Chains of Loss (19 page)

Khevalis nodded.  “It would please me…and them…if she lived on.”

“And it is entirely within your power to see to it that she does.  A few drops of your power might give her a year…a more significant donation would surely restore her lost youth.  But you’re overdue for your next test…”

Khevalis’s chest constricted.  It was true.  “Yes, master.” 

“I will not interfere with you if you wish to restore her health, but you do it from your own store of power.  No funneling.  No bloodvials unless you can purchase them with your own funds.  It’s between you and her, and if it leaves you weak, watching your back is your responsibility.”

“Yes, master.”

“I won’t see fit to provide you with more power unless you figure out a way to impress me.  Nothing that’s been done before, no petty cruelties.”

Khevalis cursed silently.  He’d thought of something particularly spiteful, just in case he’d needed a boon, but the easiest route to Vhaes’ favor had just been severed.

His master gestured his dismissal.  “I look forward to seeing how you choose, Khevalis.”

***

Friday, October 27, 3481.

Time: Late evening. 

Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy.  South of Worldsedge.

Derek took first watch again, his mind buzzing.  Norah had provided proof: he might not be alone!  He tried not to raise his expectations too high, but the chance that he wasn’t the only New Athenian on the planet had him feeling very good. 

Only a few things didn’t sit right with him about the seraph’s conversion.  If he did have a counterpart from New Athens on this world, that person was going about things in a way that was very different from what he was doing.  His counterpart – whoever they were – appeared to be working with great secrecy.  They also hadn’t chosen to spread their cybernetics when augmenting locals; maybe they had a good reason for this? 

He could be wrong; it might be that he really was the only New Athenian here.  Maybe someone had found a working nanobath, or some other device that could accomplish the same thing but wasn’t suitable for cybernetics.  Maybe there was a shortage of materials. 

He was jolted from his musings by a signal from Mycah.  He slipped into the sim; Mycah wasn’t there, but her Shadow was, still wearing a neutral avatar.

“Hi Derek.”

“You can call me…”  He trailed off as Mycah’s Shadow shook her head.  “Okay.”  It wasn’t his Shadow and it never would be.  He called a chair into being, sat down, and sighed.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, then?”

“Mycah’s asleep, and I thought I should let you know some things that I’ve learned from her.”

He leaned in.  “What kind of things?”

“Bloody important ones about things that live in this world.  Especially orcs.”

“Okay.  Shoot.”

“She’s been holding out on info, though it doesn’t seem deliberate.  Her father was a member of the military and went to war against the orcs for years.  He taught her a lot about them, but the salient points right now are that their culture most accurately compares to the ancient Aztecs.”

Mycah’s Shadow waited, as if expecting a reaction.  Derek shrugged. 

“I don’t know them.”

“The Sangui Cor Iesu aren’t a perfect analogy, but they work.”

The name sank in.  The Sanguine War had taken the better part of the 23
rd
century and left over two billion dead. 

“They’re…oh
spreck
.  Nononono.  It can’t…how bad is it?”

“Not quite to the level of ‘Hearts for The Second Coming’, but still pretty rotten.  They’re sun-worshippers, with some sort of legend about humans trying to kill their god, and murdering his consorts.  They’ve turned to human – or, rather, sentient creature – sacrifice in an attempt to restore it.”

“So, they kill prisoners.”  Derek was shaken to the core of his being. 
People didn’t do that kind of thing!

“Sometimes.  They also keep them as slaves.  Force them to work for no reward.”

“That’s
inhuman!
”

“Sadly, from a historical perspective, not really.”

“Why do they do this?”

“That I can’t help with beyond what I’ve already told you.  We need more info.”

Derek started.  “Actually, I have a genetic sample – the shroud should have it analyzed!  Here!”

“Diving in.  Aaaand…done.”

A model of an orc appeared, then split out into several models, revealing muscle, bone and organ systems, walking in midair.

“All right,” Mycah’s Shadow said.  “They’re non-terrestrial, that’s an easy call.  Their genetic code is completely unfamiliar, but they're made of the same basic materials as you are and we can extrapolate from there.  Sixteen chromosomes…huh.  Looks like they’re actually poikilotherms.  Don’t count on them to show on infrared because they don't produce much heat.  That explains their stated aversion to water; they’ll probably go into torpor if they get too cold.”

Derek nodded, studying the details as well.  “That’s some pretty thick skin.”

“Scales.  But yeah, thick.  Looks like – if we just use ol’ Linnaean – Animalia, Chordata, Sauropsida, Ornithischia…Therapoda doesn’t fit, but it’s fairly close.”

“Really, that taxonomy’s only intended for creatures from Earth,” Derek said.

“Uh-huh.  Lessee…eye structures…poor night vision.  We already knew that; looks like they’re comfortable in a very bright environment.  Their legs are a little unstable as far as compensating for blows to the torso; aim high and you’ve got a good chance of knocking one over.  Also, I’m not finding anything that would cause them to die from a few milliamps; the stun dart should be safe to use.  So, whatcha waitin’ for?”

“Huh?”

The map appeared on the wall; the Shadow gestured.  “Here’s us.  Over here – two point oh eight klicks away – we have an orc building.  Thanks to the wonderful resolution of your scan today, let’s take a look at what was happening.”

The view zoomed in and his gut clenched.  A number of people were in a field.  He didn’t know exactly what they were doing with the shovels, but it looked difficult; several of them wore thick metal necklaces.  No, not necklaces; collars; heavy chains dragged behind them.  If he’d actually been conscious, he would’ve had an urge to vomit.  There were also a few orcs in the picture; not as many as there were of the others, but they were armed. 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut.  “S…Mycah’s Shadow.  What is this?”

“It looks like – ”

“No.  Not that.  Me.  What is this?”

He opened his eyes.  Everything in the simulation was turning red. 

“I think…you’re angry.”

“I’ve been angry before,” Derek said.

“No, you’ve been upset.  Maybe a bit mad.  Now you’re
furious,
” Mycah's Shadow said.

“I don’t like it.  No, I don’t like
them.
  I want to – to – I don’t know!  I can’t leave them like that!”

“Calm down, cowboy!”  The simulation turned a soothing blue color; purple still streaked through it in response to Derek’s rage.  “Hey – you’re not going to do any good by just running in there.  You don’t want to go hurting people, do you?”

Derek shook his head.  He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“That’s all that’ll happen if you just run in.  Just wait.  Try to think about something happy.”

He forced himself to take some deep breaths.  It didn’t change his blood oxygen levels, of course; he was in a simulation.  What kind of world had he come to?  What kind of monsters
were
orcs? 

Guilt twisted inside him.  Mycah’s Shadow had only touched on it, but it was right; humans had done the same to each other, at some point.  He wasn’t sure what period in history it had occurred in – probably one of the rougher, short ones, he was sure – but it had happened.  They’d gotten past it, but the fact remained that he really
could not
define orcs as less than humans.  They might be the enemy but they were not monsters; they were people.  It would be wrong to forget that.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do anything.

“All right.  What do you recommend?”

“Well.  It turns out that there's a surprising amount of literature on this topic – much of which was passed on to me by your Shadow.   As a sudden expert on the topic…”  A pair of glasses appeared on the Shadow’s unremarkable face.  “When people are being repressed by orcs, a hero of prophecy usually shows up.”

Derek thought for a moment.  “So.  The letter.”

“Letter?”

He called a copy into being and offered it over.  She glanced at it and smiled. 

“Yeah, I’d say you fit the bill.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Well, let’s see.”  Mycah’s Shadow pulled a book out of nowhere, skimmed it, discarded it, and repeated the process a few thousand times, talking all the while.  “Well, depends what kind of story we’re in.  Don’t be surprised if you have some super-orc nemesis somewhere.  Don’t let yourself become a monster while fighting them.  Go with the flow of the prophecy – or fight it tooth and nail; that works too, I guess.  If you have to choose between a friend and a MacGuffin, go for the friend.  Same if you have a chance to rescue a maiden in distress, no matter the cost; it usually works out just fine in the end.”

“Okay…anything about this particular situation?”

“Mmmm…not really.  Unless there’s a maiden in distress there.  Anyway, expect them to flock to your banner.”

“I need a banner?”

“It’s optional.”

“Whatever.  You keep an eye on Mycah.  She needs her rest.”

“You’d damn well better record this!  I want to see!”

“I will, okay!”

He slipped out of the simulation.  He’d need another scan, first…

***

Gorti opened his eyes.  The faint song had ended; he knew where his enemy was.  He did a quick stretch, then started to run straight at the source.

His prey was stopping for the night; that fact had thrown him off, but not enough.  It was the middle of the night; he was rested, and he’d fed before leaving Rashraan.  More, they’d been heading towards the city; he
would
catch them this time. 

He was almost where he’d felt it when he came across the tracks.  Drotak’s tracks, by their depth, and no more than a few minutes old.  Gorti turned to follow them. 

These tracks were alone; either his attack had killed Droluch, or she had gone another way.  There was also the possibility that it was a trap.  He tried to balance speed with caution as he followed.

It took only moments before he burst onto freshly harvested fields.  He’d followed the demon to a farm.  What could Drotak be doing here?

The footprints led straight towards one of the slave barns.  Gorti estimated; for a farm this size…it still made no sense.  Drotak must have a contact.  Someone here had something the demon wanted.

He slipped over to the structure and placed his head against the wall, listening. 

***

Getting to the farm had been a two-minute run.  There hadn’t been any guards posted.  Inside the fence, he had found three buildings; one was extremely hot on infrared, so he’d assumed it to be the cold-blooded orcs’ preferred lodgings.  He’d chosen one of the others at random; the door had been locked from the outside and had taken only a moment to open. 

The occupants were humans, as he’d expected.  They were sleeping on a number of straw pallets when he entered.  He cleared his throat.  They all jolted awake. 

“Wake up!  My name is Derek, and I’m here to rescue you!” 

His declaration was met with a dozen pairs of blinking, bleary eyes – not quite the reception he’d expected. 

One of the slaves spoke.  It was Derek’s turn listen, nod, and smile.  The language the slave had just spoken wasn’t in his dictionary. 

“Do any of you understand me?”

He was met by more shrugs and puzzled looks.  “Do…you…speak…English?  Any…of…you?”

One of them pointed towards the wall.  Derek extrapolated; the other building was probably also full.  “Thanks.  I’ll be back.  Don’t worry, I’ll get you all out of here.”

He slipped out of the building and jogged to the other.  This door had a heavier lock, but the shroud still only required a fraction of a second to open it.  He opened the door and recoiled.

***

Gorti pressed himself against the wall as the demon passed.  He hadn’t been able to understand what Drotak had said, but he’d understood the slaves well enough.  They’d confirmed his suspicions; the demon was here to meet with someone.  The ungrateful wretches had betrayed their masters.

He pulled a plan together.  The other barn was full of taerlae; they would be restrained and pose no threat.  The barn that the demon had just left, though, was full of rebellious human slaves; if he didn’t deal with them
now
, they would doubtless arm themselves and come to the demon’s defense.