by P. R. Adams
“Doesn’t mean he won’t spit teeth when he pushes me too far.”
“If we find a place to spend the night, I’ll play you in a game of Crown.”
That brought a smile to the heavy weapons expert’s face. “Deal.” He cradled his autocannon and jogged after the sergeant.
The big tweak was a bundle of contradictions: quick to anger but empathic; violent but caring; simple but intrigued by intellectual pursuits. It was what made him so difficult to lead, but also what made the effort worthwhile.
When the rest of the squad arrived, Riyun had them wait until Tarlayn and the drone reached them. “There’s a huge pit of some sort between us and Garelan.”
Tarlayn straightened. “The old quarry.”
“Is it safe?”
“Long abandoned. Years ago, they began mining the area for copper, but people died. There are better mines in the Kramirya Mountains.”
“Well, there’s smoke rising from the city. It could still stand—”
“It doesn’t.”
Symbra turned a pinched face to Riyun. “Do we really need to go there, then?”
The old wizard sighed. “We have to know if anything survived.”
“But if it’s just his tower, and he’s not there—”
“There was more to Garelan than Meriscoya’s tower. And it’s beyond, not within.”
Sapphire energy flashed across the runes on Alush’s metallic skin. “Our journey carries us into the ruins. Troubles and death await and cannot be avoided.”
Did the machine suddenly believe in its prophecies again? Riyun kicked at the dirt. “All right, we head for the city. I’ve already sent the others on to check the pit—the quarry. Let’s catch up to them.”
Tarlayn and the drone followed in silence, and Symbra drifted out a respectable distance, leaving the hacker and pseudo to march with the lieutenant.
After a few minutes, Quil looked up. “You have a question.”
Riyun chuckled. “I’m pretty easy to figure out, I guess.”
“You tend not to spend much time with us absent questions.”
“Is that so? I’ll need to work on that. Maybe it’s because you two seem to stay out of trouble when you’re left alone.”
An ephemeral smile touched Naru’s lips and was gone. She seemed to be coming around after Tawod’s death, but Riyun had heard her crying a few times during the night. She and the explosives expert had been—
It wasn’t Riyun’s place to make assumptions. He didn’t trust himself for even something as simple as that now. Was his imagination running wild over what he’d seen in the stream, or was it real? He needed to talk to Javika. “What do you two think about our prophet?”
Surprisingly, it was the hacker who cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the trailing locals. “Is he still in there?”
“I’m pretty sure he is. I’ve caught him and Tarlayn chatting when no one else is around.”
“Chatting?” Naru shook her head. “I haven’t heard him say a thing.”
“I think she does most of the talking. The point is, he went from being the pretentious blabbermouth to keeping to himself. You two are my experts on these games and history and mythology. Talk to me. What’s going on? Is this normal?”
Quil pursed his lips. “Normal? I cannot recall a legend or myth where a prophet returned in a drone.”
The hacker nodded. “I can’t recall a game where something like that happened.”
“Hm.” The pseudo pinched his bottom lip. “There is, however, a common theme of a wizard or a leader or a religious figure losing faith.”
“Well, sure.” Naru looked over her shoulder again. “That’s about as common as someone falling from grace and seeking redemption. Those are about the same, really.”
The pseudo’s mouth twisted in a frown. “The boundaries separating literary devices are of little consequence. I’m not sure whether they are sufficiently different to even discuss. What seems more important is the definition of their roles.”
Riyun held up a hand. “Wait. Roles? What’s that even mean?”
“In all fiction, the variety of characters play a role. Games, legends, videos—all of it.”
Naru bit her lip. “He’s right. We were seeing them as literally what they presented as: the master turning to face a corrupted student, and the cipher that would pass along wisdom. Maybe we got that all wrong.”
Quil squinted. “Except, we still see them as mere plot elements in Wholesale Fantasy.” He seemed to almost cringe at that. “They are more than that. It is possible that we have been unfair in assessing every aspect not only of them, but of this entire scenario we find ourselves in.”
Riyun groaned. “I need you to tell me what you think is going on. Is this still tracking to the old stories from mythology and these games?”
Boots scuffed behind him, and he realized that Symbra had drawn closer without announcing herself. She flashed an embarrassed grin. “Sorry. I wasn’t eavesdropping—”
Riyun arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t?”
The Onath sighed. “I was, but I didn’t intend it to be rude. I wanted to hear how you were…”
Leading, he realized. He’d caught her doing it a few times now, and it had taken him until this moment to put together what she was doing: paying attention. Listening. Learning. It was the sort of thing Hirvok should be doing, but the sergeant was plagued by too much ego.
Riyun waved her closer. “I’m afraid you’ll probably be bored to tears.”
Symbra squeezed in next to him, blocking out Quil. “Actually, what you’re talking about is really interesting. To me, at least.”
“This was part of the education you got growing up—mythology and such?”
“You don’t have to make it sound like it’s useless.”
“For someone who has to focus on planting the right crops and erecting the right buildings, figuring the weather and rehabilitating the soil, it’s hard to worry about anything other than the specific concerns of the day.”
The young woman’s face flushed. “I understand you had a hard life growing up, but that doesn’t mean you have a right to diminish mine.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you do it all the time. The way you treat me like someone who’s never had to work for anything—”
Riyun bowed his head. “I think when you consider the differences in our upbringing—”
“But that’s it, don’t you see? The differences aren’t what you think.”
“I think we need to get back to the point. We’re trying to figure out whether or not the behavior—”
“Please don’t cut me off like that. I’m trying to help. I’m trying to explain how what you’re saying isn’t quite right.”
Quil’s eyes widened. “About mythology and the structure of stories and—”
Now it was Symbra who held up a hand, silencing the pseudo and hacker. “All of it. I mean, the details of some of what you’re talking about.”
“Such as?”
“Such as you’re getting your mythology from seriously watered-down derivations.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not drawn from the true source material. I’m not an expert, but I was exposed to enough of the old teachings to know that your take isn’t based on the stories in their original form.”
“The particulars of storytelling have obviously undergone change over the centuries.”
“Sure. But you’re trying to squeeze modern teachings onto things that don’t quite match.”
It seemed to Riyun that Symbra was quibbling over minor details, but the way Naru chewed on her lip and Quil tilted his head in curiosity said there might be value in the Onath’s words. Still, Riyun thought it might be a good time to hurry ahead and speak to…anyone.
Anyone who had a history that was even remotely like his.
He realized Symbra was glaring at him. “What? Was I cutting you off again?”
“You weren’t l
istening to me. You were staring off into the distance.”
“I was keeping my eye on the rest of the squad.”
“You’re shutting me out because you don’t value me, because you think I’ve lived a spoiled life as a Silver, and there’s no way one of my people could ever understand yours.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. Not more than the three or four times you already have said it.”
Riyun shrugged. “It’s true. Our life experiences are nothing alike.”
Symbra stomped her foot. “Stop saying that! You have no idea what I went through. You make assumptions based on nothing but the fact that I grew up in the Inner Sphere. That doesn’t mean I come from money. It doesn’t mean I never faced a challenge in my life. It doesn’t mean I can’t understand what it is to struggle. I had to prove myself every step of the way, just like you.”
“Not just like me. Our struggles were nothing alike.”
“They were a lot closer than you think, but it’s easier to just lump me in with the people who were born into wealth and ease. And you’re wrong doing it. And if you’ll listen to me, you’ll understand why it matters.” There was heat in her voice and cheeks.
“All right.” Riyun met her gaze. Maybe he had been a little too quick to dismiss her. “Go on.”
“The reason this matters is because Beraga is basing his story—” Symbra pointed to the distant smoke columns. “—and his premises on the same concepts as Naru and Quil.”
“Because Beraga isn’t an Onath?”
“Yes. Not because that’s something bad, but because he came up through the same education system. His understanding is like theirs.”
“You sure do seem to make it sound bad for it not being bad.”
The young woman rolled her eyes. “You are not listening. You’re asking these two to answer questions based on their understanding of ancient legends and mythology. What they know is the same teachings Beraga grew up with, the same teachings ninety percent of the Outer Sphere knows.”
Riyun tried—really tried—to understand her point but couldn’t. “What’s wrong with using common knowledge?”
“Have you ever played the game called ‘Communicator’?”
“I don’t play games.”
“Obviously. But in your school? When you were a kid?”
“Our school taught us about agriculture and geology and chemistry and meteorology.”
“Fine.” Symbra rubbed her brow. “In ‘Communicator,’ the teacher whispers a message into one kid’s ear, then that kid whispers the message into the next kid’s ear, and on and on until the last kid comes back to the teacher and repeats the message they heard. Every time, the message has changed to the point that it isn’t recognizable.”
That made sense. Riyun had run into the exact same thing in the field. Company-strength forces entrenched and armed with fire support turned out to be nothing more than a broken squad with sidearms by the time the message reached people assigned to take the enemy position. “Bad intelligence.”
“Yes. That’s a good example of it.”
Now Riyun could make sense of what she was trying to say, but Naru and Quil still seemed confused. The lieutenant thought for a moment. “The problem is that what you two are analyzing is far removed from the original message. You’re seeing things from the wrong perspective.” He looked to Symbra for approval; she nodded.
Quil’s brow wrinkled. “How is that applicable? We are assessing a game that is based on common mythological tropes.”
“Right.” Riyun jerked his head back toward the drone and wizard. “And you said those two aren’t really matching that, right?”
“Not as I understand it.” The pseudo looked to the hacker. “Naru?”
Naru shook her head. “Not like normal, no.”
Riyun grunted. “It’s like that ‘Communicator’ game, see? The story starts off the way Symbra knows, then it gets changed when it’s passed on by generations and out to the stars in the Outer Sphere, where we grew up. Then you have these people you’re referring to—game designers, writers, educators—and they’re all changing things to meet their needs. See?”
Naru and Quil nodded slowly.
Riyun held up a finger. “Now we’re throwing in the big twist—what you’re saying. We’re bringing real people into the story. The farther away from the original story we go, the less we can predict how real people will behave.”
It was like seeing a light go on inside Quil’s eyes. “Oh. The breakdown. The unreliability of the prophecy. They cannot understand.”
They were getting it now. Riyun wasn’t so sure he was convinced, but Symbra’s words had a kind of sense about them. “Maybe those two are just breaking down like anyone else would in this situation.”
Naru raked a strand of hair from her mouth. “I get it. It’s like standards of deviation. We’re dealing with things that are outside the norm, and these aberrations are destroying all reasonable expectations. It’s not just algorithms. Anyone who had strong beliefs shattered would question reality.”
“That’s the problem.” Riyun picked up the pace when he saw Javika standing at the side of the road in the distance. She looked calm enough, so maybe the quarry really did offer an opportunity for cover during the night ahead. “You three put your heads together tonight. See if you can figure out if this is just an old woman whose mind has snapped because she’s been pushed too far, or if the problem is our lack of understanding of what really should be happening in this world.”
Symbra seemed to almost glow in the late afternoon light. Riyun was pretty sure he hadn’t quite nailed exactly what she was saying, but he’d apparently come close enough to satisfy her. Maybe more importantly, he’d come close to actually listening to her.
That was something he was going to have to do a better job of. Not just with her, but with Javika, and maybe with Hirvok.
Maybe with everyone.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to our scout.” Riyun hurried ahead, now wondering what the Biwali warrior had been thinking when she’d handed him the flower. Was she imparting vital knowledge he’d failed to absorb?
The assassin seemed calm as he slowed. “A pit.” She nodded toward the shadowy depths that had looked like a valley from far away. “A quarry, I think. And it looks like a mine attached. A mine that might have collapsed.”
Riyun made his way over to the edge of the pit, still trying to catch his breath, and still wondering what message he’d missed earlier. Was it too late to ask? “That’s…what Tarlayn said.”
The quarry was huge, stretching easily a mile away, and maybe half as wide. Grass grew in spots, while in others bare rock was exposed. There were two obvious paths down—ramps that switched back on themselves until reaching the bottom. That bottom seemed fairly flat except for areas that disappeared.
Collapses. Sinkholes. Maybe the mines.
There would be water in there. And there was a deep pool out in the open.
They had a place to hide while they scouted the city.
He sucked in a breath. “Hey. I wanted…the wizard…that boiling water?”
The Biwali warrior frowned. “Catch your breath.”
“Sure.” Had she noticed? She had to have.
She straightened. “You are getting old.”
“Tired. Sore.”
“We can rest here.”
It was a great find, but it was also something that Tarlayn should have told them about. What else was she keeping to herself? He needed to get her to open up, to get past the pain and confusion.
“I think we found a little home for now.” He smiled at Javika, who seemed pleased with herself.
She pointed to the closest of the dark holes, not far from where he stood. “More of the underground for you to explore.”
That made him laugh, but the sound died quickly as a long shadow passed over them.
Riyun’s radio scratched, and Alush’s voice leaked out. “They come!�
��
A monstrous form swept down from the sky, wings spread wide and talons hooked to tear.
Riyun shoved Javika to the ground. “Down!”
And then something hammered his side with the force of a cannon shell, and he was flying through the air.
Falling.
Blacking out from the pain.
Wishing he’d had time to warn the unit that their time hidden from Meriscoya was over.
It was all over.
35
Hirvok had seen the forms in the sky before the stupid drone bothered to squeak out its pointless warning. The warning hadn’t done the lieutenant a bit of good.
The old bastard was always on me to prepare for this day. You ready, Hirvok? You ready?
By the Hollow Hills, I’m ready!
“Spread out! Special ammo! Remember your targets!”
There were three of the ugly lizards, almost black against a purple sky that was going dark fast. One of them was huge, maybe as big as the one that had attacked the dump they’d stayed in at the first city. Maybe the same one, actually. He remembered the sulfuric smell and the blast furnace heat and the desperation from that attack. At least this time, they were out in the open and spread out rather than squeezed into a brick oven, just waiting for the fire.
The smallest of the lizards—dragons…whatever—began to spiral down toward Symbra. Not the big one. It gained altitude. And the other one…just circled slow and lazy. Watching.
Maybe the big one was content after killing Riyun.
Well, they were all three about to find out that the squad consisted of more than some washed-up backwoods hick farmer.
Hirvok swapped in a magazine of armor piercing rounds and sprinted toward the lip of the giant quarry. Mounds of packed earth and fractured boulders offered plenty of cover near a ramp that led into that broad and deep gouge in the earth.
After a few steps, Hirvok whistled to get Symbra’s attention and pointed skyward. “Silver, go to ground!”
She spotted the diving monster and changed course, cutting ninety degrees away from the thing’s current descent. She wasn’t trying to get away—that wasn’t happening. But if she kept the beast focused on her and in the process drew it toward him…
