by Vowron Prime
MC landed first and covered Torneus while he scrambled up onto the platform covered in black metal gravity plates. The rest followed suit without incident.
Torneus made his way to the matter fabricator and gave it an appraising glance. He’d made the right decision to bring extra Zevan along. The six-foot black cube was both larger and heavier than their illusion generator.
Luckily or unluckily, the platform’s gravity was set to about a tenth of the norm, which made moving the large object quite the chore. Enabling their boots’ magnetization to gain the traction they needed, Torneus and the others gathered behind the object.
“On the count of three, we shove. One, two, three!”
They heaved against it with all their might, but the cube refused to budge.
MC teleported to them and added his strength. With a hammering action from his cybernetic arm, they were able to push it off of the platform, but the fabricator’s not-insignificant mass gave them both pause.
While their informants had given them the approximate size of the fabricator, they could only estimate its weight. This happened to be among the heavier ones, which meant it was a higher-end model, but that made its extraction far more difficult than anticipated.
The dense object slowly drifted back to the exit even as the tentacles of flesh extending from the spherical walls multiplied and the loud sirens grew even more frenzied.
The squad launched off the platform and followed, but they simply didn’t have enough guns to take the appendages out, and the tentacles were far more numerous near the airlock.
Just as MC was about to use his relocation abilities to assist them, the airlock door opened to reveal a column of azure fire. Fire that spread at an astonishing rate as it found unending amounts of flammable organic fuel upon which to feed—vacuum be damned. There was enough oxygen trapped within the veins and arteries to sustain its spread into the walls.
It made for an interesting sight. Though the fire wasn’t immediately visible, its flames danced and smoked behind a layer of translucent, airtight flesh. It was like watching a fire in the next room over through a wall of glass. Except that wall was fleshy and liable to come crashing down around them when its integrity failed.
It would seem that their fire mage had failed to follow orders.
“You did warn the mages, didn’t you?” came MC’s bemused voice over comms.
“Of course! Dammit!” Torneus had no doubt that MC would note this as his blunder, despite it being no fault of his.
“Well, nothing we can do about that now. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Or just shove the lemons back down life’s throat.”
MC’s human-isms often made no sense to Torneus, though he caught the intent behind this particular message. While the inferno made for quite a ruckus, it did send the writhing limbs into a pained frenzy, incinerating them with astonishing rapidity as the flesh burned from the inside out. Despite the danger of melting the facility, it did serve as an ideal diversion.
The sphere of flesh melted at an alarming rate. Automated suppression systems should have activated, yet the blaze remained unchecked. Torneus guessed that the systems had been disabled when the Resistance agents had tampered with the base’s sensors. A double-edged sword, because his team had just barely made it to the airlock with the fabricator when the room began to collapse around them.
Gravity took hold once again, and the matter fabricator fell heavily into the hallway’s fleshy floor, sinking several inches and bursting a few blood vessels in the process.
Torneus had expected that four soldiers would be able to haul the mass, though as he witnessed the Zevan futilely attempt to lift the heavy object, he realized that this was yet another mistake on his part. Only with eight of them working together could they begin to lift it, and at the crawl they were moving, it’d take ages to make an exit.
“How would you solve this problem if I weren’t here?” MC asked.
“I… We’d flood the room with liquid, but even then, I doubt we’d be able to move it.” His mind went into overdrive. As panic set in, he found himself unable to come up with any viable solution.
“Think outside the box. How would a Zevan do it?”
Torneus patched his squad onto the call and repeated MC’s question.
“If we were in a normal environment, we’d use rollers,” came the reply. “Roll the heavy stone upon logs or other rods, replacing the logs at the front with the ones from behind as the object moves.”
“That will not work in a liquid,” another knight replied. “No, we must use currents! Like ferrying the heavy stone down a river—let the river do the work.”
“If we can get the liquid flowing in the direction we need it to,” Torneus said.
“Sure,” MC replied. “Probably a contingency you should’ve thought of before jumping in. No plan survives contact with the enemy. You solve that by improvising, and by having plans B, C, and D if plan A goes south. Maybe we could’ve created a current if we’d had more time and intel, but for now, you gotta use what you’ve got on hand. The DPVs.”
Comprehension dawned upon Torneus, who immediately squashed the nearby panel. The door behind them shut closed, scabbing over like a wound healing in real time. The airlock cycled and the slimy liquid rushed in.
“Connect the Diver Propulsion Vehicles to the top of the cube! One at each corner, and set them to max. Use the rest to pull the cube forward!” he ordered.
Slowly but surely, the fabricator reluctantly pushed off the ground. It helped that the liquid was so thick—once it was off the ground, the friction decreased substantially, allowing the forward-facing DPVs to pull the object along.
The DPVs struggled against the strain, but they were moving, albeit at a snail’s pace.
“I’m gonna help out,” MC said. He proceeded to continuously relocate sludge out from in front of the cube, rapidly accelerating their pace.
Moments later, their squad was darting their way back out of the tunnels, now populated by Qephyx orbs who scrambled around, largely ignoring Torneus’s squad. Thankfully, the fire had yet to compromise the structural integrity of this part of the facility. That was about it for the good news.
Their luck ran out moments later when they arrived at a choke point guarded by a duo of Ultimators who stood firm upon the ground like rocks. All hell broke loose as the augmented behemoths laid down a barrage of torrential energy weapons fire.
Two Resistance Dyn shot forward, deploying portable energy barriers that thwarted the majority of the assault, though they did nothing against the ballistic darts that seemed to cut through the liquid like butter. Torneus ordered the squad to huddle behind the barrier.
“Concentrate your fire on the ground beneath the Ultimators. They are heavy and the ground is weak!” he cried.
Every weapon pointed at the soft organic floor. Already, the Ultimators sunk a few inches into the ground on account of their weight. The seconds dragged on as the squad kept their weapons active on the ground. The sludgy liquid sapped the weapons of much of their power, but the stuff didn’t disperse energy as well as water. The weapons’ efficacy was reduced, but still effective. The Ultimators themselves didn’t bother to respond, keeping their barrage of fire trained upon the troops.
Odd. Even though their enemy stood at a distance, with the sheer number of projectiles—namely those vicious-looking darts—that flew their way, he’d expected at least a few injuries. Yet each and every one of his squad’s vitals showed Green.
The reality of the situation dawned upon him; the darts were being absorbed, nullified by MC’s energy dampener. Unlike the Dyn energy barriers, his ability functioned perfectly against all forms of kinetic energy.
Another mistake, he chided himself. Who knew how much damage the Ultimators would’ve wrought had it not been for MC’s presence? Shit!
The Ultimators’ gunfire halted abruptly. When Torneus looked up, he saw nothing, merely an empty hallway. At first, he’d thought that MC had activa
ted his relocator, but upon closer inspection, he saw that the floor below their foes had ruptured, fountaining a cloud of blood into the water like a torn artery. The concentrated attack had done its job, weakening the soft flesh to the point where it had been unable to bear their weight.
“Up up up! Let’s move!” he ordered.
The squad continued, floating above the compromised flooring, carefully maneuvering the matter fabricator that had also been protected behind MC’s shield.
They met little resistance after that, likely on account of Torneus ordering the fire mage to melt as many walls as possible as they passed. Even if the liquid prevented open flames, the fire would burn internally within the organic structure, hollowing it out from the inside. Soon, they would be nothing more than a bloody mass of charred slag.
After what felt like an eternity, they finally made it to the metallic outer surface of the dome, right as the base collapsed on itself all around them. MC teleported them back outside. Several subsequent teleports had them rendezvousing with their two undercover agents at the edge of the island.
“We were not able to set the explosives…” Torneus lamented. Destroying the facility was the final mandate of their assault.
MC laughed. “With the amount of havoc we wreaked back there, I don’t see this facility recovering anytime soon. We accomplished our primary and secondary objectives and set the Legatus back a good deal. Be wary of striving for perfection. If you try to juggle too many balls, you may find yourself losing them all. If you can get in, knock out your primary goal, and get out without losing any troops, I’d call that a good day.”
MC teleported them right off, forming an energy dampening plate under the squad to allow them to descend in a controlled fashion. Without any of the drama of their way up, they soon found themselves standing atop the rolling hills of the Thesbean countryside, right as the twin suns set.
Torneus removed his helmet to wipe a sheen of sweat, sighing in relief that the operation was over. Yet his respite would not last long. Feeling a heavy weight descend upon his right shoulder, he spied MC’s cybernetic left arm.
“So, let’s talk about your performance, shall we?”
Shutting his eyes, Torneus resigned himself to his fate.
Forty-Seven
“Synaroa, the capital of Thesbea. I admit I never once thought I would set foot in this beautiful city,” Nova exclaimed, eyeing the gorgeous waterways and the network of crisscrossing bridges that spanned them.
Thesbeans adored color. Nearly every building boasted variegated hues of reds, yellows, and oranges. Coupled with boatsmen rowing cargo down the canals, it made for an idyllic scene.
“I mean, I can’t believe they don’t have walls. All medieval cities have walls, right?” Nina asked, so excited to be there. Together, they looked like a pair of tourists in a foreign nation, which wasn’t entirely off the mark, though their purpose here had far more significance than a sightseer’s.
Surrounded by Krar’eaks and his squad of troops, they made their way down one of the many stall-lined streets to the royal palace that towered in the distance. Shoppers, hawkers, and tourists bustled about, all dressed in silk. Often sporting body piercings in several places.
“I’d felt this way in Nesthein, but Thesbea seems to be pretty ridiculously well-off, especially compared to Sorath,” Nina said.
Nova frowned. “Even prior to Xikanika’s ascent, Sorath was not the most well-run country. Nor has her life been easy, either. My people essentially forced her into moving their capital to the frozen northern lands, then made her agree to have her people be guinea pigs for their grand experiment.”
“Yikes! Talk about a rock and a hard place. I would not want to be in her shoes.”
Just then, a hawker from a nearby street-side shop called out to them, waving flamboyantly.
“Ah, pretty ladies! Come try my Synaroan silk garments! Only the best for such a beautiful lady…” His voice died off as the gaps in between their entourage shifted, allowing him to spy Nova’s wings.
The shopkeeper immediately threw himself to the ground, prostrating. “I apologize, my goddess! Please, forgive me! Take my meager wares, but I ask that you spare my life. My wife! My children! They would be in the streets without me. Please…”
Nova stiffened as images assaulted her. Scenes of torment and anguish. My wife, my children, they would be in the streets! The same words echoed in her head. The fear was directed at her, specifically. She felt agitated, pressed for time. You must hurry, she’d said in the memory. But hurry from what?
“Nova, are you all right? Did he do something?”
Unwittingly, she’d fallen to her knees, hands gripping her head. An image of a surgery table made her swoon. Someone was kicking and screaming, cursing. But who? And why? Thankfully, the images disappeared as quickly as they’d manifested.
Krar’eaks ordered their complement of guards to intercept, but Nova stood and waved them off.
“I am fine. Just a headache, nothing more. What is it you humans call it? When you feel as though you’ve had an experience before?”
“Déjà vu?” Nina asked.
“Yes. Odd. This is my first time…”
“Do you Dyn even get headaches? I thought your bodies were engineered to be perfectly healthy.”
“Thank you for your concern, Nina, but really, there is nothing to worry over,” she said with a smile. “Rather, I am more worried that we have scared this poor merchant.”
The Zevan sobbed like a child. Nova wondered what kinds of atrocities her people had committed to warrant such a fearful reaction. She knelt in front of the merchant and held his face in her hands. With her gorgeous white wings accenting her perfect features, even an atheist would have a hard time denying her divinity.
“Please, I would never harm you or your loved ones,” she consoled. “I am unlike the ‘gods’ you know. There is no need for this. In fact,” she paused, looking at the merchant’s stall. While he had a few simple, well-made garments, most of his stall consisted of rolls of fabric. “Please craft me something appropriate. Something in the Synaroan style, if you can manage it.”
The Zevan could scarcely believe what she had just said and bowed several times over, promising to work himself to death to make her whatever she desired, free of charge. Yet despite his efforts at preventing her from paying, she wouldn’t hear of it.
“How much do you charge your regular customers for your services?” Nova asked.
“N-normally, two Thesbean silvers, but I would not dare to—”
“Krar’eaks, please furnish this merchant with ten silvers as payment. As for my measurements, please do your best to get close. I shall have my people tailor the garment later.”
The merchant jerked back at her words, shocked beyond belief. But whether Nova was oblivious to his plight, or whether she wanted to prove a point, she left only after Krar’eaks had forced the coins into the seller’s palm.
“If you wish to repay me, then spread word of me. Tell them that Nova wishes to help all Zevan in need, regardless of who they are.”
“You have my word! The bards will sing songs of you! And I shall craft a true masterpiece for you, my goddess!” he shouted as they departed. “I shall pour my blood and soul into this work. I will not let you down!”
“Holy shit, Nova! What kind of reputation do your people have?” Nina asked, flabbergasted at the exchange.
“A terrible one. True, the Zevan treat us as deities, but it is out of fear, not respect. I hope to undo some of that damage in whatever small way I can.”
Nina beamed at her. “Somehow, and this is just my hunch, but I can totally see you uniting this whole planet against the Dyn, Nova. You’ve got charisma in spades with these people. You just gotta have a bit more faith in yourself. Also, what you did back there was really nice… It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone do something like that. For anyone.”
Nova gave her a pained smile—happy that Nina appreciated the gestur
e, and sad that the world had so little generosity to spare.
The two retained their silence for the remainder of their journey, following their Synaroan envoy. The entourage breezed past an ornate atrium into an even more elaborate reception hall within the castle grounds. Though “room” hardly described the space. Lacking walls, the circular area was surrounded by several rings of interconnected pillars. Its domed roof had a large circular skyline that let ample sunlight shine through.
Seven ornate thrones sat upon a tiled circular dais at the center of the airy space. The only other furnishings were dozens of ornate silk rugs that peppered the floor upon which potted plants and fruit trees sat, arranged around the periphery of the room. The massive skylight was built to illuminate the dais, accentuating the importance of the gaudy gold-plated thrones that sat at the center.
Atop these thrones sat seven ostentatious Zevan, dressed in brightly colored silk shirts, pants, and jewelry ranging from rings to earrings to bejeweled necklaces. Nina wondered whether she’d ever seen a man wear as much jewelry as these people, though there was a lone exception. One of their ranks conspicuously eschewed such flamboyant displays, instead sporting trim, well-appointed leather-and-chainmail armor accented by a purple fabric sash.
The Resistance soldiers remained at the sides of the room along with the prince’s guards. Far enough to maintain a polite distance, yet close enough to act should anything happen. Nova and Nina approached the Thesbeate Council along with Krar. His presence caused more than a few looks, but the princes had the presence of mind to withhold their curiosity—and their fear.
“It is not every day that the Thesbeate is graced with the presence of a goddess. To what do we owe this honor?” one Zevan asked, stroking his bearded chin with a hand that had more rings than fingers.
Seeing Nova fidget at the many pairs of eyes that looked her up and down, Nina took the initiative to break the ice. “I am Nina, a trusted aide in the service of our goddess, Nova. Please allow me the honor of speaking in her stead. How may I address you?”
