t capable of further action of any kind. Most of these were simply gone in large part. Others were wittled down like the interloper who¡¯d received the person made of murder¡¯s attentions, puddles and aggregates of unclassifiable matter. Still others looked much like they had in life, but they simply lay static, husks of once-being. That same lifeless state, as it happened, now applied to most of the interlopers as well. In fact, the reaching-fellow only spied thirteen people of the original assault element that remained intact, and only about half of these were (presumably) still functionally alive. Clearly, Friend Lord Artaxerxes was good at the art of multitasking. One of the living had backed up against Friend Lord Tuoamas¡¯s gemship, one massive spidery thing extended from a limb and pressed to Friend Lord Tuoamas¡¯s head. It wasn¡¯t possible to identify what manner of person they were; the armoring and other changes they had undergone had mutated them into an entity without species or sex or anything save the designation of ¡°sapient.¡± ¡°Give us the son of the Maker!¡± the person snarled. ¡°Else Tuoamas Pennat dies!¡± The spidery thing, Seven realized, was the writhing form of a small and temporarily placid sewing-fellow. It was held by a cage or pincer-set, growing right from the other person¡¯s body. Just then, another of the intruders took advantage of his apparent distraction, folded behind him, and used a long flowing gesture to indicate his shiny arm. A glittery sparkling edge sung through the air, tracing the border of the human like Seven might use its nails to trace the shape of a leaf on the ground, or a cloud against the sky. Part of Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s torso clothing rent and fell away, exposing a line where his flesh turned into the other-flesh-stuff of the person made of murder. Along that border, a thin trickle, or a gush, or a fountain of blood ought to have been pouring. Instead, there was nothing. ¡°I am afraid that there are things you do not understand about my possession of and by Caladhbolg,¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes pronounced with utmost care and coolness. ¡°Heathen!¡± hissed the person holding Friend Lord Tuoamas hostage. ¡°Then let your pedantry be a comfort to you in your loss!¡± Then, in a gravelly voice: ¡°Kill this one!¡± The sewing-fellow pressed to the other human¡¯s head made a shivering clicking clattering sound in its obedience, its teeth gyrating down in a boring corkscrew and following around a thin rapidly-moving axis. Friend Lord Tuoamas cried out as he was trepanned. Seven rushed at the intruder with every iota of strength it could muster. When its nails dove for its target¡¯s flesh, though, it found itself cheated of its prey. It skidded to a halt, whipping its head and bared nails about as it sought the person it hoped to defile. ¡°Seven,¡± it heard from behind it, ¡°fetch Lord Tuoamas and bring him here to me, please.¡± And, obedient as its nature made it, so it did. Nails retracted, hands unclenched, reaching-fellow claws clattered over the pathways until it stood next to the fallen form of that person it had first met so short a time ago. It bent down to pick up Friend Lord Tuoamas, and found itself vaguely surprised that he yet lived. His hard features still animated, if sluggishly, despite the blood coming from the side of his skull and matting his hair. Seven knew that he would be turning into food very shortly, and this made it sad. ¡°Thank you,¡± said the dying man. The reaching-fellow had no reply. These moments, these are forever. Another thunderclap, falling between its footsteps over the smooth pathway crossing the fresh abattoir. ¡°Do not-¡± came the interloper¡¯s voice. The reaching-fellow glanced up to see two distant shapes flickering around as it carried the fallen human with the greatest gentleness it could possibly manage. One of the struggling parties disappeared with silent hops, aiming for the back of their opponent; the other seemed to be growing louder and more disturbing with every concussive snap. Then there followed a wail, of someone or something suddenly bereaved. A crack. A series of smaller cracks. Both combatants abruptly materialized, a diorama of mid-resolution disagreement - one with his hands buried in the back of the other nearly to the wrist. Ribbons of flesh and not-flesh appeared and disappeared, yanked from the creature¡¯s body in ropy strands by the person made of murder. Seven half-expected to see the victim fold away and leave Friend Lord Artaxerxes holding empty gory air. Evidently, the victim¡¯s cerv-mesh - or whatever served the same role as that uniquely flexible innovation - was among one of the first things he¡¯d managed to extract. ¡°I see,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes. There was another series of crunches from the now-subdued figure. Seven looked away, and when it looked back he held out the implement which supported the sewing-fellow¡¯s form. The implement was no longer attached to the assailant¡¯s body. Neither was the associated limb, or any of the other limbs. These and the trunk made occasional shivering sounds, but remained firmly under the foot of Friend Lord Artaxerxes. Or at least, they resembled the limbs in question. He had done something to them resembling tying them up, and something else resembling bolting them to each other. ¡°DEFEND ME!¡± the intruder screamed at the sewing-fellow, abruptly rolling over in a puddle of their own leavings to better shout at exceptional volume. A very soft splat precluded the sewing-fellow vanishing in a squelch of viscous goo, as the person made of murder closed over it, and that viscous goo became strewn out over a fifteen meter length of the courtyard. The viscous goo in question very quickly also became nothing much worth describing. ¡°You know,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes as he slung the residue from his dread hand, ¡°that you had one real motivation at your disposal that might have inclined me toward giving you something that you wanted. Then you killed him.¡± ¡°You fool!¡± shouted the remains of the person, nearly underfoot as Friend Lord Artaxerxes looked down upon their devastated form. ¡°If you had merely handed it over-!¡± ¡°I had a chance to kill myself and surrender this weapon that is now part of me. I may have even considered doing so, had you heard me out and understood what ELSE that implied. And you, in your masterful stroke of genius, decided that the only acceptable recourse for initially denying you what you wanted was to remove that one form of leverage.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes went to one knee, staring down at the creature. ¡°If there was any doubt that you people are dancing to someone else¡¯s tune, that you had to be guided by the hand into this little scheme of yours, you have as good as destroyed that apprehension. It is fortunate, I suppose, that I have recompense for your performing this service. Congratulations.¡± The person made of murder, once again in hand shape extended and widened to a breadth and length considerably greater than its ordinary characteristics. It descended on the suddenly-struggling form and smothered the person¡¯s entire remaining frame. There was a small thud. When Friend Lord Artaxerxes lifted his hand once more, nothing more than a slightly-depressed outline lay on the hard substance of the path, cracks running its edges in graceful fractals. ¡°Well,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas, looking over at Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°I suppose that you meant it when you decided to keep yourself out of the fight.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes once more had two normal hands, and turned as he rose to approach Seven. ¡°Set him down here, Seven. This will not take particularly long.¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas coughed and laughed. ¡°No, it will not!¡± he said, spitting out some saliva, and some tiny threads of dark gunk on its fringes caught on the edge of his mouth. ¡°It is¡­ eminently apparent that my condition is unsustainable, Lord.¡± ¡°It will not be for long.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes turned, and waved at a figure in the distance that had evidently survived the maelstrom. The figure - the mar-luph speaker - waved back as they worked on pulling free someone, or something, immured under a frustum of upraised path-substrate. All the while, their d?mon cluster worked at dissolving the slab. The someone or something in question did not come easily. ¡°Precisely my point!¡± More laughter, as Friend Lord Artaxerxes started preparing his own d?mon cluster. ¡°I¡­ do¡­ not intend that¡­ you rescue me,¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas said, chest rising and falling very rapidly. More dark fluid creeped from between his lips, and he coughed again. ¡°Do not speak nonsense,¡± came the response. ¡°I will administer the necessary debridement, and that will put you-¡± ¡°No.¡± The supine man supplicated with earnest quiet abandon. ¡°Do not let me die,¡± he said, voice like grit and dust. ¡°Let me¡­ choose the moment for my own¡­ ending.¡± ¡°I-¡± started Friend Lord Artaxerxes, a small bead of water rolling down from lacrimal country. He gave an outraged snarl as another intruder appeared just behind him, four-legged and thick and towering and dark, before deploying another d?mon cluster against him. Friend Lord Artaxerxes shattered his way backward through the gross essence of medium, slandering the newcomer which would slander him. The person made of murder assumed a forked shape, buzzing electrodes snapping hungrily, and he began using it to exterminate the d?mon cluster¡¯s members. The new creature, bent-backed and armored, whipped an arm around. A hardened ripmapper slug manifested in the air as though thrown. Bright metalloid substance traveled straight for Friend Lord Artaxerxes, homing in very, very fast. Obviously not wanting to risk the weapon harming his subjects, its target flung forth his own d?mon cluster to extinguish the projectile. A fizzing sputterflap signified the sharding of the slug¡¯s exterior. Flakes went flying; a small one embedding itself in a nonplussed Seven¡¯s midsection, three more piercing the nearest succulent¡¯s upper lobes. Despite his successful removal of the immediate threat, the distraction managed to draw the Lord¡¯s attention away for long enough. The creature folded to immediately in front of the standing Lord, one grasper extended with a tiny button on their palm. That class of weaponry known as a Saint Peter had very specific and very limited uses under most of the charters of war observed in Yrdky over the ages. A Saint Peter - a sextant¡¯s friend, as some called them - usually (though not always) came in the form of a projectile payload. When that was the case, it was often accompanied by a suite of powerful defensive measures such as special diagonalization jitter seeds and eigenflak and redmetal shells and anti-anti-munition-munition-munitions to prevent its interdiction. This was because the actual guts constituting the crucial tuning mechanisms were typically frail - frail, on the order of ¡°capable of withstanding the application of a chem bullet about as well as a stained glass daisy.¡± The reason for such a delicacy was, simply put, that making something which took any and all forms of energy in its vicinity and instantly dialed them down to absolute zero - regardless of the Rochambeau sequence of the operational theater - required sacrificing robustness. As the intruder made landfall directly in front of Friend Lord Artaxerxes, that little button on the intruder¡¯s palm made landfall on his chest. Instantly, a conic section with the human at its vertex underwent a reverse-detonation with a strange cut-off thump. The air, the ground, his flesh - a nearly-hemispherical portion of existence almost five meters in diameter flexed in state to something much, much colder. Some parts shrank in size as reduction of energy gentled constituent particles. Some parts expanded when electromagnetic forces insisted that particular atomic relationships were to be maintained at all costs and that things with hydrogen-oxygen-hydrogen bonds would not bend that way. Then, the flash-freeze vanished as the Saint Peter petered off. Certain parts of the altered region returned to their original selves with amity. Certain parts were less fortunate. Friend Lord Artaxerxes, or what remained, was little more than a skeleton. Thin protrusions of muscle here and there instead of healthy human anatomy. The integration of his body with the person made of murder was far more extensive than the reaching-fellow would have guessed. ¡°We shall take the son of the Maker, heathen.¡± There was a rustle as the intruder juggled their prize, groping in their garb for something non-compressible. Holding aloft the human¡¯s leftovers by his neck, his attacker drew forth their other hand, another fellow - a small hopping-fellow in this case - wielded like a stone. A pistoning of flexors drove that small hopping-fellow forward with a squawk, jaws positioned to sever that dread right arm. With the squeak of iced tissues, the dread right arm in question suddenly sprang unto unlively motion. There was a snap, then a set of several heavy mechanical snaps, as it forced the hopping-fellow and its supporting limb to a standstill. A single second of perfectly still pause punctuated by a wheeze from Friend Lord Tuoamas. hissed the person made of murder with its borrowed mouth. Then, still within the much larger creature¡¯s grasp, the frosted frame of Friend Lord Artaxerxes blinked his not-eye. From the not-eye erupted a coiling spoke, far too fast for one to do anything except observe. The spoke flailed once, twice, beveled and keen, trifurcating the person holding its possessor and leaving a collection of mechanisms that had once contained a person to fall groundward. Friend Lord Artaxerxes fell, covered in dark thin fluids, before the spoke he sported retreated not-eye-ward and flapped once, quickly, to clean itself. His flesh returned again; slow and controlled clottings of sinew and skin, nourished to health quickly and efficiently. His nakedness disappeared as he extracted clothing from his store of compressed goods, re-garbing himself. His circlet had been annulled, though, so his head remained unclothed. As though the last several seconds had never occurred in the first place, Friend Lord Artaxerxes tromped through the refuse of his most recent assailant. He knelt once more and his face crinkled. The tear on his cheek finally fell to the ground. ¡°I wanted many things,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas, as his flesh quickly became food. ¡°I wanted.¡± ¡°Do you still want?¡± asked the other human. ¡°... Yes.¡± ¡°My Lords!¡± shouted the mar-luph of before. Seven turned smoothly to see them sprinting rapidly toward the despot, and the deposed, and the reaching-fellow all. ¡°You are in time, Rankleschist,¡± coughed Friend Lord Tuoamas. He smiled up at the short creature. His head¡¯s unnatural opening was beginning to foam ever so slightly at its edges, and his eyes had lost their focus. ¡°Lord Artaxerxes, cure Lord Tuoamas as fast as you may!¡± the mar-luph cried. ¡°No, my Earl. No.¡± Friend Lord Tuoamas beckoned Rankleschist closer, asking a great and terrible favor with the flexing of four fingers. His unfocused eyes looked up at Seven as well. ¡°You also, reaching-fellow,¡± he rasped. That smile turned into a grin for the most insubstantial of instants. ¡°I do not have enough time to become particularly eloquent. Let us form a Ktarebte machine now, the three of you all as operands, so my words might be believed in future.¡± The three approached, cautiously, reverently, curiously. ¡°I have long desired to come into contact with a relic wrought by the hands of the Maker,¡± he hoarsed. ¡°A less-known aim of mine, or ambition, or maybe simply surrender¡­¡± Another sigh. ¡°I would like to expire.¡± His eyes looked up at Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°I would like a relic of the Maker to perform the deed of parting me from life,¡± he added. ¡°Please.¡± Before Friend Lord Artaxerxes could protest - assuming he would, assuming he could - Friend Lord Tuoamas shuddered. ¡°But we cannot do that just yet. I have a small prophecy for your ear, Lord. Yours alone.¡± A gasp. ¡°It is to do with the future of our estate. The future of which we spoke several times. Come close.¡± There was a moment¡¯s hesitation, then Friend Lord Artaxerxes bent his head down, little chains dangling and jangling from his skull in place of right-sided hair. His still-human ear went down farther still, just in front of his friend¡¯s hard lips. There was a silence of several long and lurid seconds. Seven glanced down at Earl Rankleschist. Earl Rankleschist glanced up at it. Neither spoke, though other survivors began exclaiming and slowly forging toward the country of four. None of them got terribly close, though, once they noticed the fallen and the crouching. There was a deep influx of breath as Friend Lord Tuoamas reached some conclusion, and Friend Lord Artaxerxes rose with a sinewy ripple. Friend Lord Artaxerxes bore no more tears, and no more frown. ¡°Do not forget,¡± said the prone man. Then, he spoke up with more spirit than the reaching-fellow would have credited possible. ¡°My¡­ people! Dear people of Pennat Gate! I leave¡­ you now. This is not because of any fault of yours. This is not lapsing¡­ into nihilism. It is¡­ simply¡­ my time.¡± A gulp, and a small fan of dark ichor came out of the man¡¯s mouth. A gesture upward. ¡°Let those who are here, listen and give testimony if they are called to do so.¡± Ktarebte machines, unlike people or objects, weren¡¯t things that Seven could actually see in isolation. They were constructs partly of the mind, partly of the pure stuff of existence. They were tickets of inviolability. A breach in the bounds and criteria of a Ktarebte machine would always be observable in some formally identifiable manner, but without some flag or totem they were as abstract as knowledge, or love. All three of those chosen by the prone man suddenly shuddered, as though stroked by the vibrations of a divine instrument. The prone man held up to the sky a glittering ring; the circlet that was worn by a Lord of Yrdky. Seven stared at the shiny loop, watching it suddenly start glowing with a deep disturbed brightness. ¡°If these three here before you should¡­ knowingly spread falsehood, this crown will stop shining that day.¡± He lifted it, giving its care unto Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°If you should be asked to subject yourselves to a dowsing¡­ simply say that I requested this, please.¡± Friend Lord Artaxerxes turned to the crowd, a man discombobulated and shaking. ¡°Our beloved Lord Tuoamas has asked for interruption,¡± he said. His voice was calm, even, and in perfect harmony with itself. ¡°He has specifically requested that Caladhbolg deal him the final cut.¡± ¡°Now!¡± coughed the man below and behind him, as the small crowd began to decry the announcement. A pohostinlat started forward, gripping a weapon of some kind in one hand and closely followed by a magus caber. She apparently wished to halt the assisted send-off of her Lord. When Seven stepped into her path, she stopped, ears quivering. ¡°I¡­ can¡­ feel the rot seeping through me. End this, Lord. I want to meet the Maker, if he is there in whatever afterlife awaits me.¡± The person made of murder sleeved into some long fluted blade, a thing of weirdly perfect straightness. Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s elbow had become engulfed by the open mouth of some strange wrought creature at the blade¡¯s hilt; a creature of flowing mane and curved tooth and tiny empty eyes. Then to the reaching-fellow¡¯s astonishment, the little gemstone that had lain atop the back of his hand suddenly danced out of its mouth, wrapping around the side of the head, and snapped itself into one of the sockets. From the forehead of the human descended the other coruscating star, disappearing into his vestments at the neck, before reappearing at the elbow. Like its companion, it ran up the side of the metallic monster¡¯s head, and was emplaced in the alcove opposite of its twin¡¯s. The person made of murder spoke not with Friend Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s mouth, but that of the little monstrous addition to his arm. Its eyes flashed. ¡°Goodbye,¡± said Friend Lord Tuoamas. ¡°I love you,¡± said Friend Lord Artaxerxes. The sword split the downed man from bottom to top in a single sweep, so gentle and sudden that it almost never happened at all. There were two Lonely Lords, and then there was one. On that day, the day before the first day of a new existence, the day that the estate¡¯s people would forever after call Haven¡¯s Eve, Tuoamas Pennat, fifteenth Lord of Pennat Gate, conqueror of the lesser Toin¨¦ Silkface, childless and well-gifted in issue, brother in every sense that mattered to Lord Sebastio Artaxerxes, died. His pneuma departed, unfettered by resurrection or phylactery. His soma remained. Friend Lord Artaxerxes made a single low sound, then the person made of murder wiped itself free of blood. The person made of murder once again became a hand. Across its back, two little gems gleamed. One re-centered itself on the uneven smooth surface, and the other began a lazy sliding trek up the not-flesh in which it lived toward its temple of residence. Friend Lord Sebastio bent down, lifted the hand of his fallen comrade, and pressed it to his chin. Then, with reverence, he let it fall once more. Friend Lord Artaxerxes quickly used his hand to delve into the left half Friend Lord Tuoamas¡¯s skull, digging out the parts of him which were turning to food. The head of the dead human wore away quite quickly, leaving only a small amount of his flesh in place. The carving was less than pleasant, but more than necessary, he later told Seven. Then, the Lord¡¯s remains were quickly collected - every free-floating atom, every joule. Those parts which could be immediately reassembled became whole once more; the wound which had killed him quickly became invisible. The wound which would have killed him in due time remained. It reminded Seven of its now-deceased houseplant; a geranium which it had simply neglected for one day too many. The plant had become dry and almost perfectly preserved. Seven missed that plant. Friend Lord Artaxerxes quickly cleaned up the biggest and most offensive of errant bits left around the yard. Bits of intruders, which were discarded. Bits of refuse, which were replaced. Bits of victims, which were enshrined. Others helped. Then there was no present sign that the encounter with the intruders had happened at all, and only the absent sign that there were numbers and selves missing. Little more ceremony followed, save the rending of garments and myriad other manners of mourning. The few survivors (unfortunate in a thousand ways, thought Seven, but favored in the opportunity to bid their leader farewell) went their separate ways in separate wailing silence. Friend Lord Artaxerxes turned the thing he still held in his regular hand over and over. The loop glowed, glowed. He reached up and placed the present upon his cranium. ¡°Friend Lord Artaxerxes, what do we do now?¡± asked the reaching-fellow. ¡°Please, Seven,¡± came a voice that Seven had never heard from the human. ¡°I had hoped you would already know the answer to that.¡± ¡°I have little enough certainty,¡± replied Seven. ¡°... I suppose, in that sense, you are too stupid to be stupid¡­ and I am unsure whether I am smarter. In any case, we must continue,¡± continued Friend Lord Artaxerxes. ¡°Words are no longer acceptable coin.¡± The person made of murder hung slack and meat-fingered by his side. Then the human was gone in a quavering throb of shattered peace. The Glory ¡°A creature who disobeys rules usually does so because of one of a very small number of reasons. It might be that it does not know of those rules¡¯ existence. It might be that it does not grasp that rules are more than descriptions of ideas, but directives and imperatives. It might be that it completely disregards those rules as unimportant. But please note that the concept of conditional restrictions, of some system where penal recompense for violations, of some calculable descriptions lying outside the realm of the actually possible - this apparently arbitrary framing mechanism for ¡®yes¡¯ and ¡®no¡¯ is something common to all life. This isn¡¯t a quirk of psychology, this is because this is something which evolves from every Turing-equivalent machine as part and parcel of computability. Presence without absence is statelessness, is it not? Presence without absence is statelessness.¡± -Toothskin The negotiating table was quite cold to the touch. No, corrected Adz, not cold. Numbing. Almost vibratory. Its leg-cables contorted beneath it, so many tentacles sufficing to keep the Lady upright¡­ but only just. Around the wheel of the table were seated a few more persons. Lord Naomi Galt, far more somber than was her wont, her brooch and other jewelry flashing with fire, Lady Albert Sessel perched beside her. Lord Harrison O¡¯Casey, a man whose face showed none of the limitless animosity he harbored toward the other residents in attendance. Jannet Gwondrfeld, great-to-the-nineteenth grandson of his Lord and plenipotentiary representative for House-of-Werub. Lawmaster JotDedKafDam, his garments of officialdom flowing in a ghast of a breeze; his assistants and followers huddled behind him. Many guards and functionaries. Seven, who some had begun to consider the forerunner of Beast civility, recipient of exceptional subliminal foulness from O¡¯Casey. Lord Artaxerxes, now sole sitter of Pennat Gate¡¯s throne, stood out among the crowd in a simple cloth robe and a miasma of recent mourning. The dark-panelled conference room in which the assembly brought itself together lay crammed in the heart of Pennat Gate¡¯s Lordly citadel. Witchlights popped up on almost every vertical surface like shelf fungi. On every side of the room stretched a wide-mouthed doorway, admitting most nearly any creature smaller than a full-sized wi?fr or luntunnu or such, and leading out to an indoor river in one direction and indoor gardens in the others. Not least because of Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s apparel, or Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s bearing, the meeting felt more than merely gravid. And in heaven, there was silence for what felt like a very great deal more than half an hour. ¡°I call this council to account,¡± said JotDedKafDam, as dark and tectonic in his bearing as the most deeply-grieved of damned souls. ¡°We here commemorate a resolution. We here acknowledge the emergence of primacy.¡± He swept his arm out sideways, pointing at Sebastio with a digit no less unsettling than the barrel of a pistol. He pointed a digit of the other hand at Harrison. ¡°Resolution of primacy has favored Pennat Gate this day, and terms must be honored.¡± He glanced at Sebastio once more. Sebastio said nothing. ¡°It is with-¡± began Lord Galt, and then Adz¡¯s husband cut her circuitous talking off with knifelike suddenness. said his other voice. For whatever reason, none objected. ¡°We insist upon the fair payment previously discussed,¡± said Sebastio, catching hold of himself and taking control with matchless strength. ¡°No less, and no more.¡± Harrison O¡¯Casey glared at him from across the cratered ruins of his hope for Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s gain, keeping his expression both civil and disdainful. ¡°-¡± he started. ¡°...¡± he attempted. ¡°But of course,¡± he said, on the third attempt. Adz heard several hundred different possible insults in the man¡¯s shortened turns of phrase. It heard a lot of needless and mockingly roundabout words in that little round of self-dueling. ¡°We will accept the tendering of your payment now,¡± said Sebastio, and he slid forward a ceremonial titanium chit. When normal Yrdkish closed a deal, it was a matter of self-evident honor that they would stick to their word - an almost universal trend among the extrafacetary. After all, in a civilization where absolutely everything is mutable, the immutability of keeping one¡¯s word is worth more than almost any amount of effort or complexity or time on the part of the offeror. Of course, when backstabbing a fellow Lord outside of the social warfare contract¡¯s arena, whether framing or slandering or disparaging little Lonely Lords, the rules dilated somewhat. But between Lords, on matters of martial forfeit, a chit was the standard of the day. Lord O¡¯Casey slitted his eyes at the Lonely Lord across from him, trying to get a read on Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s mood or air. He slid the chit of ritual closer to himself, and carefully lifted his circlet from his skull. A flourish preceded him pressing one edge of the circlet against the flat of the metal chit. Within the coin¡¯s structure, particles realigned themselves and potentialities rendered down to a tiny well-tuned symphony. That symphony proclaimed Pennat Gate the owner of fresh new platforms in the number of ten, shiny from the wrapper and grudgingly given. ¡°Your payment, as is mete,¡± intoned Harrison. He managed to make it sound as completely earnest as anything coming from his lips. In fact, his respect almost sounded genuine, if extremely qualified. ¡°Your payment, as is mete,¡± replied Sebastio. He accepted the chit. Far far away, the mechanics and officers and navigators and technicians and writers and priests and nobles vacated their current homes, making way for other parts of Nor¡¯ridge. The vacated parts of Nor¡¯ridge, within an hour, would be vacated parts of Pennat Gate - orbiting a wonky planetary system, brought into the strange family of Adz¡¯s home. ¡°Payment tendered, payment received, honor and honor and honor,¡± answered the Lawmaster. Being one of the sub-races of assassins who possessed pedipalps, his face worked with enormous gusto as he tied the pronouncement together. ¡°Many thanks,¡± said Sebastio. Lord O¡¯Casey gave a cool, sterile up-sign. It was decorated with hate. ¡°Apologies for the intrusion,¡± contributed Lord Galt. Her facial adornments flailed ever so gently. ¡°There was some uncertainty whether¡­¡± Lord Artaxerxes wordlessly drew attention away by the fluttering fabric of his sleeves. He picked up the chit, and with a small and terrible clink snapped off a third of it using his orange digits. Then he did the same with a small part on the other end. The former chunk went glittering across the table to Lord Galt, who watched it approach with wide eyes and still tentacles. The latter went to the descendent of Gwondrfeld, who reached out and snatched the little wafer from the air just before it passed on a tangent to his arms¡¯ reach. ¡°Three platforms for ?lthlant, one platform for House-of-Werub. Payment for those who have done us and ours a service.¡± ¡°Most irregular,¡± murmured the Lawmaster. ¡°Most irregular,¡± gritted Lord O¡¯Casey, as his eyes watched the disbursement of his ex-property. ¡°REALLY STRANGE,¡± stated a relatively quiet gnoll voice from the back rows of spectators that nobody had to actually confirm was Gorar. ¡°Things have been most irregular,¡± Adz chimed in, glancing down at Sebastio. It accrued a few odd looks, but nothing that really rebuked it. ¡°But these are irregular times.¡± ¡°They are most irregular indeed,¡± he added. His Caladhbolg fist made the table tremble as it hammered down without warning. One of his eyes was shut. The other didn¡¯t see anything. ¡°The loss of a very good and very irreplaceable man, a very fine leader in both deed and name, has been one of the last signs we required.¡± He clawed the fingers of that flat-splayed not-hand, as he turned the turret of his eyes to Seven. On its back, a gemstone winked with dark hauteur. ¡°The last signs we required to know that we will need to change certain things about ourselves, and how this estate does business. In such circumstances, the best course of action is to see justice done; we cannot have surety of when we might get another chance.¡± ¡°Change?¡± Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s face went opaque. Adz¡¯s ears flicked as it watched his mouth and teeth working. He seemed to chew words over in his mouth before putting them forth. The fact that he had to be running several hundred iterations of them in his head meant these were words of great conflict indeed. ¡°Many Fountainists have felt a great change of balance in recent years, thanks to your power of suggestion. The fractured throne of Pennat Gate constitutes a radical shift from central trends in Lordships, even those of Lonely Lords. Carving inroads for Beasts straight to the heart of our culture. Welcoming an anomalous number of extraterritorials into the estate¡¯s workings. Apparently parceling out very little hesitance in the courting of controversy.¡± His eyes flashed and then dulled. ¡°You have done quite a great deal in the name of change. You are to be commended for holding yet higher ambitions.¡± Lord Galt and Gwondrfeld both glanced at Lord Artaxerxes, before orienting their whole beings toward the leader of Nor¡¯ridge. Adz noticed Lady Sessel smile at it, and give it a reassuring furtive up-sign. ¡°And that is the kind of attitude which served as one of the more intermediate signs,¡± said Sebastio in a tired, far-away voice. ¡°It is the kind of attitude which has led us to a very simple conclusion about this game called ¡®life¡¯ in Yrdky.¡± ¡°What conclusion would that be?¡± asked the Lawmaster, who actually seemed to be having an excellent time. ¡°¡®When the game is untenable, you must lose. When the game is rigged, you must quit.¡¯¡± The end of Sebatio¡¯s phrase was the beginning of a quivery little silence, a not-quite-calm zone of the sort which led to disaster and destiny alike. ¡°That was a little jewel recently provided by one of the executive board-sitters of Bhushalt Fabricants and Design. As most, if not all, of those here surely already know.¡± A tiny frown. Melancholy, chokingly anticipatory. ¡°The people and principles of Pennat Gate are not welcome? Very well. We will go where welcome is more freely given.¡± He glanced askance at Seroku Adz Tataki Ba¡¯fus and the frown deepened. ¡°We will depart to the gem¡¯s many facets, and remove ourselves from the troublesome equation of Yrdkish life.¡± He set his head to the side, his little fangs suddenly smiling, and Adz gave a chitter as it realized it had no real certainty of how it was supposed to feel at this moment. ¡°It is time for us to become editors as much as authors,¡± he said, and then snorted. ¡°You are serious?¡± asked Lord Galt.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Perfectly.¡± Pennat Gate¡¯s Lord laced his fingers together, considering his ally under her brooch-bearing circlet, and waited. ¡°You are going to leave.¡± Naomi sounded¡­ pissed off. ¡°Not just our person, of course. Our estate in its entirety will be dislocated.¡± ¡°You are going to leave, and are just now getting around to mentioning this.¡± ¡°In the name of fending off immediate complications in favor of future ones, yes.¡± Nobody bothered to add ¡°and also to prevent teetotalers from foiling the mission¡± or to cast disparaging expressions in O¡¯Casey¡¯s direction. What followed, the Lady later reminisced, was a delirious empathetic upbraiding, the sort of no-holds-barred rant idealized by any dagacha mother to ever catch her offspring playing with industrial machinery. It went on and on, Lord Galt descending into language on the very verge of acceptability directed toward her erstwhile ally. Several minutes later, she arrived at a smoking knot-in-my-tentacles halt. ¡°So,¡± she snorted with only the tatters of mucous annoyance yet left in her demeanor. ¡°What is to be done?¡± ¡°What is to be done?¡± responded Lord O¡¯Casey. His words, stilt-legged and arch and slow, had an icy incredulous edge. He looked at Gwondrfeld the Younger, and Adz felt its leg-cables trying to twist when the representative for House-of-Werub gestured as though to say, ¡°Don¡¯t look at me, I¡¯m just a visiting politician, too.¡± O¡¯Casey turned to the Lawmaster, eyebrows quivering. He had no more mitigatory gambits left in his repertoire, and not enough slack willpower to retool into courtesy or discipline or even a mask of decency. When he half-snarled at the assassin, Adz noticed Seven twitch, as though it was restraining itself from looming in the Lord¡¯s direction only with difficulty. ¡°This rash and asinine behavior is an affront to everything this society holds dear. When the descendents of Yrdky future look back on our present, what will they see? The implied approval of secession as a solution to problems whose repercussions slide into forever. This is a TRAVESTY.¡± Adz¡¯s husband responded by raising his eyes heavenward. Meanwhile, Naomi Galt observed in pithy, caustic detail that O¡¯Casey had been desirous of Pennat Gate¡¯s cessation as a countercultural touchstone, and that he needed to strictly order his priorities. She did so with a widely-traveled bouquet of vitriol. She further noted how the outright removal of the estate from the Yrdkish ecology would satisfy not merely the people of Nor¡¯ridge (and any others equally vehement in their disgust), but also help to better reestablish the status quo. After all, what better way to discourage revolution than creating and remembering the fallen failed heroes of revolutions past? Evidently, Harrison found this to be a less than satisfactory answer to his aggravation. ¡°Well,¡± he said, turning to Sebastio, and then looking up at Adz. In his glare, a simple truth - as a matter of fact, that very truth which had originally motivated the exodus now being outlined. If Pennat Gate didn¡¯t manage to successfully extricate itself from Yrdky, then eventually the administration of Nor¡¯ridge, and probably many other hardliners besides, would chase down Sebastio until Caladhbolg¡¯s wielder and his beloveds and everything tied up in their ill-wanted experiments were expunged. ¡°There is a very, very special man seated here in our midst,¡± observed O¡¯Casey. He pulled his enamel daggers from their collagen scabbards, and flashed them to the hilt. No longer icy; a crust of pyroclastic scabbing over a magmatic river. His eyes practically glowed. ¡°A very, very special man. Saintly, one might say.¡± No less saintly than a man whose interests lie in the constant betterment of his people. To its near-mortification, Adz¡¯s thought evidently had gotten through its internal filters, and exited the output stream of its mouth. A rifling of mixed reactions fanned out through most of those watching the proceedings. Two of Pennat Gate¡¯s dukes obviously didn¡¯t find the observation quite proper, despite the recently-concluded aggression. It found Gwondrfeld looking over his fingers at the subject of its ridicule, one hip cocked. He said nothing as his eyes scanned Harrison, transparently sharing the Lady¡¯s schadenfreude. Sebastio very specifically didn¡¯t say ¡°well done¡± and smile up at his spouse. O¡¯Casey didn¡¯t deign to honor that barb with a reply. For that matter, the Lady considered, he probably considered his ¡°help me help you¡± ideals to be perfectly acceptable and pleasing to any deity one could name. ¡°It is a very good thing that Pennat Gate has done with its time¡­¡± said Lord Galt. She suddenly sounded a bit choked up, when she added, ¡°... and Tuoamas Pennat was as proud of the estate as one could be of something bearing one¡¯s own name.¡± Gwondrfeld snorted. ¡°He was¡­ ambitious, that man. Fair. Agreeable.¡± He made a sudden nervous smoothing motion over his sleeves. ¡°He was beloved by his people, and make no mistake.¡± ¡°We are not here to discuss the past,¡± said Nor¡¯ridge¡¯s Lord, abruptly leaning hard forward on the table. ¡°It is a shame that Lord Tuoamas elected not to remain in our company, but it is a shame for which we can do nothing. This disgrace should give us the courtesy of doing what he can: getting these proceedings done and leaving us to our own devices.¡± Sebastio watched for a moment, blinking, and then he reached up to pluck his circlet from its nesting place. He set it down on the table in front of him, glow throwing up a blurry reflection on the polished surface. His gilded eye held a regretful glint that said, Please, oh please, test me. I welcome the chance to do you harm; not because I am better than you, and not because you are an embodiment of uncut evil, but because it will make me smile. ¡°Lord O¡¯Casey,¡± he said carefully, without allowing any emotion into his vocalizations. ¡°Let us get something straight.¡± That orange hand poked the table. It left a considerable depression when its index finger rose once more. His abandonment of the formal plural left just as visible a mark on the crowd when he resumed speaking. ¡°I used to think of myself as special for all of the wrong reasons, a lifetime ago. I was an atypical, with an inborn non-thaumaturgical gift for controlling and manipulating electric current. I was an oddity in freelance security, cracking or finding ways to crack the safes of Rhaagm¡¯s industrial complex available to those with equally uncommon abilities. I was a man with perverse fixations on the way inflicting harm on other thinking creatures gave me a dram of self-realization. I was the creature who managed to survive getting a superlatively uncomfortable body piercing by sacrificing an Old-made staff to an Old-made sword. I was the once-friend who confronted the Nightmare Count and won out.¡± That orange hand spidered the air, its owner needlessly checking the nails for grime. ¡°I was the Rhaagmini who managed to barge into the realm of estates and Lordships with wit and fortune and a bit of external wisdom.¡± Eyes carved the air between himself and Adz, then himself and Seven. ¡°I was that rising star who managed to find a place with a host of good family and good friends.¡± That orange hand remained upraised between Lord and Lord and Lord. Sebastio glared across it at O¡¯Casey with absolutely no emotion. ¡°All of those things were aspects of a legacy. They were elements of a history that will be recorded, and retold, and someday perhaps put in a canon of some kind by people with too much time on their hands. It will - and this was something for which I hoped and still hope now - probably do credit to the name of the Maker that I achieved what I did after attaining to the claim of one of his artifices.¡± A small creak sounded as a set of claws dragged across the smooth floor, and for a second more than a couple of heads turned to Seven. The schlrikt stopped moving its feet, and if Adz didn¡¯t know better it would have called the Beast sheepish. ¡°But there is an important caveat to all of that,¡± said Sebastio. ¡°It is a legacy. It is history. It affects me and who I am, but it is not what makes me special.¡± ¡°And that is what, which makes you special?¡± asked Lady Sessel, his face curious and vaguely bland in a begging-the-question way. Sebastio actually laughed, and as bitter as it was it made the Lady think of the day he and the udod aodod had crossed their stars together. His thumb rocked the Lordly circlet up sideways, and it rolled over onto its back; a dead thing given rest. ¡°Absolutely nothing.¡± Lord O¡¯Casey¡¯s expression fled, and it was replaced with, coincidence of coincidences, absolutely nothing. Sebastio pushed back from the table, and glanced at Baron Evrokcrrer. As the authority in charge of managing avenues of communication for the upcoming transition, it was probably under more pressure than any other two nobles. It had delegated with fiendish determination, and even so it would have long ago torn out its hair, had it possessed any. ¡°Any problems in the itinerary?¡± the Lord asked the informatics maestro of Pennat Gate. ¡°Prepared are plans,¡± the baron confirmed. ¡°Infrastructure established satisfactorily. Tuning specialists standby.¡± After a short pause, Sebastio gave a quick down-sign. ¡°No. That is not something we need to keep secret.¡± There was an even briefer respite, before he added, ¡°I can think of very few things we legitimately need to keep secret now.¡± ¡°Communication quality suffices. Communication quantity lacks. Bootstrapping will suffer.¡± Perhaps it wouldn¡¯t be necessary for the to-be-absent estate to have sufficient infrastructure to support a complete Monolith network when it finished severing all relevant ties. Perhaps Eihks Richard, the Maker, and the Ripper would all pop into the room on top of the table, and start a production of Srid¡¯s Romances while wearing breechcloths made out of fregnost skin. ¡°We never rid ourselves of that primitive full network stand-in we cobbled together, when the Western Sunrise did the real Monolith a mischief.¡± Sebastio allowed a thin smile to surface. ¡°Maybe this is a sign to use it for something important yet again.¡± ¡°Throughput proves respectable. Backward compatibility lacking.¡± ¡°If your interfacers need additional backing, they will receive whatever support they require.¡± The baron gave an indicator of grimly determined anticipation. Sebastio retrieved the circlet and affixed it to its rightful place on his head. He glanced at Adz. The udod aodod took its cue, and asked Evrokcrrer for its working copy. It sent the Lady a short advisory covering when to be where, depending on whether a person wished to tag along for the soon-to-be-renegade estate¡¯s adventures or wished to stay behind with the sane world. ¡°We will have our final farewells issued within the next hour,¡± Adz said, for the benefit of those few who didn¡¯t possess cerv-mesh integration. ¡°Any who want to join our little adventuresome family should make plans to arrive with their personal effects in one of the outermost First Step platforms. Afterward, suitable representatives will see that newcomers are given appropriate guidance and assistance with the integration process.¡± ¡°You are going to be leaving off any outside contact, then?¡± Lord Galt sounded wary, weary, and vaguely accepting. Not happy. Lord Artaxerxes gave the floor over to his spouse once more. Adz glanced over the variously-consternated congregation. It chittered, more dreadfully hopeful than flummoxed. ¡°We have already contracts with a small number of corporate points-of-contact. One, by the name of Black Glass Transport, will serve as our primary material interface with the extrafacetary world for the time being. The estate also commissioned thousand private news outlets to spread the word as to both our immediate plans, and which other means of access we shall favor in the future.¡± Adz waved. ¡°A general press release is coming very soon, and one of Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s private keys will cipher the official content.¡± Sebastio made a not-quite-dismissive tilt of his head. Even in the vestments of deprivation, and morose depths, he still managed to throw a tremendous strength of personality. ¡°We will be answering most questions that you will probably have on our motives and methods,¡± he added. ¡°A great deal has happened in Pennat Gate¡¯s workings over the last year. Satisfactory conclusions shall come forth as, where, and how able.¡± His attention was diverted toward JotDedKafDam. ¡°What other matters demand our ratification or notice?¡± he asked the Lawmaster. ¡°Or do the Lawmasters consider the topic of our disagreement with Nor¡¯ridge settled?¡± The assassin gave him a queer look, and for the first time in¡­ a very long time, Adz saw the Lord adopt a childishly shamed air. ¡°I am afraid that this is the first occasion where I have had the pleasure of participating in a bout that boasted so many extenuating circumstances,¡± he defended. ¡°That is to be all,¡± responded the Lawmaster. ¡°Should you be talking about the interruption that¡­ indisposed Lord Tuoamas, we have examined the results and come to the same conclusion forwarded by yourselves: a highly irregular occurrence, with deeply regrettable results. If your party had been the defeated, we would have had better reason to¡­¡± Adz tuned out the dirge disguised as a dissertation. Eventually, unbearably weighty grievances got offloaded to structurally sound actionable plans. The many invited to the little get-together dispersed by degrees. Sebastio exchanged several minutes of heartfelt fare-thee-well wishes with Naomi. Lord Galt didn¡¯t actually slap him, partly out of acknowledgement of the armsmen positively ogling her for ill intent, partly out of respect for the departed Lord Tuoamas. Oh, gods and devils. Not for the first time that day, Adz had to rapidly cycle its thoughts to move away from the sucking wound left by Tuoamas Pennat¡¯s extraction from the place that bore his name. ¡°Lady,¡± said its Lord, as he stepped away from Lord Galt. He reached up, and took one of Adz¡¯s larger digits in his own. ¡°Lord,¡± replied the Lady. ¡°Naomi found your suggestion very agreeable,¡± he said. The udod aodod felt a little twinge as it remembered what it had told Sebastio last hand, and the plan which they¡¯d hatched. He¡¯d gotten a hard-won agreement in that plan¡¯s support from, wonder of wonders, more than nine tenths of all nobles privy to the debate process. Seeing that he¡¯d gotten almost unanimous support from an Yrdkish populace and nobility for going into voluntary exile - Yrdkish, who were ancestrally inclined to reject most anything smacking of foreign taint - that agreement was either a miracle or perfectly expected. After all, the people of Pennat Gate were going to exist outside the placental safe establishment of the extrafacetary climes. In the name of preservation of kin and country, they had decided it necessary to sacrifice part of the characteristic ages-old restraint and self-discipline common to most extrafacetary culture. Making themselves into the kinds of godlings whose ends always came about by their carefree indulgences, and that formed the pillars of many a cautionary tale from Yrdky¡¯s countless generations. But maybe, just maybe, they could improve some small corner of creation before they burned themselves out in novae and Epicurean pursuits. It also meant that, providence smiling upon them, the rogue estate might someday have the facilities to welcome visits from people like Naomi Galt. They might even do so without worrying that every Republic Lord alive might come and cleanse whatever facet upon which Pennat Gate chose to inflict its presence. Right now, the other rulers of Yrdky were surely making preparations to purge their secessionist selves. As the despondent Lord Galt et al had already deduced, though, anyone at all would arrive too late to prevent their departure. Oh, the influx of other estates¡¯ emigrants would surely contain a considerable number of saboteurs, but they¡¯d be watched with a passionate focus until every possible avenue of unrest from without was closed. ¡°We have many things ahead of us,¡± said Adz. ¡°Yes,¡± answered Sebastio. ¡°So let us go and make a Lonely Lordship that Tuoamas would have approved¡­ together.¡± He looked into its eyespots, and he seemed to swell as he stared. ¡°Come, my Lady,¡± he murmured. ¡°Come and grow mutable with me.¡± And as the hour grew later, and people were accepted into Pennat Gate¡¯s bosom, and people were ejected from the estate out of principle (among them one troubled and pitiable autumn elf), and Steps began navigating through nonrelative contexts to the wider gem one at a time, the couple grew together even as they grew separately. Amen ¡°To the ourselves of the uneditable past: pay attention to your words.¡± -Etched on the side of Dr?mostigth¡¯s Monument to Ideals, at the Kinsmen College of Information Integrity Preservation The young man came out of the exaltation clinic where they were doing things to people. He looked to be in a bit of a daze, and in that sense he was no different from a ceaseless but measured procession of other residents - regardless of who they could claim as relations. Congratulations, you¡¯re pretty much immortal - now go figure out what you want to do. He caught sight of the people he¡¯d been hoping to find, and slowly meandered in their direction, feeling as heavy as a feather and as weightless as a moon. Turning around for a second, he caught sight of an interaction which had been commonplace that extrafacetary morning, but which was no longer such a frequent scene. A forithka pair, one of whom was obviously conjugated, chinned each other. The nearer of the two wore the colors of the estate of ?lthlant; a last-minute immigrant. Lots of those had been arriving from all around Yrdky right up until Pennat Gate¡¯s platforms started moving farther afield into the territory, and setting up for simplex connections into the gem proper. There¡¯d also been a couple thin waves of emigrants, obviously less than thrilled at the prospect of getting pretty much blacklisted from Rhaagm and Bequast and every other place of consequence. Now? They were a hermetically sealed environment. Nobody in and nobody out for a good while. But that was something to bring one worry at a different time. The diminishing flow of parties and people meeting up with new arrivals to the estate, and the soon-to-be-pursuing authorities who¡¯d gotten wind of Pennat Gate¡¯s unwarranted presence on the facet, and those people that desired Lord Tuoamas Pennat¡¯s return from the dead, and a score of other things were utterly inconsequential to the young man walking down pleasant Eighth Step suburbia. From the depths of the clinic behind him, the slow sentient trickle forked into a hundred or more directions. Each freshly blessed person contemplated the world through new and more powerful senses, and basked in the newborn notion that they no longer had to worry themselves with many of the troubles of their old frail bodies. These attracted a few glances from the citizenry who chose to abstain from the exaltation process; there were many refusers, but very few ridiculed for their refusal. No, the greatest ridicule was aimed at those Republic Lords and other police-minded powers who would try to apprehend the rogue estate. Not because they were foolish to do so (or at least not only for that reason), but because by the time Yrdky got its act together and assembled a force to give chase, the people they were chasing would be long gone to elsewhere in the gem. Eventually, when things calmed down, Pennat Gate might extend carefully-managed feelers back to the rest of the extrafacetary community. For the time being, they would have to flee and stay gone. Louis sat himself down beside a vehicular-road sidewalk, not really paying attention to the sparse traffic passing some five meters away. He turned his hand over, looking at the pale dermal sheath that kept most of his important bits on the inside, and marveled at the way something so outwardly familiar could have become so alien in the course of one day. Redmetal bones, dextral-woven unflesh, a knitted network of gestalt-anchoring points sown throughout the meat of his new self. A metaphorical castle walking, immune to not only the wear and tear of time, but also the caprices of most deity-like beings, the destructive effects of nearly any malice turned material. Virtually invulnerable to anything the gem was likely to throw at him. He was, in any conceivable measure of the term, as safe as one could possibly be and still claim some tenuous link to the once-life of a mortal creature. And he felt like he had, without even meaning to do so, stumbled into learning everything there was to learn about all of existence, grown to the highest extreme of potential attainable by thinking man. A peak with only trough running into forever on all sides. So this is the feeling that drove ages and ages of people to surrender their nigh-omnipotence. Louis flexed his fingers, directing his will toward their tips, and the scrimthus that inhabited their structure responded by lengthening them into skinny handrails. He watched the ends of the digits, and cocked his head. Then, he did what any sufficiently mature person would do with the gift of almost-limitlessly manipulable form, and directed his ring finger at the person who was trotting up just behind him to the little gathering. ¡°Poke,¡± he said, and the already impressively lengthy sausage became a pale spaghetti strand as it shot outward. It stabbed Penowa¡¯s chest slightly under the speed of sound, causing the mmnmomn? to stumble back a step. The fuzzy little guy¡¯s newly improved outer flesh flexed and rebounded, and his current lipid layer stand-in converted the kinetic waste into useful potential. He fell over backward. ¡°Hey,¡± said Al. Her Rhaagmini had tilted in the direction of accentless sterile perfection since her personal improvement regimen. ¡°Be nice. You have all night to stay up and abuse your roommate if you want.¡± She leaned over, past where Celnn and eGarra were busy trying to design something either asinine or ingenious on a tiny holojector between them. Directing her face straight toward Penowa, her nose abruptly shot out to almost two hundred times its normal length. The mmnmomn?¡¯s head went down with a sudden wrench as it got pushed until its owner rocked on the fulcrum of his pelvis, smacking into the marble sidewalk hard enough to leave cracks. A few people who had also received the desserts promised them by Pennat Gate¡¯s administration glanced in their direction, saw Penowa laughing softly on the ground, and went back to discussing whatever consumed their attention. ¡°Here!¡± he shouted as he leapt back to his feet, and abruptly conjured up a freezerburn with either hand. The Hiek machines of both workings shot forward. One hit Louis¡¯s head and encased his face in a clouded layer of ice. He was laughing, and started to laugh much, MUCH harder when he heard how his voice was muffled by the cryogenic gag. The application of a small poet-fire nodule melted the magical ice quite quickly. Alarusx, meanwhile, moved to one side and evaded the other magical projectile. The freezerburn intended for her instead bounded off of the road, a tree, another tree, and almost smacked an oncoming disk. A furious disgorgement of gradually-increasing invective came from the indignant driver as she passed them. ¡°Hey, now, be careful,¡± said Al. ¡°Don¡¯t go causing accidents. Even if it doesn¡¯t hurt someone, it¡¯s rude.¡± ¡°Yes, indeed,¡± said another voice from almost directly behind Louis. He swung about on his posterior, saw the person he¡¯d somehow known would be arriving shortly, and rose with a slight solemnity. ¡°Good afternoon,¡± greeted Louis¡¯s brother as he approached. He, the estate¡¯s Lady, the increasingly familiar sight of Seven, and an accompanying collection of armsmen all seemed to gleam in the light of the nearby sun. One of the first preparations the nobility had taken for their flight from Yrdky was the punching out of a few stars their home could use as convenient light and heat sources. Not that they needed it, of course. The ambient starshine of the facet¡¯s cosmos provided all the illumination the improved residents might require on each platform¡¯s topmost layer. Even if almost every creature with electromagnetic radiation perception hadn¡¯t gotten upgraded, the atmospherics of each Step¡¯s environmental systems could deal with simple stellar emulation. When you already had a nearby natural sun, though, why not use it? ¡°Lord Artaxerxes,¡± said Celnn. The zsel¨¦tael¡¯s dark sinewy length flowed up into a sort of standing rest from his coiled repose, and he forehead-thumbed at his Lord with careful correctness. ¡°Lord Artaxerxes,¡± said Al and eGarra almost simultaneously. Both looked somewhat nervously at the armsmen. Louis might have laughed that they worried about the guards, considering what Sebastio could do with absolutely no difficulty, but as the French-born youth knew all too well, the capability and willingness for violence often ran nearly counter to each other. ¡°Lord,¡± said Penowa, regaining his feet from his own half-prostrate repose. He looked nervous, and guiltily stole a glance to one side at the damaged sidewalk (of little consequence), then another at the several icy markings left by his freezerburns (of at least potentially greater consequence). His ears and tail anxiously twitched, and he stood as straight and tall as his human friend had ever seen. Come to think of it, Louis didn¡¯t know of more than two other occasions where his housemate had actually met Sebastio in person, and on both of those he wasn¡¯t exactly front and center in the Lord¡¯s attentions. The Lord of Pennat Gate gestured idly at the little gathering. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he said. ¡°But also, please behave yourselves. There ARE people who still haven¡¯t gone and gotten themselves ¡®upgraded¡¯ yet, and who never intend to take that plunge.¡± A small grin, smaller fangs poking out on its right side. ¡°Like me!¡± he half-snorted. Casual Rhaagmini sounded a bit weird in his mouth after the glut of official and painfully proper legalese he¡¯d been speaking for the last day, to the near exclusion of all else. It takes an awful lot of talking to walk an entire self-contained societal pocket through the essential steps of moving to another categorically disjoint place to continue their existence. Who¡¯d have thought. ¡°My apologies-¡± started Penowa. The poor guy sounded like he was facing down none other than Crippled False itself. Sebastio¡¯s injection almost came across as stern. ¡°I said don¡¯t worry about it and meant what I said,¡± he threw in. ¡°If you avoid doing anybody substantial harm then I see no reason to not conduct oneself with a bit of silliness now and then. In moderation.¡± ¡°Yes, Lord.¡± The mmnmomn? replied with a respectful up-sign. At least he wasn¡¯t trying to bow anymore; that was a problem Louis remembered having difficulty overcoming. But cultural sensitivity and whatnot, and when a fair portion of intelligent life interpreted the lowering of one¡¯s head as less of a respectful or submissive gesture, and more of a belligerent ¡°I am going to charge and attempt to gore you with my horns or teeth now¡± gesture, you had to adapt or die or get culturally embarrassed. ¡°We were hoping that you might come along with us to a little event,¡± said Adz. The Lady stood far taller than any of the others assembled there, and had a bit of a constructive effect on the gang of five¡¯s outward ease. Louis felt uncomfortable (a tad) but he was confident that stemmed from other causes. Some kind of weird subliminal effect arose, for those of human-like mentality, whenever one saw a tall thing not too close yet not too far. The knowledge of it being consistently visible and easily tracked had a reassurance of sorts to it - a type of control imbued by the surety of knowing where the udod aodod was with absolutely no effort. He glanced over one shoulder, at the nearby platform which bore the estate¡¯s Lordly citadel. Yep, that same feeling, so that seemed to serve as evidence in favor of his theory. No need to research it. Then he felt a pang in his chest, as he considered that the people of Pennat Gate now only possessed a small pale reflection of the glory of the extrafacetary Monolith at their disposal. Oh, he surely had access to the majority of everything he¡¯d probably ever want to learn, and a very very great number of things he wouldn¡¯t, but it was still like unexpectedly waking up one morning without teeth. And to think, just a short while ago in the span of even a natural human lifespan, Louis Artaxerxes had had no idea that the place called Yrdky even existed. ¡°It is no trouble if you would prefer to not involve yourselves,¡± Adz continued, and Louis was thankful for getting startled from his reverie. ¡°But there are some people who we would enjoy having as company, and yourselves are among the upper echelon of desirables.¡± Louis glanced at Penowa again, and caught his eye. Penowa peered at Al. Al wasn¡¯t watching much of anything, though she was also watched by eGarra and Celnn both. ¡°Does any¡­¡± began Louis. ¡°Sure,¡± said Al. She turned and grinned a bit at Louis, her slightly frizzy hair waving in the breeze. ¡°Yeah, why not?¡± agreed Celnn. ¡°Come along, then!¡± said Sebastio. ¡°There are a couple of loose ends to tie. A subject or two that require addressing.¡± He gave the youths spread out before him an almost lazy carefree once-over, and Louis faintly marveled at how much his brother had changed. There wasn¡¯t a restrained bone evident in his body. ¡°I¡¯d like to take care of business in the company of some people I have reason to hold dear,¡± he added, grin turning impish. ¡°My brother. Those whom he cherishes.¡± A sideways and upward daggering of eyes at the tall scaled figure beside him. ¡°A cat of an udod aodod.¡± Beside him, Louis heard a strangled noise from Celnn P¡¯mulkes; both his biological depths and his cerv-mesh speakers gave off little grunty whirrings. If a zsel¨¦tael possessed a mouth, and a discretely divided digestive system, his friend¡¯s squirming appallment probably would have caused the upchucking of his stomach then and there. ¡°Anything else you need sorted out before we depart?¡± Sebastio asked. He wasn¡¯t looking at Celnn, but a bit more of his orange fangs showed than normal as he rested chin upon fist, scanning the scene. ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Al said, turning to eGarra. The once-oleethf gave a noncommittal expression to her, then Louis. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re just screwing around,¡± Louis affirmed with a faintly serious twist in his lips. ¡°Screwing around is detrimental to life.¡± For just a moment, absolutely everyone stared at Seven as it spoke up for the first time. Then, Sebastio gave a little head-toss, and beckoned in welcome. ¡°Very well - let¡¯s go, then!¡± Before they departed, Louis noticed the crack in the sidewalk getting automatically patched up. At the same time, he observed a Sledgecrafter eidolon crawling onto the naked-eye layer of their ¡°diet Monolith,¡± surveying the frosty residue of his friend¡¯s misguided magic from the road¡¯s edge. The eidolon started erecting a thin tuning field to prevent other misguided magics from doing similarly stupid things. The implications that the estate now allowed for such dangers, on a vastly broader scale than the previous expectations of Yrdkish life - and thinking on how ugly feuds might become when a significant fraction of people figured violence was an inconsequential spicy adornment to their argumentation - made Louis frown a bit on the inside. It wasn¡¯t clear where they were heading (though Louis had a suspicion), until several minutes later. After they folded to a Fifth Step platform - setting up a little nonrelative context for Seven to use - the nearby sun glanced from the rim of a tall familiar shape: a maypoling arena about which the younger Artaxerxes had thought quite a great deal in recent times. The top of the building had ramparts and holojectors scattered with careless abandon and no three dimensional symmetry whatsoever. A large banner-blossom trail ran around its periphery, a bus for the other greenware throughout the venue. It lay mostly empty now, but Louis remembered the crowds cheering for him, and others - amongst whom numbered a white naufer named Heggad - during the heady swoop and spine-tingling joy of flight. Oh, how unsuspecting he¡¯d been back then; sure that life would get more complicated, but it couldn¡¯t really go too far bad for people like himself¡­ especially not in comparison to his youth. Their little troupe walked a short distance from the clean flat field where they¡¯d landed. After a minute or two of an easy pace, they were tramping through a brief but broad entry tunnel whose roof was festooned with gilt leaves. The leaves pointed rearward, arrowing in the direction from which the company had entered. Following the foliant river into the arena, as though walking down the length of a fat tree branch, Louis had an odd inkling swim up from deep below, wreathing his newly-invincible heart. It was the subaudible sound of walking toward some source, some conclusion of a major chapter in his life and the beginning of another. Or perhaps, the ending of a traditional sensory, and the beginning of a play. Then the bunch crept from the other end of the tunnel, and emerged into a concourse in the arena¡¯s belly. The concourse united the openings of some twenty other methods of ingress. Elevator arrays accommodating pretty much any size of person under eight meters of height grew in quartets near the rear of the chamber. A couple of indwelling spirits solicited notice at various kiosks and stations scattered everywhere. Temperatures averaged a significant amount higher inside than out. ¡°Ah,¡± said Sebastio, loudly enough to be heard without trouble, as they skirted around a large depiction of Lord Tuoamas¡¯s face set into the floor tiles. Louis checked his brother¡¯s expression to see what that exhalation might mean, and found a very pointed stare. Following the stare, he noticed a certain kind of obstruction; a wall formed by a single person¡¯s presence. A familiar figure stood in the middle of their path. The man had a neatly-placed hat and a singularly deplorable mustache. Standing there, the man reached one hand into a shirt pocket, and retrieved a fist-sized cylindrical shape. The object winked with stippled striped light across its surface, rotating waves that ran the continuity from radio to red. Louis was almost certain that he was looking at a causality sabotage, in the grip of Mr. Hereld Upswitch. ¡°Mr. Hereld Upswitch.¡± Almost a greater surprise than the man¡¯s appearance was how the Lord of Yrdky showed no surprise at finding the unwelcome visitor. Loathing, but no surprise. ¡°Delightful to see you again, my poor Sebastio,¡± replied Upswitch after a short moment of extremely satisfyingly flatfooted hesitation. At the same instant, Argyva folded behind the man, and slapped a cuff around his arm. There came a very unsettling vision of his head suddenly detonating, but that part of the last confrontation with the hateful scheming man didn¡¯t repeat itself. Just as Argyva¡¯s other hand clamped down on his shoulder, Upswitch gave a small jerk, and his eyes crept around above a jagged sneer. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t try to do me in,¡± he said to the woman. ¡°Or else things will end quite badly. I have a dead man¡¯s switch rigged into-¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. His hope was met, when she pulverized his left leg below the knee with an n-minus-one collapse. He let loose a howl, then a gasp, and leaned to his side opposite from the patch of diffuse gory remnants. ¡°Please don¡¯t try to run, Mr. Upswitch. It would be such a shame, especially after going through the difficulty of locking down this building so thoroughly.¡± Sebastio jerked his head at Argyva, and she folded to a slightly greater distance from her prey. ¡°Now, you see, I was expecting this,¡± he said to the one-legged man. Upswitch took a second from glaring at his newly acquired infirmity, and glared at Sebastio instead. ¡°Were you?¡± came the not-quite question. The ease of the exclamation suggested Upswitch¡¯s pain dampeners were in full effect. Louis was surprised at first that his cuff permitted their function, then entertained the thought again. A cuff was meant to prevent conflict in the name of preserving order; keeping the recipient in working condition was often implicit in that goal. ¡°My now-deceased co-ruler had a gift for prophecy. He foresaw that you would be here, intent on a little rendezvous. With his last breaths he warned of encountering a certain mustached provocateur armed with lethal intent. We came prepared-¡± The Lord¡¯s orange hand pointed out Seven. The schlrikt¡¯s behavior could be described as ¡°antsy¡± and ¡°singularly antagonistically focused.¡± ¡°-with the means to put you down permanently.¡± A short throat-clearing, slightly resonant, as Sebastio took a couple of steps circling the man. ¡°Your little present was part of his predictions - or at least the use of a causality sabotage was hypothesized - since he claimed to see a large number of potential futures terminating at this confrontation. The apparent magnitude of your weapon is surprising; many points awarded for scope. Zero points for originality, trying to follow in Leanshe Etruphana¡¯s footsteps.¡± The few nearby pedestrians were taking notice of the spectacle. One very brave or very stupid naufer slowly moved around the scene, his eyes getting larger and ears standing taller, as he seemed to gauge whether he should help by jumping in or not. Wisely enough, all other would-be comers obviously didn¡¯t much care for the thought of getting involved in something so obviously the business of their Lord. ¡°That woman had the right idea at first, the right sort of spirit in her¡­ but too much reason.¡± Hereld spat to one side, almost on top of the smeared leftovers of himself. ¡°Very willing to do you a disservice. I respect that. I respect it almost as much as I wish she¡¯d have left well enough alone for the time. I respect her and Lord O¡¯Casey both for dedication, no matter that they have been operating at cross purposes to my own plans. To be honest, had they thwarted the intended goal to let your philosophy and example sprout and flourish¡­ Well, I would¡¯ve been annoyed. Still, it wouldn¡¯t have broken my heart; that, I suppose, is the difficulty of an institute like yours - so many enemies they can¡¯t help but inconvenience each other at times. At other times, they can¡¯t help but assist each other, no matter how much you wish them to step out of your business.¡± His voice dropped gradually into a subterranean register as he waxed eloquent. Sebastio continued his slow progression, head cocked and circlet catching the indoor witchlight. An orange hand fisted and relaxed, more and more rapidly as the human plague rat shuddered to a smoking halt. The Lord¡¯s own voice dripped something far more corrosive than lye. ¡°Such a terrible problem you¡¯ve got there, trying to destroy what others have made. I can¡¯t imagine how hard you¡¯ve found all this work.¡± The stepping stopped. ¡°Argyva. Attend the - wait.¡± His head cocked as his Caladhbolg-hand rose partway, stopped, and turned sideways. When he spoke to Upswitch again, it was with something almost in the realm of respect. ¡°The equivalent of nine million research hexadecades on the part of our brightest eidolons, sunk into countermeasures and foils for just such a tool - and all of them wasted. That is no ordinary weapon, even for a causality sabotage.¡± A single bellows-breath burst of laughter escaped the lamed man. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. My dealings in the webs of the Olds brought me into a position to obtain a few luxuries. For one, I¡¯d call this thing¡¯s execution mechanism practically untamperable. Or rather, there¡¯s little to no chance that someone trying to spoof the armed-and-waiting signal will achieve anything besides premature activation. A fine thing does Technician West create, when he¡¯s up to the job.¡± A feral smile writhed across his face, before curdling as the bone in his leg slid from under him just a bit. An eyebrow raised as he brandished the tool with quiet intense purpose. ¡°For another¡­ This little treasure¡¯s effective range means it¡¯ll rupture everything to pass through here - yourselves included - since the creation of this particular platform some hundred and forty billion years ago. So very many people to cut from the face of history.¡± ¡°You shall be ended as well,¡± remarked Adz, eyefibers dancing in little rings. Hereld gave a fatalistic gesture. ¡°If that is my lot then so be it. You will have a poor impact on history, and that is the greatest gift I can im- ah! No!¡± Hereld paused to wave a hand at Seven, who had begun to make movements of an aggressive and murderous nature. ¡°None of that!¡± the man said. ¡°Don¡¯t tempt me!¡± The Beast paused, schlrikt fangs shuttling back and forth as its eyes fluttered over its target. Louis watched Seven, whipping short glances between it, Upswitch, the Lady, the herd of armsmen, his friends, and his brother. Very few of them, besides Sebastio, maintained the air of expecting anything other than inexorable doom. Louis met Al¡¯s eyes, and crossed gazes with Penowa, and saw in both the same frustration and helplessness he felt. He¡¯d been thinking what, less than an hour ago? That he was like unto a little god? That he and his nearest friends no longer had to worry themselves over concerns of mortality? When you were dealing with a weapon whose active mechanism involved wrenching existence out of alignment on multiple dimensions, and which could easily reach back far enough to access a point in time when you were most certainly still mortal, it made the battlefield much more equal than was comfortable. Upswitch threw around a nasty thin little glare, the ocular equivalent of concertina wire. ¡°Even if you somehow survive the coming attraction, I can rest easy knowing someone else will grind you to dust in due time, and everything you¡¯ve built. Didn¡¯t you notice how few people are interested in bringing in a most wanted man like myself? One would wonder why nobody bothered reporting such a personage, standing in the open.¡± A wide welcoming spread of arms encompassed the little band, and implicated the rest of Pennat Gate, in a single jerky extension. ¡°But it¡¯s hard to overcome a big brother attack, wouldn¡¯t you know? Change a person¡¯s perceptions ever so slightly through augmentation spoofing, convince them that you simply have a resemblance to a person of interest rather than actually being said person, and it¡¯s even better than being not-there. Endear yourself to them and, well¡­ the superintendent of a certain Fourth Step revivification clinic let me resurrect without worry of legal repercussions. And I¡¯m not the only chisel working against your walls, young Artaxerxes. Even if I were interrupted this very instant, even if my little present were removed from the equation without being triggered, the infrastructure for carrying out similar operations will still exist, or be easy enough to rebuild, in due time.¡± Louis frowned as his eyes widened and his hands became fists. ¡°A big brother attack on its own forfeits any hope that you¡¯d receive lenience for-¡± ¡°LENIENCE?¡± Louis flinched as Upswitch guffawed at him. ¡°I have many avenues of data interchange at my disposal,¡± he said, one hand rolling on its wrist. ¡°Contacting people eager to put the screws even to someone as influential as Lord Artaxerxes? Child¡¯s play! The Sifters¡­ well, their violent and extreme numbers thought anybody heathen enough to defile the Maker¡¯s works with his fleshly person obviously needed to be dealt with. They didn¡¯t exactly take kindly to Tuoamas¡¯s ¡®apostasy,¡¯ which is what they apparently consider anything that is less-than-perfect veneration.¡± A spine-creaking neck swing aligned Upswitch¡¯s painted eyes with Sebastio¡¯s. ¡°The fact that you were in violation of Rhaagm¡¯s Caladhbolg Contingencies made the cult consider you both a heretic and a man with dangerous worldly ambitions. Oh, what I would¡¯ve given to have them possess a greater sense of moderation; so much fanaticism lends itself very poorly to observing overarching strategic purpose. But keeping them out of the equation was never going to happen, and negotiating a truce with their more fringe lodges was an occasion which gave me immense satisfaction. Lenience? Lenience, you say?¡± Hereld gave a small sideways thumb-swipe across his face, the hand holding the causality sabotage bobbing like a nodding head. ¡°Oh, my. That¡¯s a hilarious, utterly lost, and completely unattractive cause. Certainly, it¡¯s desirous that the Artaxerxes dynasty inherits nothing but the wind in due time, yet that was something I would have preferred to occur later. Keeping you around long enough to upset the entrenched uncharitable order of things was the primary directive, after all. Upending your administration too early is just a recipe for extending the designs of those who want you dead or gone or both.¡± He sighed, lamentable and lamenting. ¡°It would have been equally good, at least in the short term, if my¡­ flamboyant demise portrayed you as the sort of snap-decision murderers who no sane Yrdkish would trust. Kudos to you, I must say, in wrestling down the spin on that particular event. It highly inconvenienced me that you managed such a feat, but I bear no grudge under the circumstances.¡± A slightly hysterical smile cracked his face. ¡°Have you ever considered,¡± Sebastio pondered aloud, ¡°that with the scope of their influence, you¡¯ll be serving the ends of one of the Olds or another no matter how you choose to act, so long as you actually do something in some tangible way?¡± Hereld gave a little mustache-quivering sniff. His Ilsabal Square accent became deliberately pronounced; gears working to move in the same direction and throwing off smoke and sparks. ¡°If you think such a painfully transparent thought never occurred to me, then you have a great deal to learn. I¡¯ve been plotting away for a very, very long time. Longer than you could guess. What I¡¯m doing is simply the best possible job of getting the Olds¡¯ knives to the necks of each others¡¯ more important plans to which I¡¯m privy.¡± ¡°You are a small-souled, terribly upset man,¡± said Adz. It leered down at the human, as though he were a child trying to masquerade as his father by wearing his father¡¯s bootpants and his father¡¯s hat. ¡°Do you think you will have any lasting ability to disable or even meaningfully slow the machinations of creatures like the Maker or Comedian East?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t try to educate me!¡± the behatted man snarled. ¡°I¡¯ve no illusion that anyone besides another Old can really throw an illegal packet into their datastreams, but with some small fortune they can be convinced to turn upon one another. I WILL be the best thorn in their sanctified sides that I can manage.¡± His expression turned genuinely humorous for a short moment. ¡°That¡¯s what we all aspire to do in one way or another, isn¡¯t it?¡± He looked up at Adz. He looked down at Penowa. He looked across to Louis, and stopped. ¡°Young Artaxerxes,¡± he said, in a profoundly different tone of voice. ¡°Would you be, perhaps, interested in helping me? In becoming an agitator and opponent of those titans, those in whose shadows we are more disposable than pawns and less impactful than insults hurled into the void?¡± Louis¡¯s eyes closed. When he opened them, he stared at the man who wore hate as a second skin far more effectively than Louis had ever managed to wear anything. He felt his lips draw back. ¡°You want me to jump up and throttle the designs of other people like my brother?¡± Hereld must have seen something in his face, because his own eyes lit up, zealous and deep. His head almost vibrated as he smiled. ¡°Incidentally. Your brother constitutes collateral damage, being a minion of the Beings of Old.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Louis was silent for a moment, ruminating on the shapes of Lord Artaxerxes, of Lady Adz, and their companion called Seven. ¡°So it¡¯s not actually doing anything to the Olds themselves, just their agents.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Upswitch answered, a little boisterous and a lot eager. ¡°Well.¡± Louis looked down at the shoes on his feet; shoes that would never have been worn in the French countryside where people fell dead from bubonic mercies on a clockwork basis during his childhood. He turned aside to the people who he now called friends and family. He flicked a glance in the direction of his thumb, and with a thought extended the little scrimthus blade lying hidden in its depths. After three seconds of gazing, he retracted it, shivering a little at the sensation of material sliding into part of the human anatomy never designed to feature a sheath. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have better luck curling over, and sucking your own larynx out through your sphincter,¡± Louis said, and the slight rhombus of a smile deformed his face. Hereld gazed at him, face lit with a faint glow from the hardware in his palm, frowning in something approaching fatherly disappointment. ¡°You have so much potential, my boy. I¡¯d have to spare your nears and dears to spare you, but someone with as much hate in him as yourself¡­ I¡¯d call that a net benefit. Please do reconsider.¡± Louis¡¯s smile left. He suddenly felt tired, like he¡¯d been carrying a second Louis on his back all his life and he¡¯d only just noticed the strain. ¡°Did I stutter?¡± he asked. ¡°If you¡¯re going to kill us or unmake us or however you want to couch it, then do it now and finish this farce.¡± To one side, Adz told Sebastio, ¡°I love you.¡± The statement got a quick faintly-smiling reaction from its husband. ¡°I love you as well, my Lady.¡± He gave a deflating snort and stared knives at the man who¡¯d tried to convince him not to marry according to his own preference, who¡¯d indirectly supplied the framework to make good on a literal assassination, and nearly succeeded in performing several mission-critical assassinations of character. ¡°Mr. Upswitch. I have but a single rebuttal for you, and it¡¯s something that I unfortunately can only ever do once. Now, as much ire as you deserve for depriving me of my counsel and diarchical companion¡­¡± A little shiver ran from Sebastio¡¯s feet to the mixed hair-and-chains crawling from his scalp. ¡°... you stir only sadness in me. I hope you listen when I urge you to depart, and never look back.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± Hereld replied, balancing with surprising temporary grace on his demolished leg. ¡°I hope you won¡¯t feel too disappointed when-¡± The small red Caladhbolg gemstones placed in Lord Artaxerxes¡¯s flesh flashed. People began moving very quickly for about two seconds as the lights strobed with wild abandon, but pulled up short with the arrival of a new contender. Just as Sebastio lifted his hand that was not a hand, a voice parted the air like a destabilizer construct going through cast iron. A voice that many recognized, and very very few ever heard in person. A voice belonging to one of the best-known enigmas of existence, which most (though actually not all) respected as a near-absolute in creation¡¯s breadth. A voice of danger. A voice of curiosity. A voice belonging to a thing whose creator was one of the better-known Beings of Old. said a recreation of the voice of Gilbert Gottfried, in perfect Rhaagmini. Every suite of perceptive sensors turned outward to the Northwest and slightly upward. Those who did so were rewarded with the sight of a flat-sided outline hovering without a care for gravity or air pressure or the like. It was an outline Louis recognized, and whose owner he¡¯d never before actually met, but a clammy feeling ran over his new and conventionally imperishable flesh at the sight. It was, in short, one thing with which you do not screw around unless you dearly want to be destroyed like very few other things ever get destroyed. The entity called Crippled False was, at least in practical terms, outwardly indistinguishable from a very strange, very broad, legless Rhaagm mannequin. From the bottom-most edges of the checkered cubes emanating from the even-colored globe forming the core of its chassis to the highest part of the hemisphere atop the hexagonal geometry of its head, the entity spanned some three vertical meters. From the extreme of its dangling left arm to the ragged section where a right arm once graced its form, it spanned a little more than four vertical meters. These arbitrary measurements reflected the size and shape which the being chose to adopt in this instance, having no power to place strictures on its characteristics. Its shell, vaguely reminiscent of a humanoid torso, tilted just a bit forward. Shining vibrant tethers of light, binding a sphere-shaped arm termination to four clock-hand digits, flickered and danced. The spilled sparks of its cuboid eyes did not direct their attentive care toward any of the gathering. Fear, or lack thereof, had very little to do with the perfect stillness that descended; it was something almost akin to a highly abstract magical enthrallment. Not one of those watching twitched. Louis wasn¡¯t even sure any of the respiratorily-persuaded ones were breathing, and not because of the physiological changes they had recently received. Crippled False removed itself. Its transition bore a surface similarity to a folding, but without any sign of disturbance at the borders of a fold-delimited space. The other end of the transport put it hovering directly above Hereld. One only had to look at the way the light bent around its chassis - mass amorously clinging to proximate photons, and yet not collapsing the room and citadel and estate into a gravitational singularity - to get a small nervous sense of its potency. In its new position, the creation of the Maker slowly and soundlessly rotated, allotting a narrow salvo of its notice to the watchers. it said, suddenly directing its focus in parabolic lines toward Pennat Gate¡¯s Lord. The last, aimed at Caladhbolg¡¯s integrated form, was said in that kind-of-playful voice which might have made the statement funny under almost any other circumstances, and that made it not funny at all. it asked. It was suddenly the size of one of Sebastio¡¯s fists, hovering directly in front of him, its coiling digits whipping from place to place with no respect for those laws which allow space to be fractionalized. it prodded. ¡°No,¡± replied Louis¡¯s brother. Suddenly, Crippled False flipped around, watching Hereld Upswitch, and Louis wasn¡¯t sure whether the fact that Upswitch¡¯s face looked almost gaunt with its self-evident horror was reason for joy or for terror. said that wide sawtoothed voice, now coming from an entity precisely matching its subject in height. ¡°Stay back!¡± The hissed - nearly whispered - imperative harmonized with Hereld pushing the causality sabotage in the alien being¡¯s direction, as though it would do substantially more or less damage by gaining or losing half a meter of distance. His ruined leg slid with awful indignity across the floor, but coordination had taken a place of no importance in the man¡¯s mind. Judging from the contortions skewing across his face, Hereld was attempting to invoke or trip some manually-operable method of setting off his weapon¡­ and failing. The thought that this living oddity could simply dictate the kind of rule of law which a causality sabotage was by definition intended to break¡­ that would have sufficed to etch the moment forever in Louis¡¯s biological memory, let alone his eidetics. Yet it had come not merely to prevent action, but to perform a boon on behalf of a seeker. said Crippled False. For an instant its fingers stilled. Then, almost too fast to follow, the long strings connecting three of them to their rotund ¡°hand¡± abruptly twisted and stretched out; a triangle of lucent sharpness. One didn¡¯t have to be a genius of intuition to look at it and deduce that through it, Crippled False saw Hereld Upswitch framed by an equilateral glow. The fourth digit flipped down, slicing the triangle apart. Louis felt something, then: a little like his brain getting thrown into shark-infested mental straits and hearing the idea of a surfaced fin changing trajectory. He had an ominous and extremely discomforting intuition that Hereld had thrown defiance in the face of all the powers of heavenly places - and that since he had no intention of willingly going to his eternal judgment, the afterlife would come to him instead. The pseudo-space lying along the edges of the gem¡¯s facets, called the Purple, wasn¡¯t exactly something Louis had really known in his previous life. Even so, he¡¯d recently needed to brush up a fair amount on the salient literature for purely practical purposes, and the place¡¯s properties put it in a camp very comparable to some realms of which he¡¯d heard - realms named Sheol and Gehenna and the like. A country where not even inconstancy was constant. That line of thinking came home with a vengeance as he perceived something which would have been perfectly at home among the forces constituting the Purple¡¯s scouring strange entropy. A semi-sensate tunnel of self-sustaining definitions, having the thickness of a soul and the impetus of a war deity delivering justice, curled into local realization. The tendril flailed with very specific intentions, ¡°looking¡± to all those who witnessed it somewhat like a length of corrugated piping, if the piping¡¯s metal were forged from a repurposed link of the Great Chain of Being. It focused for a very brief moment upon Crippled False, and then for an even briefer moment upon Sebastio. Then it fell down and engulfed dear Mr. Upswitch. What followed was something not to be recounted. When the deed was done, the strange tunnel fled, and rescinded itself as well as every article or effect of Hereld¡¯s. The room went from merely silent to something not nearly so noisy. The passing of dear Mr. Upswitch was not cause for celebration or petty jubilation in Louis¡¯s deepest parts, just relief and slack lukewarm gratitude. Crippled False moved then, to rest upon the once-standing-place of the man who¡¯d given the people of Pennat Gate so many unhappy dreams. It spoke to everyone present - but centrally to the estate¡¯s Lord. Crippled False shook out the digits of its single limb, then compressed and contorted like the making of a pi-dimensional paper boat. ¡°Yes,¡± said the human that the entity addressed, after it left the scene in a lightless flickering transition. echoed his body¡¯s other resident. Sebastio fell to his knees, and broke down into sobs as the people - HIS people - who¡¯d survived what had seemed unsurvivable began approaching him in singles and small clusters. And then Louis knew what coursed through his veins at that moment: a tantric archetype that he¡¯d never experience again in exactly the same way. He moved forward to reassure the twitchy and now oddly vocal Seven, to tell Adz that it had done everything it could, and to hold his weeping brother close. He took his own first step away from being an infrequently-invoked mascot of his brother¡¯s goodness, and toward making the world a better place. It was long ago that he¡¯d begun to associate his brief stay in Bequast, then his brief stay in Rhaagm, and then his life in Yrdky with unique feelings. Uniquely confusing feelings as he tried to get to grips with a world gone mad. Unprecedented rage as he considered all that he had been given in his new life since Paris, and all those who would never receive such largesse. Frustration as he failed to grapple with and subdue any objective perspective on his loss and his gain and his families, both new and old. A little budding rose of comfort, when he looked into the future and saw the people Pennat Gate might help in the days to come, against all the contrarian efforts of Hereld Upswitch and his ilk. But now, there was a stilted and damaged but still recognizable rightness, something that made the tendons and sinews and fat and flesh of his person completely static and unchanging while the rest of existence around him ran amok with flexion and transition. And that something was the realization that he would ever and always be home. Coda The man in front of the podium reached out and plucked the storage brick from the air. Hmmmm¡­ Another chapter in another life. The creation called Malumortis, or Caladhbolg, made waves of considerable size - no matter in what form it strode the pages of history. The vessel who gave it function and direction, the man Artaxerxes, had a most curious tale to tell. As always, the man whose library was a source of endless discovery wondered about this and that and the other. An apeirotope of knowledge. Everything - or almost everything - at hand which one might conceivably know, in any system, any grammar, any formulation, any semiosis. All things in good time, all things digested. Did unlimited knowledge with the restriction of being shared with virtually nobody constitute a responsibility? Was it a penance? Could he think of it as a challenge? He¡¯d been¡­ well, not alive, but in existence for a long time, and gotten no further on that ponderance. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever find its ultimate conclusion. One issue in which he did have answers, though, was Sebastio Artaxerxes. The man who was a Being of Old turned from the podium and the storage brick and beckoned. From the depths of his library, more books shuddered, rushing toward their caretaker in blobs and waves. Several minutes later, a sea of literature came up to his waist. Upon every such volume was the invisible stamp of its membership in his library, but that was not the most salient similarity. No, that had to be the fact that every one of the thousands of tomes vying for his attention contained tales of a curious Lord of Yrdky and his history. He had a sneaking suspicion he¡¯d be reading more of Sebastio as time went by. Doubting Thomas, they called him, thinking him so cynical and jaded he couldn¡¯t bear to exist outside his library. Well, not entirely wrong, perhaps. Very far from right. And speaking of Thomas and his talents and one interesting young Cambrian human¡­ ¡°Why, hello, my friend,¡± said the Maker, practically flouncing toward him from around a shelf with glee. That artificial feline companion of his trotted along at his heels. A cat in appearance, a dog in temperament, a not-precisely-engineered-deity in nature. Both slowly clambered onto the raft of scripture, walking across a little papery pond to within what any adolescent human would call spitting distance. As soon as the little thing¡¯s master stopped walking, Clive began smoothly striding up one of his legs, his abdomen, his back, and settled itself on the other Old¡¯s shoulder. No use of claws or teeth was in evidence. ¡°I want to thank you again, for the assistance in getting to young Mr. Artaxerxes in time to give him warning.¡± The Maker sounded¡­ humble. If Thomas had ever harbored an inclination to wagering, that tone of voice probably would have spelled numismatic disaster. ¡°Indeed?¡± he asked, sparing the more elevated man a glance. ¡°Absolutely. Can¡¯t be utterly certain, but I¡¯m pretty sure Dice, or maybe that cretin Poacher, is going to be lying in wait for him in the Purple for quite a while to come. I¡¯ll be honest: disregarding the obvious reasons for keeping him out of their clutches, the thought of the Despised gathering dust in vain like that tickles me far beyond pink.¡± That mask-white face split to show a mask-white smile. ¡°So, on to tendering payment. What would you like in return?¡± Thomas gave it careful consideration. He sniffed, taking a quick three-step around in a circle, looking over the Library¡¯s unending files and ranks. ¡°I¡­ would like you to develop a heuristic to get a particular sorting applied to an arbitrary set within constant time. Specifically, an arbitrary set that complies with fuzzy logic determinations of whether the set¡¯s members are in a second, dynamic set.¡± The Maker¡¯s eyes glinted for a second, after widening for a second, which followed a second of hard-indrawn breath. ¡°Oh, oh, oh.¡± He looked upward, the cat mewing with a slightly-too-low register, and watched the flux and order of texts as they migrated in and out and around through the Library¡¯s higher layers. ¡°Oooooh, you have hit on a good one,¡± he half-chuckled a moment later, turning aside from Thomas, step-step-stepping across the pages and pages of earthworks. ¡°Constant time.¡± He stopped, corrugating brow aimed at the Library¡¯s keeper, and hopped a couple of times to bring himself to face Thomas again. ¡°What type of sorting?¡± he asked. ¡°There¡¯ll be problems if it¡¯s the kind that needs more than two networked oracles, assuming the end product is supposed to be isomorphic to¡­¡± He stopped as he watched Thomas¡¯s expression, and smiled. It wasn¡¯t an apologetic smile in the least. ¡°Ah. I won¡¯t concern you with that depth of detail. I assume the sorting in question should take place over an arbitrary number and classification of dimensions?¡± Thomas gave his assent. ¡°A challenge, that will be! Constant time. CONSTANT time.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The Maker looked like he wanted to ask another huge favor of Thomas just so he could get another, equally rigorous task out of the bargain. He refrained from any unseemly glee beyond muttering under his breath with a moderately broad smile, though, so the Librarian decided he would keep for the time being. ¡°I can¡¯t give you a firm delivery for completion,¡± the Maker said a moment later, trotting carefully backward down the pale multimedia wave, scratching the cat¡¯s head as he did so. ¡°Even so, it¡¯s a bargain, and no lie. If you do want a bit more into the deal for your contributions, though¡­¡± Thomas mentally tallied up a ¡°still owes slight excess for teleoneiric favors¡± on his records of debts, and waved it off. ¡°Nothing for the moment,¡± he said. ¡°Okay,¡± said the Maker. His mouth crinkled. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to take a stab at that challenge with the Device.¡± He took another half-step before adopting an uncomfortable expression. ¡°Oh, and by the by - you¡¯ve got some¡­ ill company.¡± ¡°Ill company? I assure you that no spiny monstrosity is visiting at this time. If it were, I would¡¯ve known, and ejected it.¡± ¡°Not that Crooked Canker, or even our dear West, but ill enough company if you¡¯re not a welcoming type,¡± the Maker responded. ¡°The sort that tends to have a very definite image of what is and is not proper, and goes about fixing the latter with a passion¡­ and who you won¡¯t notice unless they feel like letting you.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Those three. Not friendly, or relatable - even as much as, say, the Oiler was relatable - but completely devoid of artifice, and reliable in their tendencies to keep things brief. ¡°... I appreciate it,¡± the Librarian muttered, reaching out to order a very specific set of seventy four books. The Maker snorted, and tapped the side of his head. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me. They asked me to announce them, literally the instant that I spoke up just now.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± said Thomas, very differently this time. ¡°Why, precisely, would they want announcing? Why ask you to do it?¡± ¡°Thomas. Do you THINK the Archaea tell me anything?¡± The Maker gave an obsidian chuckle. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they didn¡¯t tell me that you needed to prepare yourself for destruction.¡± And then he stepped out without another word. Thomas sighed, and then sighed more deeply before cracking a glance at the ¡°company¡± he¡¯d accrued. All three entities stood with bodies of homogeneous identical colors, appearing either black or white. It was impossible to discern which, if any, applied on a moment-to-moment basis. Each bore a helmet or mask or visor or somesuch, vaguely done in the likeness of their respective Earth Standard namesakes¡¯ features. Their appearances, though, hardly mattered. The Archaea didn¡¯t simply visit. No, they only sparingly doled out their presence. Why they were so stingy with their manifestations was anyone¡¯s guess. It wasn¡¯t like they didn¡¯t have enough time. Thomas the Librarian turned and considered the Asynchronous Swan, the Mantis, and the Oracular Fox, all standing around as though they were shopping patiently in a market, and awaited his attention so they might buy some bread. Three creatures who had been neither born nor made; at least, not in the sense that many understood the essentials of creation. They weren¡¯t Beings of Old - they were something older even than most of those. They didn¡¯t come out of their seclusion particularly often, and when they did it was a notable occurrence without exception. ¡°You plan to document the successes and failures and stories of the holder of Caladhbolg,¡± said the Swan. ¡°You plan to array the full breadth of his years in their totality,¡± said the Mantis. ¡°You plan to concatenate these in the name of enriching your other records,¡± said the Fox. All three voices were stamped from the same negative. Perhaps they shared other characteristics on a very intimate basis - very few might know, and Thomas hadn¡¯t yet found the curiosity unbearable enough to pursue. ¡°I do,¡± said the Librarian, though he knew not why. They weren¡¯t asking questions. They certainly weren¡¯t the kinds of beings who required rhetoric acknowledgements. ¡°Do not.¡± The imperative came from all three. It did something to the Being of Old which had happened to him at most a score of times since his return to not-quite-life: it frightened him. ¡°Could you give me further detail?¡± he requested, glancing from one hidden face to the next. ¡°Some small peek at your top-down perspective?¡± ¡°If you persist in this wanton description, then things fall apart.¡± The Mantis sounded quite sad. ¡°The act of recording shall influence other records,¡± stated the Fox. ¡°However, refrain from documentation of this indicated day, and this grief shall pass by the world¡¯s threshold.¡± As the Swan spoke, an arm lifted. From the seething masses of text, a single page from a single book rose, and flashed with the color of a starless night. It hovered toward Thomas, and slipped firmly into one outstretched hand. For a single breath, a shorthand representation of a date flickered across its surface. ¡°I see,¡± said Thomas, frowning with contemplation. ¡°Or rather, I don¡¯t.¡± His palm played over the records, tapping here and there. To his hand came the Master Stylus, annotating the document. He found the implied beginning of the specified date. He found its implied end. As befit the instructions, no mention of the actual occurrences within that date¡¯s bounds happened to appear. It was but one span of sixteen extrafacetary hours, start to finish. Many more came before its advent; it was followed by legions of its kind. But the progressions of events that it separated were¡­ phenomenal. ¡°Oh, but you three must insist on throwing the very most interesting parts of life out of bounds,¡± the Old muttered. He looked up at where the Fox practically stepped on his arm, quirking his lips. The vulpine mask of the entity gave him no tell by which to gauge the Fox¡¯s composure. However, considering that the Archaea seemed to possess no composure in any case, that hardly disturbed him. ¡°I¡¯ll agree to your terms,¡± said the man. ¡°I¡¯d ask for assurances that your designs will bring benefit about.¡± Thomas gave a sigh. ¡°Of course, when talking to proponents such as yourselves, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s genuine cause for worry.¡± The Being of Old tossed the document into the air, then lashed out with the Master Stylus as though it were a saber. A score of lines split its hale skin, leaving the words that he¡¯d delimited legible and utterly dead. It fluttered back to his hand, as he scanned the sheet with moderate annoyance. ¡°Alright.¡± Thomas looked up. ¡°Anything else?¡± he asked. ¡°No,¡± replied all three in unison. And then the three questionably-people people left his Library without one more word. Well, thought Thomas, scowling at the now-empty air. On the one hand, he felt short-changed. On the other hand, nobody had unambiguously declared that he¡¯d never existed and would indeed fail to ever exist in any future, and subsequently sewn up reality around the gaping vein of his absence. What measure blessing? Well, maybe that. That, and books. Thomas continued taking notes. Sebastio Artaxerxes never fled his mind, since nothing ever truly did, but the Lord moved to a place of tertiary importance. There was a storage brick filled with references to other storage bricks, referencing yet more storage bricks, that Thomas needed to get around to re-cataloguing. The Old didn¡¯t hum, but his face twitched with milquetoast pleasure as he plucked a swath of paper from the air on its way to his hand. Infinite writing, unlimited work to do. Best be about it.