by Kylie Leane
Titus raised an eyebrow. “Yeh be the one turning into a Zaprex machine, standing in a Zaprex flying contraption. Should yeh not know the answer to that question?”
“I should?”
“Aye.”
He could not think how this was relevant, and the expression on his face must have revealed his confusion as he heard his master chuckle. He returned to his work, tapping a few more keys on the terminal, listening to the gentle hum of Bez-at:_Who_Lingers_by_Water’s hibernating song.
His eyes widened and he jerked back to look at Titus. “Lady Duamutef:_of_the_Tower! It’s a princess-ship. That’s how you address a princess-class sky-ship. You’re telling me I am trying to contact a princess-class sky-ship?” His chest swelled in sudden overwhelming excitement that such an old relic could exist.
Titus made a ‘so-so’ gesture.
“No? Not an AI?” Jarvis frowned. “But…”
“Tell me.” Titus bent forward. “Would yeh give yer protector bot a different personality?”
His jaw went slack. His protector bot. The machine that had infected him, that was now invading his flesh and slowly, piece by piece, consuming him. Sometimes he could feel it there, floating like a random thought in the back of his mind, or an ignored chore he might have dismissed on his father’s farm. He knew it was there, a part of him now, but it was dangerous.
“I suppose it does have a different personality.”
“Does it have a name?”
“It has a designated code, yes.” Jarvis frowned. “What does this have to do with Duamutef?”
“As a hybrid yeh’ve made the distinction between the two factions within yer mind. It took ma friend Raphael a while to figure that out.” Titus shook his head. “When she did, we were finally able to tell Duamutef the AI and Raphael the Human apart.”
Jarvis’ chest expanded with an intake of air. “Another hybrid! Like me!”
Titus’ smile widened. Jarvis cringed as his hair was ruffled. “Yeh’re partly right. Yeh were formed out of the merging with a protector bot, not an AI. Many sol-cycles ago, Zinkx was coming back from a recon mission into a Zaprex Way Station and found a child on the Plains of Blazing Fire. The kid was dyin’…”
Jarvis sat back in his chair. This was a story. He had to listen. Messenger stories were always incredibly important, that much he had learnt from Khwaja Denvy’s long-winded tales.
“According ta Zinkx, the wee lass was so badly burnt there was barely anything left. He would tell us all that, as he knelt beside the dying child, the Zaprex canopic jar he had uncovered from the Way Station talked to him, told him to pour all the philepcon liquid over the child. So he did.”
Jarvis blinked. “You’re serious.”
“Aye.” Titus nodded. “That liquid was Duamutef and that child grew into Raphael.” His master smiled fondly. “Who, like you, is a hybrid.”
Jarvis shook his head, deflating slightly. “Hardly like me. She’s the host of an AI! I’m just a protector bot.”
Titus shrugged. “Tah, well, now yeh can see why we’re contacting Duamutef.”
“I cannot believe the House of Flames has a princess-class sky-ship.”
“Tah, well…Raphael and Duamutef are actually a secret. And you will also remain one. When you get there. The House is not as accepting as yeh think it will be, laddie.”
Jarvis nodded weakly. His master had reasons to think thus of his own people. After all, they had shunned him and his family simply for his being infected by a Twizel when they should have praised him for overcoming the parasite that had invaded him.
“How come you know so much about Duamutef?”
Titus scoffed. “Don’ tell me yeh’ve never heard of the romantic tale of the Lady of the Tower and the Titan of Fire?”
“No…”
“No? No? Oh, yeh poor wee deprived laddie! Yeh’ve been robbed of the most wonderful fairy-tale since the Dawn of Time.”
Jarvis gave his master a blank stare and sighed at his dramatic pose. “I much preferred my father’s stories about the Ancient Starborn Paladins.”
“Phff, romance stories have much more heart, more tragedy. They make yeh weep!”
“I promise I will tell your tale as a romance, Master.” Jarvis threw him a smirk as he flicked a switch, and winced, hearing a painful whine burn through his skull. He clutched at his head and Titus’ hand was on his shoulder instantly.
“Jarvis?”
“I think it’s working.” Jarvis peered through watering eyes. “The signal has been amplified.” He glanced around the eerie room, trying to adapt his skin to the new, intense sensation of the brilliant song that was now playing through the crystals in the walls of the ancient vessel. They could only hope it would be sufficient to be picked up across the land and sky-sea: Come to Utillia; come to safety.
He settled back against the chair. It cushioned his weight naturally. Something about the whole environment made him feel entirely at ease, as though he had lived in the forlorn and forgotten world of the Zaprexes all his life.
“Master Titus, do you really think Khwaja Denvy is going to survive long enough to reach the House?” he murmured, just loud enough for the Hunter to hear. They had discussed the health of the old Kattamont many nights since crossing the border into Utillia, always making sure the other children were asleep, though Jarvis was sure that Ki’b knew Khwaja Denvy was dying.
Titus breathed out heavily. “I don’ know. But a Messenger don’ know the future, so we can only plan if we get the chance. T’be honest, laddie, the rate he be going, he won’ live out the month.”
Jarvis reached forward, gliding his fingers over the terminal and, without realizing he was doing it, he shut down the desk before him, pulling his crystal pendant free and looping it over his neck. His hand tightened around it. It had become his totem since the Time Master had led him to it. Khwaja Denvy believed the ancient Zaprex was guiding them always, and he had proof of that in his hands.
“Please, Time Master,” he whispered, “don’t let Khwaja Denvy die—”
Titus’ sudden movement caught him off guard. It should not have; he was usually always alert to his surroundings and he knew that, later, his master was going to give him a tongue lashing. The Hunter grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and thrust him against a wall, pinning him down like he was a tiny pebble under a shoe.
“Ma...mast..er…” he choked out.
“Ki’rayh!”4 Titus’ eyes gleamed, excitement causing his body to vibrate. Jarvis did not know whether he should relish the sight of the young man’s face morphing into a vicious snarl of delight, or be frightened by it. Then the words sank in, and his breath drained out.
His philepcon liquid froze in an ice grip around his hands, turning his skin blue as the slowly growing metal hull of his new changeling body hardened.
What was a High Class Twizel doing inside a buried Zaprex vessel?
Jarvis reached for his colour-blade.
A trespasser. All trespassers must die.
He could hear and analyse their movements, pulses, and breathing long before they came into view: four Humans, one Kelib, and a Kattamont male who was much younger than Khwaja Denvy. He smelt their sweat and, in his heightened state of alert, with the philepcon liquid in his veins flooding his cybernetic exoskeleton, even the tiniest movements they made impacted against his scans. Jarvis’ fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, the metal layer of his protective hull hardening into thick armour as footsteps thudded past the doorway. He could not believe the stupidity of these men, entering a Zaprex ship so flippantly and without a care for the precious treasures within. They tore and hacked into it, chomping, biting, and ripping. Its song was no longer beautiful and melodious; it had turned into a wail of distress he could not tune out.
They followed the men, watching them patiently from the shadows. It took every ounce of his self-control not to leap out and kill the thugs for their painful disregard of Zaprex beauty. The only consolation he had was that his m
aster was having just as much trouble holding himself back from the Ki’rayh that paraded itself around as an elderly Human man, shouting orders to the dismay of the young Kattamont male who looked fit to explode in an angry show of territorial air-gills and frilly fan-tail. Instead the Kattamont stalked off, tail irritably coiling back and forth, ignoring the laughter of the men he left behind as they dismantled a section of the central control room’s platform. Jarvis hung above them in the awning of the ceiling, torn between dropping down, sword swinging, to kill all of them for touching that which was sacred, or slinking after the Kattamont youth. He reached out, tugging Titus’ cloak twice, indicating his movement. His master nodded in reply and he carefully slid himself through the crystal panels, gracefully adjusting his weight as his hands, raw from the energy seeping from the crystals, clung desperately to the smooth surfaces. He trailed after the Kattamont, finding him bent over a terminal in the observatory deck. It was impressive that he had actually managed to turn it on, and it seemed he was reading the holographic projection screens, smiling with a look of contentment. His fur was no longer hackled, and his air-gills had flattened around his neck.
At least he was not tearing the ship apart to reach anything. He was showing respect, and that quelled the protector bot within him enough that he could process his thoughts logically again, instead of being overridden by the ‘destroy’ sequence running in the background of his programming.
Lowering himself from the ceiling, using his legs as ropes, Jarvis slid his blade against the throat of the Kattamont, feeling a great sense of delight when the air-gills spiked in sudden surprise.
“If you move, I will not hesitate to use this,” he hissed.
“Been wondering when you would come out of the shadows,” a considered tone replied.
Jarvis flicked his gaze in a quick scan of the room. “You came in here to speak to me?”
“You smell like the crystals. I was trying to figure out how one could be following us, I had hoped you might be a Zaprex.”
Jarvis smirked. “No. Sorry. But I may be the closest you will ever get to one.” He cocked his head to one side. Once he would have said that Kattamonts looked like the giant lions his father had taken out with sling and stone; now he was not so sure. Khwaja Denvy sure looked beast-like, but it seemed that just as Humans wore many faces, so did Kattamonts. Since entering Utillia, it was plain to see that Kattamonts were not beasts of burden. He was right now facing a Kattamont who was perhaps only a few sol-cycles older than he was, and was equally as calculating. Though his colour-sword was pressed against the neck of the young male, he had little doubt that they would end up in a well-matched fight. The black and silver coated feline did not carry the same heavy bulkiness of Khwaja Denvy. Instead he was slender, his limbs adapted for swift movement. Jarvis almost wished they could match blades, just to see what the result would be.
Carefully he lowered himself from the ceiling, landing on the terminal to stand atop it, so he would be taller than the Kattamont and able to rest his blade neatly against the male’s neck. Beneath the odd mask contraption the Kattamont wore, his brow lifted ever so slightly. Jarvis wondered if he had caught the shine of his reflective skin, or the way his eyes glittered with an interior glow as his body whirred. He had begun to wear what Khwaja Denvy called the charismatic fairy grin, and he put it on for the Kattamont now, knowing it was as good as any off-putting sneer.
“Now, what are you doing here?” he queried.
The Kattamont’s clicks and clacks were at least in Common Basic, easy enough to understand, but the fluidity of his accent was a little difficult; it was almost Imperial, from the cities—that was all he had to compare it with.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Ah, but I do not have a sword to my throat.” Jarvis raised his brow.
“I explore Zaprex ruins.”
“Do you also rip them apart and make them cry?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your friends. They are ripping the star-glider apart. They cannot hear the pain they are causing it, but they are hurting the ship.”
A low growl vibrated from the chest of the Kattamont. “They are Scavengers.” His fur and feathers bristled in frustration. “I do not agree with their profession, but it is a way of life in Utillia. And they are not my friends.”
“I am very glad we had this little conversation.” Jarvis pressed lightly on his sword, inching forward. He increased the glow behind his eyes with a mental command. “Because if you had been trespassing upon my Creators’ domain with ill intent, then your head would no longer be attached to your pretty furry body.”
“Your Creators?” The Kattamont blinked rapidly. “Wait…what are you?”
Jarvis’ attention shifted from the Kattamont, through the doorway and down the hall. The ship’s sensor arrays were blaring at him long before he heard the chaotic shouts. The Kattamont did not act surprised when he lunged away, and he had the oddest impression the young feline already knew a fight had begun.
He paused briefly to yell back.
“If you want to live, stay here!”
His feet barely touched the floor as he ran down the corridor, heart pounding as the star-glider around him sang, calling him toward its central control room. He leapt over the overgrown crystals and into the fray of a fight. Half a dozen brawny men scattered as his master flayed amongst them, chasing after the Ki’rayh in Human form. Jarvis watched as Titus took off through a side door after the Dragon’s fiend. His master’s will must have snapped, and now all that was on the Hunter’s mind was to kill and destroy the Twizel.
Most of the men had fled, but an arrow-bolt whistled past. Jarvis recoiled, looping through the air in a twist of gravity. He lashed out with his blade and fired blinding colour against a confused scavenger whose next shot from his crossbow fell wayward as the colours dazzled his vision. The weapon knocked against the ceiling. Jarvis swung a leg up, and cracked through the contraption the man held, whacking it aside as he thrust the man to the wall.
“You have trespassed,” he snarled. The philepcon liquid of the protector bot within him gripped control of his limbs, and he had the distinct feeling the protector liked having a voice with which to speak through. “On my Creators’ domain.”
The man spluttered unintelligibly. Jarvis dodged something loud that burst from the man’s hand, and the air filled with the smell of spicy heat. His eyes narrowed, locking onto a strange handheld metal object that was far smaller than a crossbow. Pictures flew across his optical screens, identifying a partial match to something similar: a pistol—this was a pistol, or a crude design of something the Zaprexes had encountered long ago. At least, it was in the archives of his mind.
“Drop that thing! If you wish to duel me, you will do it with a sword.”
“I will kill you however I want, boy.”
From behind, another man came barrelling down. Jarvis whipped around, blocking the force of the strike with an arm. The blade sheered through his skin, meeting his metal armour. His legs wanted to buckle under the weight of the huge man. Khwaja Denvy had always told him he needed to end a fight with a mortal in one or two strikes. They were not Twizels; they could be taken down and killed skilfully.
He gritted his teeth, surging his gravity-bubble outwards, thrusting it against the scavenger. Turning his sword in his grasp, he ducked as the second man also produced a pistol. The shot cracked near his ear and he cursed at the strange, alien thing. With a slash he cut through the man’s groin, slicing the main artery, and knocking him back with a kick to the stomach. With a leap of gravity he parried with his blade, disorientating him in a blindfold of colour before scanning and striking cleanly through his neck. With the momentum of his fall, Jarvis thrust his leg forward, sending the man stumbling even as he clutched at his throat for the few moments left of his life.
Landing in a crouch, Jarvis wiped blood from his cheek. Then he stood, twirling his sword back into its usual position along his for
earm. The sound deafened him, a split second before the flare of pain and the gushing of blood down his shirt. Jarvis choked on the shock, bending to slap his hand over the impact site that now looked like a crater in his chest filling with inky blue liquid and red blood. His sensors spun him in the direction of the first man he had encountered, leaning against the wall, holding his pistol in a trembling hand.
“Jarkir!” Jarvis swore. Grabbing his throwing dagger, he pitched it at the scavenger. It did not strike exactly where he had aimed, but it hit a kill spot, and the man slumped dead, his accursed weapon tumbled from his limp hand.
Jarvis resisted the urge to drop to his knees as he peeled back his hand. The wound was a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest and he stared at it in confusion. Nothing should be able to get through his armour plating. How had it penetrated his metal hull? Zaprex hulls could not be penetrated by a mere piece of metal. Jarvis staggered, swaying, and he clutched at the wound again, applying pressure. Already he could feel his systems beginning to flood the area; that which was still Human, still flesh, was going into shock; that which was cybernetic was assessing the damage and the readings flashed over his vision. He shook his head, trying to gain a clear path through the central control room. Master Titus carried a medical kit; if he could find him he could get some bandages.
Using his free hand, he dragged himself up the stairs, cursing each one until two strong paws grasped him under his arms and heaved him up as though he weighed naught. He looked up abruptly and faced the young Kattamont.
“You’ve been shot.”
A sarcastic retort brimmed on the edges of his lips, but the concern in the Kattamont’s crystal blue eyes triggered a bumbling tumble of confusion instead. “It…should not have been able to…get through my…hull.”
“Mist-powered bullets. Made from the melted-down metal of Zaprex sky-ships. They will get through pretty much anything. Come on—I must get it out of you before it damages your internal systems.”
Jarvis spluttered at the thought. What could melt Zaprex metal? The Kattamont was trying to get his shirt off him and he fought, scrambling away. He needed Master Titus. He did not need the help of some feline. The Kattamont reached out a paw towards him, mouth opening to speak something that he supposed was going to be reassuring in nature, but he never got the chance.
