by Vic Davis
The Trap
The army had not tarried long after their decisive victory; they pushed on rapidly down the Pilgrim’s Road making only the occasional stop to consume source rations. Timathur now loomed on its strategic mount ahead of them: its gates and breached walls once again hastily repaired to prevent a quick raid; the city defenses resembled a giant’s play toy: crushed, strewn, then piled into place in a haphazard way. The effect was not esthetically pleasing, but they were still a formidable obstacle to a quick and easy conquest.
The army encamped in front of the main gate, made a brief display of force, and then began a show of making siege preparations. Vinks sent emissaries to parley with whoever now controlled the oft-contested landmark. Breaker insisted that an attempt be made despite Vinks’ skepticism. A tense but amicable debate on their options had ensued.
Vinks argued that Council inerts did not just surrender. The messy necessity of exterminating every single hold-out was a matter of fact. The only enemy combatants that did not fight to the very end were those completely incapable of resisting any further; those too were dispatched without mercy. A handful of the enemy sometimes fled, but they were chased down as well.
Breaker disagreed. The conquest of Timathur was resent and the conversion might not yet be complete. It had established contacts with survivors of the Council occupation after they had taken Timathur: source farming peasants, aristocrats in hiding, former merchants, surviving elements of their underworld. They might be indirectly prompted to act or better yet, be in control.
Pilgrim remembered the secret passage from the outlying source farm that it had used during the first assault. But Breaker reported that it had been partially filled in and the exit blocked during the brief occupation by the Hegemon’s army. It was feared that the Council would use it against them.
Breaker volunteered to at least cautiously approach the gate to ascertain the city’s disposition. Vinks reluctantly agreed to let Breaker try but had sent fifty Hegemon commandos and a good number of Alacrity fusiliers along as an escort.
While they waited, Pilgrim settled into a low energy recovery state: an inner calm, minimal processing of external information, a sense of non-being or at least an approximation thereof. However, very little of the comfort expected from such an exercise was evident. More disappointingly, there were no whispers; Pilgrim had hoped to sense them once more in the ether, receive some hints of guidance, or discover a clue about the path to be followed, but there were none: only the echoes of its own innermost thoughts.
Pilgrim rose from its resting place near the wagon, which now functioned as a mobile nursery for the wounded Omega. Shortly after the battle in the crater, Humble had finally arrived with the strange creature along with the odd little Talent known as Mong.
Stinky noticed Pilgrim stir. “I can’t sleep either. I miss it. I miss the escape of a good dream. Even in my lowest energy state, I can’t seem to let go. I have no subconscious here. I’ve wondered why that is.”
“I’d hoped to hear Etheria,” sighed Pilgrim. “But she will not or cannot whisper to me.”
“I’m not so sure you ever did,” signaled Stinky with a placating tendril raised to anticipate the expected objection. “Hear me out. Many of us have heard the whispers. Maybe yours were special? But after a while they ceased for most of us. We all attributed it to adjusting to whatever it was that now encapsulated our existence, our information inside this— construct or matrix for want of a better description.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Don’t be dense Pilgrim. I believe you. I’ve witnessed Odnir confirm everything you have said. No, what I am saying is that maybe your receptiveness has been attenuated by the extent of your stay here. Or maybe your informational consciousness has filtered out the static now that you have adjusted to the ether?”
“We need help. I feel something strange and foreboding. Like we are purchased on the edge of a cliff and we have to choose the right door. Or we are rats trying to find the right path to our objective through a terrifying maze.”
“Pilgrim, slow down there. You are mixing and mangling your metaphors or similes or whatever,” cautioned Stinky.
“I’d say you already have found the True Path, Pilgrim,” signaled Humble who had quietly been listening in on the conversation. The Mesmer hovered down off the wagon bed and took up a position in their little circle. Zuur’s Big and Little Boss hovered nearby seemingly lost in thought. Bleaks had gone off with Breaker leaving Lacks, Steadfast and the others behind. “Or at least what’s left of it.”
Humble’s macabre humor fell flat. They were all on edge. The plan for the trap had been simple: make a big show of the Omega arriving in the wagon then drive it off, keep it away from the main body of the army as they march, and finally wait for the Alpha to make its move. They had trailed the supply train the entire way down the Pilgrim’s Road. So far nobody had tarried or delayed in any way to get a better look or to try to attempt to take control. Pilgrim wondered if the ploy was too obvious. Now they waited while Breaker and Vinks sized up Timathur.
“We could be waiting for it to strike forever,” signaled Pilgrim in a low amplitude even though there was nobody around besides its fellow company members.
“Oh, it will make its move soon. I’ve made sure to demonstrate that the Omega is recovered sufficiently for some gobbling or running,” laughed Humble.
“Ah, so that’s what that little exercise routine was all about during the rest stop on the last leg down the road. I figured something was up,” replied Pilgrim. “I was watching closely. It managed to attract a lot of interest from the main column as you and Mong did your maneuvers, but I didn’t see anything, or anybody chomping at the bit to run over and take control.”
“The Mesmer is smart,” signaled Stinky. “It’s not going to just stroll up to us and take control of the Omega. No, it will wait until there is some crises; then it will pounce,” signaled Stinky.
“Just so,” agreed Humble. “The bait has been set. It knows we are over here. It probably suspects a trap. While it is most likely very powerful, capable of controlling half a dozen source-beings even, it is not invincible. It also might take unnecessary risks. The longer it remains hidden in our ranks, the greater the chance that it might be exposed and revealed.”
“We will need to do something soon,” replied Pilgrim. “Vinks said there were some odd things happening in the ranks: squabbles, fights, countermanding of orders. It’s not just waiting around dormant and observant. It’s actively working some sabotage already.”
Humble seemed confident. “It will need to be close to work its mischief. And it won’t have the isolation it needs to implant harmful suggestions like it did with the Adjudicators’ Guild if what you describe is accurate. I’m regularly making a trip over to General Vinks and its staff looking for signs of manipulation. So far nothing, which means this Alpha is bidding its time.”
“If we are lucky,” mused Stinky, “it has no idea what support it has in Timathur or down the road. If it’s as blind as we are then it might make a mistake and take a gamble. But—"
“Runners from Vinks,” observed Pilgrim. “Looks like Breaker is done with its parley. There wasn’t any noticeable charge lance fire so that bodes well. I told it to stay well out of range from the walls. I wonder if they even sent a negotiator out?”
“Not likely,” replied Stinky. “The council doesn’t negotiate. We will end up assaulting the place if we want to remove it from our flank and use its supplies.”
Two ovoid forms mounted on Trissa hovered up to deliver their message: the leader looked to be a professional soldier, the other some type of trainee. The sight of the large multi-tentacled Omega sprawled out on the wagon bed did not seem to faze the senior runner in the slightest. Its composure spoke well of its military training. The other runner seemed to be struggling to hide an overwhelming fascination for the creature.
There was an awkward silence as the lead runner simply hovere
d and waited for its underling to regain its composure. Stinky lost his patience. “Yes, you have a message for us?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” signaled the runner stirring from its reverie. “The general wishes to see you immediately.”
“I guess this means we will have to go through the main gate or punch a hole somewhere. We’ve still got our artifact weapons, at least half a charge worth,” noted Pilgrim.
They all now began to rouse themselves from their meditations. Humble opened one of the source-ration cases to feed the Omega. The monster gracefully uncurled the four massive tentacles that it had been resting on in anticipation of the feeding. Pilgrim found the entire evolution amusing. The creature was now almost like a well-trained Drothgar. If it could communicate intelligently, only Humble and Mong seemed to be able to reciprocate or divine any meaning from its efforts.
The Omega suddenly froze and then began to shiver: a mild mini-seizure at first that developed into a near uncontrollable frenzy of flailing tentacles. All hovered in awe at the spectacle. One of the tentacles struck the wagon obliquely inflicting some damage.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” signaled Pilgrim in an alarmed shout. “It’s going crazy.”
“I’m not sure,” signaled Humble as it tried to placate the creature with a soothing empathetic wave of its Mesmer talent. “Something is bothering it. It’s in pain, confused and starting to get angry.”
Zuur had now merged into one being and along with Stinky hovered over to form up next to Pilgrim. The shaking of the Omega began to intensify. A tentacle lashed out and destroyed the open crate of source rations.
Humble hovered closer to the Omega in an attempt to calm it. “Whoa there big fellah, nobody is going to harm you.”
Pilgrim was holding off a transformation into its battle form; there was no reason to precipitate a fight if Humble could get the monster under control. The runner remained motionless on its mount; its trainee or assistant on the other hand was quite agitated, thought Pilgrim. It had the most unusual expression on its form walls: an intense concentration that hinted at a strenuous inner exertion of some kind. Pilgrim focused its transom to sense the ether around the assistant; something was very wrong.
Before Pilgrim could warn anyone, the Omega let out a roar that pierced the ether. It pushed Humble aside, not violently but more as if it wanted to move it away from harm; it launched itself at the two mounted figures. The trainee let out a yelp of surprise while trying to prompt the Trissa to bolt out of the way. Zuur interposed its large form between the Omega and its prey and withstood a crunching impact.
Pilgrim felt a slight itching or burning sensation all over its form walls that was vaguely familiar. There had been a fight with a Council Mesmer at the resonance point redoubt during their mission to cripple the Grand Army. The Alpha had tried in vain to dominate Pilgrim. The tingling sensation now intensified and then suddenly ceased. Pilgrim locked transoms with the supposed trainee runner: it was the Alpha.
“The runner is the Alpha!” signaled Pilgrim but already things were out of control. The Omega launched itself again at the trainee who now had a grim, determined look about it, having recovered from its brief moment of panic.
The Omega darted forward at tremendous speed to bowl over the two riders. Good thought Pilgrim, somehow it has turned on its would-be master. But at the last moment a translucent shield materialized between the two. The Omega rebounded off the barrier, then quickly righted itself on all four tentacles letting out an impressive roar of frustration.
“Stinky: Drop the shield! The runner is the Alpha!” implored Pilgrim as it shifted into its battle form.
A pained expression spread across Stinky’s form walls. He hovered quickly to interpose himself between the Alpha and its would-be attackers. The shield did not even flicker and now spread over the Alpha in a dome to guard from all directions. “I don’t feel quite right Pilgrim. I can’t resist— damn Mesmers should have exterminated them—”
The Alpha now seemed to hesitate, analyzing the new calculus of the situation. Zuur, having recovered from its deflecting block against the Omega, hovered motionless cradling the statue from Privil’s Landing as a giant war club. Zuur had taken a liking to the object declaring it a lucky talisman.
“Whose side are you on, Zuur?” signaled Pilgrim.
“We are not dominated. But do not take our word for it. Judge us by our actions. That is the only way to be safe.”
Pilgrim watched as the Omega began circling the Alpha like a predator. The tiny source-being called Mong was cleverly following along with it using the beast’s vast bulk as a screen. Humble, Lacks and Steadfast had vanished behind the wagon; Pilgrim was grateful: the last thing they needed was the Alpha trying to dominate one of the Channelers. If they gave into their ingrained protocols the results would be catastrophic.
As if anticipating Pilgrim’s thoughts, Humble signaled from behind the wagon: “Pilgrim, we are in a bad spot here. It’s way too strong for me to face it.”
There came a dampened response from within the shield bubble. “A wise choice,” signaled the Alpha now fully in control of both Stinky and the other Runner. “I will spare you, but I will be taking my minion.”
“That’s a lie,” came Humble’s signal from behind the wagon.
“Yes,” replied Pilgrim. “I never really gave the offer serious consideration.”
“You, I don’t like,” came the muffled reply of the Alpha through the shielding, which now had started to ripple and flash on its surface in a very spectacular fashion. Whether it was strengthening or weakening, Pilgrim could not be sure. The Alpha glared at Pilgrim with an expression that was plain on its form walls: annoyance tinged with fear. “I have not seen you or this Talent here before the nomads’ arrival,” it continued making a gesture with a tendril at Stinky. “The big one with the— statue, is not familiar as well. But it does not matter, I will take the minion. There is nothing that you can do to stop me.”
“I think you have put yourself into a very tight spot,” replied Pilgrim seeking to keep the Alpha communicating while it tried to formulate some type of plan. “I wonder just how many of us you can dominate? Surely not all of us. And I think you picked the wrong one to start. No offense to Stinky, but you have put yourself firmly on the defensive.”
Humble joined the conversation again from behind the wagon. “It’s powerful Pilgrim. But it has its limits. And you are correct. That shield won’t make things easier for it.”
“Nobody asked for your opinion: you pathetic excuse for a Mesmer. I tasted you from the start, but you weren’t worth the effort to crush,” announced the Alpha angrily. “I will not negotiate. You must leave now without the minion. I will take this shield Talent with me. It could prove useful.”
“Your minion doesn’t seem to like you anymore,” replied Pilgrim hovering slowly in a clockwise position to align itself directly opposite the Omega and Mong who now waited patiently for some signal to attack. “Why don’t you take that Trissa and make a run for it. It’s probably your only chance at this point.”
The comment set the Alpha off. “You miserable slave creature. I am the chosen of the Endarchs. I could snuff out your consciousness with a thought. You are an insignificant—”
“Then do it,” interrupted Pilgrim. “You tried something before. I felt the itching. You couldn’t do it, could you? Bet that threw you off a bit. Made you panic and then you made a bad choice with Stinky there. You picked a Talent for a minion that has placed you firmly at a disadvantage, completely on the defensive. You can’t even exert your full strength though that shield. And now you are stuck.”
The Alpha snarled. There was a sudden burst of itching and scratching that flooded into Pilgrim’s transom; then it stopped abruptly. “Impossible. What manner of Talent are you? None should be able to resist my domination. None.”
“I can’t really explain it to you. It seems to be that for every overpowered Talent there is always hard counter. It’s almos
t as if the universe does it just to have some fun. Or maybe it has something to do with entropy and the constant march to find every combination of every possible state. A wise—”
“Enough,” screeched the Alpha. “Minion! Obey me!”
The Omega let out a howl which forced even Mong to back away from it. It shook and shuddered as if it were fighting the compulsion to obey with every effort and fiber of its being.
It was now or never, thought Pilgrim motioning with a tendril for Zuur to attack. The giant swung its statuary against Stinky’s shield with a hammer blow that rattled the shimmering ethereal cage. Mong joined in hurling anything and everything nearby that was loose and made of flow that it could find at the exterior of the shield cage: supply cases, loose weapons, even a spare wheel for the wagon.
Pilgrim hovered silently appearing to do nothing, but the calculations had already started: a thorough recursive mapping of the exterior of the shield. It began weaving its two tendrils in complicated motions; a nexus of energy formed directly in front of it. Coordinates were imparted and the computations finished. Not much longer, thought Pilgrim. Just need to keep the Mesmer distracted.
The Omega finally broke. The Alpha let out a cackle of glee. “Now, devour them all!” it ordered.
The Omega loped on all four corded tentacles toward the wagon. Humble let out a shout of dismay. “Run for it!” Lacks and Steadfast took off in opposite directions. Humble stood its ground against the oncoming monster of sure decoherence with a seeming air of detached resignation.
Zuur moved to intercept the Omega once again but could not catch it by surprise as it did the first time. The creature absorbed the impact of Zuur’s effort but rolled off and away hardly deviating from its course.
There was a flash of infotons as the gate formed in front of Pilgrim; the corresponding exit manifested itself beside the Alpha within the shield cage. Without a moment’s hesitation Pilgrim deftly hovered through, only letting go at the last instant, then emerged to confront a startled enemy Mesmer.
