by Frank Tuttle
“Hurrah,” Mug said. “Mistress, we can talk while we walk.”
“Haste is imperative,” said a voice Meralda didn’t recognize. “May I reveal myself now?”
“You may,” Donchen said.
From behind Mrs. Primsbite, a machine emerged.
It moved on three flexible silver shafts that lacked visible joints but bent and reshaped with ease. The ends terminated in rounded pads that clicked across the metal floor as it approached Meralda. Atop the legs sat a dented silver dome, which reminded Meralda of an upturned mixing bowl.
“Mistress, this is Skoof,” Mug said. “Skoof is a machine. Skoof, this is Mage Meralda. A biological, like us. And unless I’m seeing things, people, that blot on yonder horizon is the horde of murderous bugs Skoof has been warning us about, heading this way.”
The short metal being trotted past Meralda. Its legs elongated until its dome was suspended far above her head.
“It is the Mag,” it said. “I estimate their numbers to be in the hundreds. We must resume our flight.”
“Wait.” Meralda rubbed her forehead. “Wait. Just a moment. Are we on the Hub? What is this Mag? Where are we running to?”
“Yes, big angry bugs, and I don’t know,” replied Mug. “Skoof. I don’t see anything anywhere except flat and flatter. There’s nowhere to hide. Where are we going?”
The dome descended noiselessly. “The Mag have poor visual acuity in darkness. I know a place of shadows, caused by a spatial anomaly. We may hide among the derelicts that litter the deck there.”
“These lines, on the ground,” Meralda said. “What are they? What are you?”
The silver being raised its dome so that it was level with Meralda’s eyes. “The lines indicate the path toward your native spoke. Unfortunately, following it would take you into the Mag swarm. We must go.” The dome lowered, and the silver legs danced. “Follow.”
It scurried off, pads tip-tapping on the metal ground.
Mug hovered by her ear. “Mistress, I know this is confusing. We were all a bit addled when we woke up. Skoof calls it transfer shock. But if what he said about these Mag swarms is right, we don’t need to run into one today. Please. Walk as fast as you can. I’ll tell you everything I know – but let’s do it on the move, shall we?”
“I believe Mr. Mug is correct, dear,” her mother said. Meralda noticed for the first time that she held a knife in her right hand.
“I don’t need your confirmation,” snapped Mug. “Mistress, please. Move.”
Meralda walked, Donchen close on her left.
“How long have we been here?” she asked.
“About four hours,” Mug said. He glared at Meralda’s mother until she shrugged and marched a half-dozen paces ahead. “I came around first. You lot were sprawled on a raised platform. There was an awful din, sounded like a thousand horns blaring at once. I thought you were all gone until Donchen rolled over and opened his eyes.”
Meralda shook her head but could not shake the fuzziness in her mind. “A platform? What sort of platform?”
“A great big metal thing, Mistress. There were a dozen towers in a ring, laid out like our pylons. But bigger. Much bigger. Glowing and spewing sparks and smoke. Something went wrong, Mistress. Skoof said the receiving station was damaged during some big battle a long time ago.”
“Receiving station?” Meralda said. She halted. “Then we have to go back there! That might be our only way home!”
“We cannot,” Donchen said, gently pulling her ahead. “It’s gone, Meralda. Melted. It just sank down into the ground. The deck. Whatever this is. Puddled and sank and vanished, not a trace left.”
Meralda shivered as she remembered where she had seen this featureless silver-gray metal before.
“The Arc,” she mumbled. “This is the metal that forms the Arc.”
Donchen nodded. “If our new mechanical friend is correct, we are some quarter of a million miles from Tirlin.”
“That cannot be correct,” Meralda said. “We did nothing but transmit a simple series of radio signals.”
“Which some outlandish device here received,” Mrs. Primsbite said. She fell into place on Meralda’s right. “Causing some other ancient machine to – what was it the silver man said? ‘Reach out and fold us into the Hub,’ I believe it was. Does that make any sense to you, Mage?”
“None,” Meralda said. She stumbled, nearly falling. “Why just us?”
“The default fold volume was delineated by the optical boundary,” Skoof called, from ahead. “You saw a ring of light form into a sphere, did you not?”
Meralda remembered. “You mean I brought us here?”
“You initiated the standard tripping wheel transport protocol,” replied the mechanical being. “Was that not your intention?”
“It was not,” Meralda said. “We had no idea what sending the series of signals was intended to do.”
The silver dome – Skoof, Meralda amended, mentally – chuckled. “Imprudent biologicals. Such events are not unheard of. Sadly, the only tripping wheel within range was this one. I fear you will come to regret rousing it.”
“We already do,” Mug said. He swung half a dozen eyes close to Meralda’s face. “Skoof,” he called. “Do you know what water is? We biologicals are going to need some very soon. Especially if we have to keep walking.”
“There is a generous tree not far head, near the anomaly,” Skoof replied. “But we will be overtaken by the Mag before we reach it unless our pace is doubled. Is that possible?”
Meralda bit back a flood of questions. Tripping wheels? Generous trees? Being folded across the void?
“The Mag are carnivorous,” whispered Mug. “Not unlike your dear mother. I don’t suppose you have a delighter tucked in your skirts, do you, Mistress?”
Meralda forced herself to walk faster and faster still.
“Excellent,” Skoof said. “We have a better than even chance of reaching the dark before the Mag reach us.”
The sky that was not a sky flickered as the lighted section shifted. A tiny voice sounded in Meralda’s ear, and it took her a moment to recognize it as one of the crows.
“The mass of hostiles is gaining,” said the crow. “Mage Meralda, can you hear us?”
“I can,” Meralda said, after touching her earring with a fingertip. “How close are they?”
“Two miles, maybe two and a half. Make haste, Mage. These creatures are formidable and numerous.”
Meralda took a deep breath and broke into a jog.
The dash ahead was agony.
The changing sky cast wild shadows each time the pane of light swapped places. The booming voice continued speaking in a calm monotone, its words foreign and nonsensical, the echoes not quite dying before the voice spoke again. The air was dry and cool, but it smelled of something unpleasant Meralda couldn’t quite place. Something foul and corrupted, something that needed to be buried or burned.
Meralda’s head pounded. Every faltering step sent another pang of agony racing through her. Donchen kept her from stumbling a dozen times, though his face was grim, and his jaw was clenched. Meralda knew he, too, was suffering.
Only her mother seemed unaffected by the weariness that left every member of the little band panting and grimacing. She merely sped on, thin arms moving like pistons, the soles of her black boots setting a loud, quick cadence that never seemed to falter.
“Let’s not dawdle,” she said. The knife in her hand flashed in the inconstant light from what Meralda surmised was an artificial sky. “Faster, Mr. Donchen, or shall it be necessary that I carry you?”
“What,” gasped Meralda at last, pitching her voice into a near-shout, “is a tripping wheel?”
“Conversation is inadvisable at this time,” replied Skoof.
Mug’s eyes pivoted, staring behind them. “He’s right. They’re gaining on us, Mistress. I know you’re tired. Mistress, my holdstones. They’re nearly spent.”
“I’ll be happy to carry your cage, M
r. Mug,” Mrs. Primsbite said. Her face was red, and she was obviously on the brink of exhaustion. “I’m doing quite well, really.”
“I’ll carry you, Mug,” Meralda said. “Just like old times. It’s no bother.”
“The generous tree is ahead,” Skoof said. “I trust you can complete your liquid intake in a timely fashion?”
Meralda squinted. A few hundred paces distant stood a single spindly tree, as gray as the metal from which it rose.
It had no foliage that Meralda could see. Nothing but bare limbs that radiated from the central trunk with unnatural precision and regularity.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Mug said, softly.
Meralda stumbled. Donchen caught her arm. “Not much farther,” he said. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and for the first time, Meralda noticed the lack of his usual grace. In fact, she saw he was limping, favoring his right leg, putting his right foot down gingerly.
“You’re hurt.”
“Not seriously,” he replied. “I must have fallen badly. As did we all.”
Meralda bit her lip. “This is my fault. All my fault.”
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the King’s,” Mug said. “You tried to tell him to wait, but no, he had to risk our lives on some idiotic whim.”
Meralda looked up. Three-quarters of the sky were the same gray, and no hint of darkness showed beyond the odd tree – just uninterrupted shades of grey.
“I don’t see any signs of darkness,” she said.
“They won’t be apparent until we are within the anomaly,” Skoof said. His trit-trot slowed, and he settled down to a brisk walking pace. Within moments, the tree was within reach.
The deck around the skeletal tree trunk was littered with heaps of metallic debris. Skoof poked at a twisted metal plate with a dainty foot. “Hold,” he said. “This was not here when last I visited.” The machine moved the plate aside cautiously.
“I thought you said the Mag were huge,” Mug said. “You think one might be hiding in all that?”
“I have learned to never underestimate the Mag,” the machine replied. It tossed aside another chunk of debris. “Refresh yourselves. But be wary.”
Meralda’s mother frowned. “And just how do we do that? It appears to be quite barren.”
“Approach,” Skoof said.
She shrugged and stepped closer.
The tree bent, as if in the wind. A branch reshaped itself, moving toward Meralda’s mother. From the tip of it, two silver bulbs grew, expanding until one was the size of a melon, and the other a large apple.
“How odd,” Meralda’s mother said. The silver growths changed color – the larger one turning a bright white, the other a deep shade of red.
“They may be removed,” Skoof replied. She plucked them easily from the tree, holding one in each hand. She shook the white one, and it sloshed.
“It even has a stopper.” She put the red sphere in a pocket and twisted the stem of the white one. “It’s water,” she said, after a long drink. “Cool and quite clean.” She replaced the stopper with a twist and retrieved the red fruit. “It cannot be any worse than Goodwin’s’ cooking.” She bit into it. “Not bad. If I’m still alive in an hour, we know we won’t starve.”
“The fruits of the generous tree are nourishing and harmless,” said Skoof. “Mr. Mug. Come closer. The tree will recharge your energy reserves. The rest of you should also take your sustenance. We cannot linger.”
Donchen shrugged and stepped forward. A silver branch bent to him. Mrs. Primsbite did as well, and two other limbs presented themselves, a smaller one dangling before Reardon.
Finally, Meralda approached. Her branch produced a white bulb and red fruit identical to the others.
The water from the bulb, which she drained completely, was cool and tasteless. She wondered if it contained medicine because her headache vanished before she lowered the empty bulb.
She put the empty white container down, and it melted and sank without a trace into the metal floor.
“The Hub recycles all discarded native materials,” Skoof remarked. His silver feet tapped nervously.
Meralda’s mother set Reardon down. She held her water orb so he could lap from the stream escaping it. When he finished, the little dog hiked his leg, and the puddle he made vanished as quickly as it pooled.
“Wastes too,” added Skoof. He elevated his dome. “The darkness is near. We must go. They are gaining quickly.”
With that, the metal creature scampered away.
Meralda put the strange fruit in her pocket. Mug’s miniature flying coils buzzed as he flew a tight circle around Meralda.
“I don’t know how it did it, Mistress, but my holdstones are back to full,” he said. He ascended and then halted. “He’s right. I can nearly make out individual bugs now.”
Reardon growled. Skoof halted and turned his dome back to the group.
“Flee!” he said.
On the far side of the generous tree, a mound of debris exploded. A long segmented body rose, coiling like a serpent. An eyeless black head bobbed and turned, its blunt face orienting on Reardon.
Donchen snatched up a bent girder and hurled himself at the swaying creature. It struck, black jaws clacking as Donchen dodged and landed a solid blow across its thorax. The creature hissed and dropped, writhing toward Donchen, loops of its body sending junk flying.
Meralda’s mother charged the beast. Donchen flailed at its head, his makeshift club clanging against the deck, but the creature always managed to dart away.
Pieces of debris began to jostle and shift. Meralda caught brief glimpses of the creature’s long snakelike body through it, and she realized it lay coiled throughout the entire pile.
Skoof raced to Donchen’s side. A searing blaze of light shot from Skoof’s dome, striking the creature’s head. It thrashed and writhed, but Skoof’s beam followed, and with a final heave the beast sank back into the debris.
“It is blinded, but only temporarily,” said Skoof. “That was a Mag larva. A small, injured larva. No talking. Follow.”
Donchen hurried from the junk pile, dragging Meralda’s mother as he went. Skoof raced out of it as well. The metal creature set off at a fast three-legged trot, and the rest hurried after. Just as Mrs. Primsbite began to slow, Skoof halted. He extruded a pair of fingerless arms from opposite sides of his dome.
“We are entering the anomaly,” he said. “Move slowly at first. Follow me carefully. There are dangers in this place.”
With that, he took a mincing step forward and vanished.
“I’ll go first,” Meralda’s mother announced.
“Good plan,” Mug replied. “You’ll scare off any monsters.”
A thin silver arm appeared, hanging in the air. It beckoned by curling its tip. Meralda’s mother marched ahead and disappeared.
“It’s dark but no worse than a moonlit night,” she called. “What are you all standing there for?”
“We can’t see you, mother,” Meralda said, as she moved toward the disembodied silver arm.
“Which is a vast improvement,” Mug noted. He flew forward and vanished. “Hurry, Mistress, you’ve got to see this!” he said, his voice fainter.
Mrs. Primsbite shrugged, walked, and was gone.
Meralda touched the jewel hanging by her ear. “To me,” she said. “Quickly.”
The crows descended, perching on each of Meralda’s shoulders. Donchen squeezed her hand, and they stepped into the dark together.
It took Meralda’s eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows.
Great hulking shapes rose like canyons all around them. The silhouettes were strange, not hills or forest or buildings, but jumbled collections of massive bulks tossed in great heaps. Meralda saw tangled towers of leaning metal, some broken and bent, some sprouting sprays of girders that seemed to grasp at the ink-black sky. Lights played amid the ruins, some steady, some blinking or guttering. Some lights moved, swaying slowly, or creeping in and out of view. A steady
wind swept across the scene, whistling through the structures with a permanent wail.
The nearest of the lights burned a sickly yellow, touching everyone’s face with a hint of green.
“Mistress, it’s like a giant’s junkyard,” Mug said, buzzing close. His eyes moved in all direction. “You could hide a dozen Towers in here.”
The air stank. Meralda recognized the stench at once – hot metal and burning insulation.
“This way,” Skoof said. His dome brightened, casting a wide cone of soft white light towards a gap in the debris ahead. “We must keep moving.”
“What is this place?” Meralda asked.
“We are in one of the six hundred anomaly zones spread throughout the Hub,” Skoof replied. “This is the largest. A thorough search of it will require quite some time. The Mag will be reluctant to attempt such a search.”
“Won’t these Mag simply follow the yellow lines at our feet?” asked Donchen.
“The path markers do not function here,” Skoof said. Meralda looked at her feet. The glowing yellow line was gone, as were the strings of odd characters above her companion’s heads.
Meralda’s mother stepped close to her, ignoring Mug’s persistent close passes by her hair. “The contraption is correct. We are all exhausted. You more than anyone. Your questions can wait.”
Meralda nodded. “We will follow,” she said, to Skoof. “Is it far?”
“Not far.” The machine’s dainty feet tapped impatiently. “Shall we go?”
“We have little choice.”
Donchen moved behind her. “I’ll guard the rear,” he said. Mug snickered but fell silent at a glare from Meralda.
Skoof began to walk. The others fell into place behind him. “Avoid touching any of the objects,” Skoof warned. “Some retain lethal properties. Also. The luminous gelatinous creatures. They are corrosive to biologicals as well as oxidizing metals.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Primsbite hastily withdrew her hand from a glowing blob of translucent jelly spread across a nearby girder. “You’re quite sure these Mag won’t follow us in here?”
The yellow blob stirred, sending a thin tentacle of ooze toward Mrs. Primsbyte’s face. Skoof swatted the growth away, and the blob fell to the deck and oozed under the wreckage, leaving behind a short-lived trail of slime.
