To say the Auric Wind made landfall would only be halfway correct. Surface area was an extremely limited commodity on Filigree, even more so at the world’s capitol island. Instead of dedicating massive swathes of land to serve as glorified parking lots on a world covered ninety-eight percent in water, the locals married complex engineering with the straightforward and timeless idea of a coastal water-bound dock.
When the Auric neared the planet’s surface a pair of atmospheric interceptor craft raced up to meet it. After a brief exchange of sign and counter sign over low-net, the interceptors served as guides for the mile long ship as it came to hover over a patch of open sea a ways out from shore. As the massive vessel drew nearer to the water it slowed to a near stop around two thousand feet up to keep the great blade beneath it from dipping into the waters. Below the water churned and frothed as rust colored metal platforms rose up from the sea floor.
The tallest of these was a hollow rectangular pillar rounded at its edges positioned roughly below the great blade. During the ship’s slow landing descent it served as a housing for the great blade, keeping it safe from the water that rose to surround it. Other towers were topped with articulated pads of something similar to rubber that compressed and adjusted to the Auric’s hull as they came to embrace it. Purple light radiated from the ship’s underbelly as anti-grav plates both on the ship and in the top of the tower-docks worked to offset the vessel’s tremendous weight.
Hundreds of small maneuvering jets fired all across the outer hull of the Torchbearer flagship as it descended into Filigree’s waiting arms. Slowly, as the ship powered down its engines and let the dock platforms bear its weight, the towers sunk back into the sea and lowered the ship they held aloft partially into the water. When the lower half of the ship was submerged the towers ceased their descent and the last of the vessel’s thrusters ceased to burn.
Water hissed against the ship, boiling away as the heat from re-entry vented into the tide. Still a ways off from shore the maw like drop door at the Auric Wind’s front fell open in a splash of brine and steam. The edge of the ramp deployed a lining of inflatable flotation devices on contact with the water, keeping it from sinking into the surf. Admiral Hembrandt stood proud facing out from the ship toward land. Guards and dozens of EVA suit marines stood rigid alongside him. Their uniforms and armor were no longer the blue and green standard of House Caldion. They now wore a combination of black and gold that torchbearers of old once proudly bore on all their equipment and heraldry.
Hembrandt’s own attire reflected the change as well. Gone was the cape and epaulets of his House Caldion career. Instead he wore his own unique set of EVA armor, one much sleeker and more advanced than that of his marine and guard counterparts. His helmet was clipped to his hip and the symbols for his rank were etched in gold on his chest and shoulders. Out on the water between the ship’s yawning entrance and the shoreline a ferry boat trundled toward the new arrivals. It’s mismatched hull reflected sunlight in odd and irregular patterns, the result of bits and pieces of various different vehicles having been hastily stitched together. In some places it was painted, in others polished to a mirror finish, and in yet others rust ate at it so thoroughly it was a wonder it stayed afloat at all.
Voy and Elara joined the group waiting in the Auric Wind’s entrance bay just as the franken-boat stopped at the edge of the ramp. Water sloshed up and into the opening of the ship as the ferry banged against the floating drop door. Hembrandt’s humorless expression soured as seawater washed over his boots. The two kartorim strode up to flank the admiral on either side, offering one another reassuring glances before turning to face the ferry boat as it disgorged it’s occupants. It wasn’t a very complex craft, less a boat and more a floating garage with an engine tacked onto the rear, but it had ample space to take on everyone standing in the entry bay.
It arrived mostly empty, carrying only three occupants. The first was an official looking woman somewhere in her forties with short hair, a screenslab, and formal attire that looked as though it had been in service longer than she’d been alive. Her skin tone was a tad darker than anyone he’d seen on Treffel, which Voy chalked up to the radiant sun that hung in the sky just outside. Flanking her at either side were two figured wearing black, bulky, and possibly powered armor over the full breadth of their bodies. Their footsteps had a thudding quality that implied a greater density than normal humans of their size. Both men stood around seven feet tall, squarely between the heights of Elara and Voy.
The official looking woman approached the admiral with a smile and an outstretched hand but her immediate words escaped Voy’s attention. Since boarding the two armored giants had not stopped passing their glances between him and Elara, doubtlessly sizing the two up over a secure low-net channel. Voy could hear the static clicks of their helmet’s internal radio’s working to encode the chatter between them. They were not kartorim, that much was clear. The bulky armor they wore was entirely fabricated and every move they made came with subtle whirs and clanks. They lacked the vibrosword and flared pavis equipment typical of kartorim, and the rifles they carried suggested they didn’t have any internal weaponry to speak of.
Behind the emotionless visors on their angular helmets Voy knew experienced warriors were discussing how they’d deal with him and Elara if the need arose. Both of the filigrean soldiers decorated their armor with streaks of white paint. There were words in a language Voy didn’t recognize and swirling patterns evoking the ocean, the stars, great monsters, and battles on distant worlds. The depictions were different on both of the filigreans, their stories and accolades immortalized on the armor they wore.
A twine cord necklace hung from each of their necks. The one standing in front of Voy strung his with and assortment of sharp, pointed teeth from a multitude of unique creatures. A similar necklace hung from the neck of his partner, though instead of teeth it was strung with spent shell casings from a plethora of different firearms.
Their armor itself was bulky and mechanically fitted rather than the streamlined bio-mimicry of kartorim carapace. Voy could not tell if it was itself a powered exoskeleton or if the men wearing it were simply stout enough to move the hundreds of pounds the plate surely weighed by their own strength. Based on the fluidity of their movement walking up from the boat, an unpowered suit would make these individuals less men and more rhinos with the privilege of an upright posture.
The one with the tooth neck-cord made ‘eye contact’ with Voy, insofar as an opaque visor can allow. He gave a respectful nod before he and the bullet neck-cord man relaxed their postures and began to let their attention wander around the room before settling on Hembrandt and the woman they arrived accompanied. Voy took it to be an unspoken peace-offering and did the same, mentally tuning in to the conversation at his left partway through.
“...and we’d be delighted to meet with him straight away. Time is of the essence. We are being pursued as I’m sure the raikon is already aware,” Hembrandt had once again donned his jovial, charismatic mask. The short haired woman smiled and typed something into her screenslab, which Voy found odd. As much as it was possible paper documents with hand written segments were used in Thurgia as a fail-safe against low-net compromise, it was bizarre to see a someone so trusting of the digital.
“Of course admiral. The raikon understands the urgency of the situation and awaits you in his throne room now,” she finished typing and the arm holding up her screenslab fall to her side. It was only the second time he was mentioned that Voy caught it, but when either Hembrandt or the diplomat mentioned ‘the raikon’ both of the armored men adjacent to the filigrean official were visually… disgusted? Bullet-cord shook his head side to side and scoffed beneath his helmet, a sound that was muffled enough Voy was sure only he and Elara could have heard it. Tooth-cord flicked his head down like he was spitting on the ground, and act naturally obstructed by his helmet. It wasn’t clear to Voy if he’d merely mimed the act or if he actually spit on the inside of his helmet.
Voy’s focus shifted back to the admiral as he stepped off with the local diplomat. He beckoned for his guards and the kartorim to follow. Just as he did a loud cry rang out from behind them, freezing everyone in their tracks. The local warriors responded with lightning quick motion. Together they snapped their blocky rifles up and against their shoulders and leveled toward the noise. Voy and Elara remained motionless, they knew the voice.
“Wait! Don’t leave, I’m coming too!” Undahiil’s metallic speaker voice shouted over the assembled marines, dignitaries, and super-humans. He had long since finished his trim down process, and aside from being quite a bit taller than average he looked nearly unassuming under a brown leather cloak. He had gone back to some assemblage of the piston-pins waling scheme and he seemed to glide across the floor rather than take steps. His flowing locomotion joined with a chorus of clicks and dings as asymmetrical legs drove him forward.
His face was still minimally expressive, but did have the tiniest notion of proto-panic forming on his mostly rigid face. His eyes were still the six green lenses from before. Thankfully his tone made up for his lack of physical expression. The Jeremayne sounded out of breath, which meant something for a man who’d replaced his lungs with continuous flow filter pumps. Voy and Elara both laughed to themselves as their mechanical friend made his less than flattering entrance.
“Stand down, he’s mine,” Hembrandt diffused the tension felt by the filigreans, “this is my technical expert and chief of engineering, Undahiil Dantos.” The overbuild men lowered their rifles but kept their focus squarely on the new arrival. Only once the diplomat they’d accompanied told them it was fine did they return to a state of semi-calm. Undahiil graciously bowed and the group resumed boarding the ferry.
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Voy, Elara, and Undahiil walked together at the rear of the group and were the last to board. The boat rocked uneasily as they stepped on. Each of the three remained upright on the wobbling boat thanks to their enhanced balance, but Hembrandt and his guards all took several moments to adjust their gait to the unstable footing. The boat rocked most fiercely when either of the two local warriors moved, their heavy steps kept them sure footed but were clearly more than the rickety ferry was designed to accommodate.
“Charming bunch, these fellows,” Undahiil spoke to the kartorim over their low-net. Two dexfils had worked out from under his cloak and were watching the directions he was not facing with green camera lenses. One studied Hembrandt and his conversation with the diplomat at the other side of the ferry craft, the other trained itself on the armored soldiers. Undahiil himself faced out to sea. Voy and Elara stood side by side near him, both watching the filigreans in less subtle a manner.
“What do you think they are?” Voy asked as his gaze was met by the one with the tooth neck-cord.
“I can just go ask them if you want,” Elara offered as an answer. With a choked grumble the combustion engine fixed to the back of the ferry shook back to life. Water churned and the ramshackle craft began to drift away from the Auric Wind. The ramp door on board began to rise from the sea as they pulled off, closing the ship up. The marines assembled on the other side held their positions on the other side until the door sealed them inside. Voy guessed the diplomat had convinced or threatened Hembrandt into not bringing them, the ferry was certainly big enough to hold them if they’d come aboard.
Voy turned to the Auric as it receded away behind them. An awful sense of finality settled over him as the ship’s ramp door closed. Beside him a pair of heavy footsteps joined him at his left. The warrior with the teeth strung around his neck. His helmet speaker crackled and for the first time he spoke so Voy could hear.
“Homesick already?” There was levity in his tone at odds with his primal visage. He slapped the side of his rifle against his thigh, sticking it there with a clamp that was built into the armor. The weapon collapsed as he did so, it’s barrel slid into it’s body and it’s stock collapsed into the receiver.
“Something like that,” Voy shook loose the clasp of sentimentality and offered a handshake to the local, “I’m Voy.” Tooth-cord met his offer with an enthusiastic handshake of his own. It was a sudden death grip of a gesture, a normal man’s hand would have crunched and shattered under the force his grip. Voy scarcely tightened his own in time to prevent feeling a measure of pain himself. For a moment the two stood and waged silent competition within the guise of a greeting. At last, with a bit more effort put in the filigrean relented and slacked his hand. Voy let it go with a self satisfied smile beneath his face plate.
“Definitely a ‘rim,” he cursed as he shook out his hand, “name’s Niho. My counterpart of there is Mata.” Voy looked over at Elara and saw bullet-cord having a similar conversation with her. Niho let his hand fall to his side, still flexing away the pain in his fingers. He nudged his chin in the air toward Voy’s metal arm. “That thing a bionic or part of your shell-stuff?” Voy lifted up his hand and looked into his palm.
“It’s a bionic. Just got it put in a few weeks ago actually,” Voy said without catching himself. He’d been so caught up in seeming friendly it hadn’t occurred to him this ‘Niho’ might well be fishing for information, weaknesses to exploit, and Voy just slipped and gave him something valuable indeed. Niho cocked his head a bit at the answer but didn’t say anything more.
“If you’ll excuse my ignorance a moment,” Voy shifted the subject, “what are you? You can’t be kartorim but there no way someone built like you is just a human right?” Niho scoffed, performing the same spitting motion with his head as before. Voy once again could not tell if he actually spat or just mimed the act.
“Just a human he says,” Niho inhaled sharply, “We’ve had a few names over the centuries. These days most call us ‘Pit Sharks’,” he hung on the delivery of the title as though recognition were inevitable. Voy waited for him to continue without any hint of it. “You know, genetically enhanced warriors of the Buffer? Heroes for hire? Baddest fighters you can get without access to magic rocks?” he stopped again, aghast that Voy didn’t have any reaction to what he was saying. “You’ve never been out to the Buffer have you?” Voy shrugged and shook his head.
“Until a few weeks ago the Buffer may as well have been another universe to me,” Voy silently chastised himself again. Damn all this subterfuge, why did he have to assume risk with a normal conversation? Niho let out a whistle in surprise.
“Then let me be the first to personally welcome you to one of the ‘crown jewels’ of the Buffer,” Niho laughed at the words ‘crown jewel’, “the Iyallat and Tellurat don’t exist out here. Keep your head down and try to contain that zeal you all have for the big red guy. He’s barely a myth outside your borders.” Before Voy could ask for further explanation the ferry blasted it’s foghorn, drowning out the conversations onboard.
All on the ferry turned to face the front of the boat where the ‘shed’ door opened toward the city. They were slowing as the ferry reached the dock. Workers in tattered and mismatched overalls tossed out ropes and guided the rickety boat in until the desk was flush with the wooden dock, or at least what counted for a dock. Wood was evidently scarce, and much of the dock’s substance was little more than spongy, rotted boards held together with years of rope and scrap rod reinforcement to keep it above water. Some sections failed even then and floated on the surface, tethered to more solid sections with algae-coated ropes. Without another word Niho left with Mata and rejoined their charge at the front of the boat. Both unclamped their rifles from their legs, extending the weapons back to full size as they did so.
Elara and Voy joined back up with Undahiil. The Jeremayne had the slightest twist in his lips, the closest thing he could show to a smile.
“Great work, both of you,” his dexfils pulled back beneath his cloak and he offered both of them fist bumps. They each met his gesture as they started to join up with the others.
“You got in?” Elara asked eagerly. Undahiil’s micro-grin became just a bit larger.
“I’m almost insulted you had any doubt. Transferring the relevant data now,” the kartorim kept the pit sharks distracted while Undahiil used tight-beam light connection from his dexfils to break into the local low net network. The sharks got some intel from Voy’s tongue slips, and the torchbearers got unmitigated access to every layer of their communications. All it took was keeping the sharks from looking at Undahiil while he worked.
The frequencies and encryption keys for their low-net seated themselves into Voy’s mind as Undahiil transmitted them to his own comm suite. Once the transfer was complete he looked to the bottom right of his vision and saw the green blip indicating Elara’s status. Their hand-holding in the elevator had served two purposes. Had she rebuffed him then it would have only served one; checking to see if he’d figured out the comm-link think Samuine had done weeks prior.
“Elara, is there a blip in the corner of your vision?” Voy asked, speaking through the high-net link they now shared.
“Yea… how’d you do that?” she asked, before realization struck her, “ah, the elevator. I thought that was something else,” she teased. The trio stepped off the boat and onto the docks. There were dozens of similarly shoddy water vehicles in and around the docks. Function over form wasn’t a choice here, it was the rule. Most vessels sported a unique rigging of nets and cages for fishing. The majority were empty save for the few coming in from sea weighed down by their day’s catch. Everything from fish, to tentacled blobs and rocky shelled creatures filled stalls along the dock as fishing crews shouted over one another in a battle to sell off their day’s catch.
A veritable tide of people swarmed around them, but most begged or offered trades rather than outright purchasing anything brought in from the sea. The shore had been overtaken by stone and sheet metal, the docks were built out from the detritus of the past the houses that clustered nearby were little better. Abodes built from scavenged wrecks were pressed and stacked over one another as far out as the water itself, with the houses furthest out either propped above the water on hasty built stilts of dipping partially into the surf as the tide came in.
Voy knew the Buffer was worse off than Thurgia. It was a logical assumption. The realm existed as a barrier zone between Thurgia controlled space and the wilderness governed by the Pantheon. Thurgia claimed partial rule, enough to come to it’s defense on occasion, but it was a place that loathed to be ruled and offered little in return for taming it. It was accepted as fact that the standard of living on worlds in the region was generally lower.
Voy had been spared any direct view of it in his upbringing. It was one thing to know a place was miserable, it was an entirely different beast to walk into a capitol city that looked as though it manifested from a world sized landfill. Not one local looked healthy, if they weren’t malnourished they were bowed and misshapen from years of hard labor. The air reeked of rotted fish and unwashed bodies as they walked of the docks and onto the cobbled streets of the mainland.
Nothing in Voy’s vision remained save the ominous mountain in the distance, and even it’s foreboding splendor was stripped from it. Time had worn it until it was simply a large rock, but it had once been a monument to… something. Voy knew the command protocols he carried would supposedly raise an army of machines from within, but why such a thing existed in the first place was a question he lacked an answer to.
The crowds of people on the mainland quickly descended on the clean, well dressed newcomers. Pleas for alms bombarded them while pickpockets moved quickly to pluck anything of value. Voy pulled the utility strap he wore outside his carapace off and wound it around his fist to keep it safe. The Pit Sharks bellowed commands in local filigrean tongue, and immediately the swarm of people parted away from them and the delegation. Hembrandt’s cheery mask had slipped some and he scowled at the tides of people around him. His nose wrinkled at the smell of salt from sweat and sea that surrounded him.
Every step forward tore at Voy. This level of dysfunction went beyond personal failing, he’d seen worlds managed far better execute their leaders over mismanagement and corruption. If this reeking, impoverished mess was all the raikon could manage with one world under his banner… anger burned in Voy’s chest. He thought of Thurgia’s many worlds descending into similar decay.
Ahead, on a street more smoothly paved and less clogged with foot traffic two armored trucks waited with additional pit sharks standing guard. They nodded to Niho as he approached, and the new pit sharks took over and walked with Hembrandt, his guards, and the filigrean diplomat to the vehicle in the front. Niho and Mata cam back to Voy, Elara, and Undahiil and escorted them into the second vehicle.
The inside of the brick like truck had been built up to accommodate the bulk of the pit sharks and as a consequence was just spacious enough for Elara and Voy. Undahiil seemed to compress down a bit when he clambered inside, making more efficient use of the room available. Niho and Mata hopped up after them and shut the doors behind them. With another throaty gurgle the truck’s engine fired and rolled away from the docks. The walls of the cabin shimmered and became transparent, though tinted slightly, allowing those inside to watch the streets pass by.
“We’ll be on the road for thirty minutes. There is an undersea tunnel that takes us to redoubt island, Bascimus awaits you there,” Niho spoke through his helmet’s speaker. Outside they drove past a statue seated in the middle of an intersection with a large, bold lettered plaque that read ‘Our Champion’. The figure immortalized in black stone was a kartorim Voy didn’t recognize striking a triumphant pose with one leg raised to step on a boulder. He had crown aerials on his helm, two horn like fixtures that bent down and curled over themselves once before pointing roughly where his mouth would be.
Voy eyed it until it was out of view. His heart beat just a little faster. In thirty minutes the monster that stalked in his dreams and daydreams might greet him in the flesh. A second green blip appeared at the corner of his vision. The Merriment had arrived. Voy looked at Elara sitting across from him. She was lost in her own thoughts, looking out the window just behind him.
He could send the go-ahead call to Samuine. In mere minutes drop ships would hurtle down and drop troops to intercept the armored trucks. There would never be a better chance than now. Voy thought about the projection, about the risk all humanity faced. Samuine would have to wait for his victory. Until Voy found a way to stop the Apoctillon and keep those he cared about alive and free, the Merriment could wait in orbit.
Samuine would understand, he had people he cared about too. He would have to understand.
There was no alternative.
