Entromancy (7 page)

“
Welcome, SF Guests
,” Tribe read aloud.

“Well, that’s nice,” Gloric said.

Doubleshot drove into a long, curving driveway adjacent to a large casino, stowing her bike and motioning for us to join her.  Alina pulled the SUV in behind the dwarf’s bike, parking in what looked like an empty valet zone.

“Brilliant, just brilliant!” Gloric exclaimed, bounding out of the SUV.  The rest of us joined him more slowly, taking in the light and color.

The dwarf took us through a set of tinted doors that opened as we approached, blasting us with air conditioning and the deafening clamor of slot machines.  The interior of the casino seemed somewhat lively compared to the deserted city, and managed to be even more colorful.  Rows upon rows of jackpots, Blackjack machines, and other consoles stood protectively around empty card tables and roulette wheels, blaring their jingles noisily.  The place smelled of carpets and old tobacco smoke.

“Where is everyone?” Alina wondered out loud.

“Utah, mostly,” Vasshka answered, sauntering through the casino.  “When we took Nevada, most of them went east, or north to Oregon or Idaho.”

“I thought you said the Sigil was in Sparks,” I said to Gloric.

The gnome shrugged, looking up at the building’s ostentatious chandeliers and ceiling paintings.  “He must have liked it here better.”

“This way,” Doubleshot said, leading us down a side corridor and through an enormous doorway framed in marble that was etched with the word
COLISEVM.

We walked through two sets of automatic doors into a large, open-air stadium that had been built to resemble an ancient arena.  Rows of marble benches encircled a long pitch, which itself was rounded by a dirt running track.  Several standing lamps lit the field in radiance, casting the yellowish grass in a warm light.

The arena’s inhabitants were a strange motley of electronic visitors.  All manner of machines, from ancient personal computers and flashlights to the most modern holodisplays and portable generators littered the field.  There were even a few vehicles parked along the track.  The drones circled overhead, buzzing.

“God be praised,” Gloric declared, picking up his pace.  Buster trailed after him, snuffling at the various electronics.

At the center of the pitch sat an old human, dressed simply in a long, flowing robe and wire-framed spectacles.  The man was perched cross-legged on an ornate circular pillow, writing furiously at a digital tablet.  A long oval of grass surrounded him, free of the electronic clutter save for a small circular device next to him.

The human looked up as we approached, squinting and tugging at his beard.  “He said you’d be here ten minutes ago,” the man said crabbily.

Vasshka shrugged.  “Rodder wanted to talk.”

The man threw his hands up irritably, clumsily dropping the digitab.  “Dwarves, always meddling,” he muttered, fumbling after the tablet.

Alina and Tribe exchanged looks, unsure.  Gloric had taken his hat off of his head, mesmerized by the round machine.  His heavy backpack looked comical on his small body.

I cleared my throat and stepped forward.  “Sigil,” I said stiffly, “we need your help to prevent a civil war.”

“You’ve come far, Eskander Aradowsi,” a digital voice purred. 

I looked down at the circular device.  It was a plain, thick grey disc, with a panel of LED lights and buttons and some faded, indecipherable writing. It continued talking, lights flashing as it spoke.  “I bid you and your companions welcome, and shall help you if I can.”

There are few instances that I can recall being struck completely speechless, having not the slightest idea what to say or how to proceed.  This was one of them.  Fortunately, Gloric broke the silence with his excitement.

“Oh, Your Grace, it is so very good to meet you!” he said to the machine.  “I have been looking forward to this day since my first reprogram!”

“Welcome, Gloric Vunderfel,” the little thing buzzed, and the man beside him scribbled at his digitab, recording.  “Your reputation precedes you.  My drones tell me very good things about your work.”

The gnome beamed, and I took a closer look at the device, racking my brain for where I had seen its kind before.  Recognition dawned as I remembered seeing a similar contraption in an architecture museum years ago, which had among its collection a number of household appliances that had been used in prior decades.  This disc-shaped thing resembled exactly an automatic vacuum device that was purported to be among the first advances towards artificial intelligence.  The very premise of true AI had been proved laughable as the science of technology progressed, but it seemed that not everyone knew everything.

Tribe and Alina seemed to catch on about as quickly as I did.  I recovered from my surprise, kneeling in front of the machine.

“Your Grace,” I said formally, “we have come at great peril to ask for your wisdom on the Inquisitor General’s schemes to initiate a war with Aurichome.  I intend to expose their plans, but our technomancer,” I nodded at Gloric, “has informed us that the information we seek is not accessible through the network.”

“Your technomancer knows much, Eskander Aradowsi,” the Sigil said, “but he sees facts, not patterns.  The Inquisitor General and the auric king do indeed intend war with one another.  Yet they are neither what they seem.”

I thought about the Sigil’s words, holding Buster at arm’s length.  The wolf was trying to get his snout within sniffing range of the device.

“They’re working together?” I asked slowly.

The machine beeped in what must have been a nod.  “It will be a tipping point in the battle of races.  A watershed moment in the history of nations.”

That sparked something.  “Project Watershed,” I said, looking to the group for support.  “What is it?”

“I do not know the answer to this question,” the Sigil replied mechanically.

I sat back on my haunches, thinking.  Karthax and the auric king being in cahoots would explain the dispensary full of ragers, and the NIGHT-trained auric assassins after us.  I couldn’t quite grasp what either faction would get out of a full-blown war.

“Tribe Achebe,” the Sigil continued.  “You too are not what you seem.  You must decide which of the paths in front of you to take.”

Tribe shifted nervously, reaching into a pocket for his Oxidium, then remembering where he was and dropping his hand.  “OK,” he said quietly.

The little vacuum turned on its wheels, facing Alina, then Gloric, and Vasshka.  It seemed to be calculating.

“Alina Hadzic,” it intoned, “fight for that in which you believe, and your aim will always strike true.”

The Pitcher breathed in through her nose, considering.  She nodded at the Sigil.

It turned to Gloric.  “Gloric Vunderfel.  My eyes and ears are everywhere, but they have no direction.  I would have you be their captain.”

The gnome stood like a statue, unmoving.  I nudged him gently with my elbow, holding back the wolf with my other hand.

“Yes, yes, Your Grace,” Gloric said, falling to a knee.  “It would be my honor and privilege.”

“Very well,” the Sigil droned.  “My Scribe will contact you when you return to the coast.

“Vasshka Lestrage,” it continued.  The dwarf inclined her head soberly.

“You owe me fifty dollars for the Chinatown wager,” the Sigil said.

Vasshka smirked, then rummaged in a pocket and handed the Scribe a wad of paper money.

“Amateurs,” the old man mumbled as he took the cash, not looking up from his digitab.

“Now,” the Sigil said, whirring back towards me.  “Do you have the information you need?”

“I think so,” I lied.  I was having a hard time getting my mind to stop racing, and felt like I had a hundred questions to ask.  I picked one.

“If Karthax and the auric king are working together, it would seem that the Inquisitor General would have everything to gain and nothing to lose, is that correct?”

“Indeed, it would seem that way,” the Sigil agreed.

“Unless,” Alina chimed in, “Karthax has agreed to give Thog’run something.”

“But what would Thog’run want that only Karthax can give him?” I mused aloud.

“The city.”

Alina and I turned towards Tribe, taking in his words.  Even Gloric looked up from his place of reverence.

The thief shrugged.  “What else could he want?”

It made sense.  The auric king had land and he had power, but a nation needs a capital.  And there would be no better way to address the civilized world as a sovereign than from the seat of anti-underrace leadership itself.

The pieces started to fall into place.  Thog’run offers a handful of ragers to the slaughter, Karthax throws a Nightpath into the pot.  The media stirs the public into a frenzy, forcing the government’s hand into igniting a war with Aurichome.  The NIGHTs strategically surrender San Francisco to the auric king, ceding to the lesser evil for the greater good.  Thog’run would be given a larger platform, but from Karthax’s perspective, it was one that could be controlled and contained.  The plan would doubly allow the NIGHTs to save face by not appearing to have diplomatic relations with the revolutionaries. 

A plan began forming in my head, but I would need to gain access to the secured data drive, and that would require going into the lion’s den.  I knew who would be protecting it.

“Agrid the Destroyer,” I said to the Sigil.  “What role does he play in all of this?”

The vacuum buzzed, calculating.  It turned to the left, then to the right, and back again.  The stadium hummed with the sound of different appliances.

“You may ask him yourself,” the Sigil said, pointing itself towards the marble entryway.  “He is here.”

SEVEN

The most experienced mancers believe ceridium to be the axis upon which all magic turns.  The uninitiated see it as a mystical element that is foreign to nature.  Neither of these opinions is accurate.

-The Sigil of Sparks

I
wheeled back towards the arena’s entrance, just in time to see the assassin stalk through the marble doorway, lackeys in tow.  He walked with single-minded purpose, snaking in between the sundry machines with his crimson eyes unerringly upon us.  His white skin appeared ghostly pale in the stadium light, and I counted twenty-two underrace henchmen behind him.

I drew my nightblade and pistol as they approached, and without a word of communication, my companions followed suit.  Tribe pulled out a semi-automatic ceridium rifle from somewhere, and Alina palmed the blue sphere, initializing its processor and return function.  Gloric pushed a button on his digitab, and four robotic arms slithered out of his huge backpack, reaching over his little shoulders to train what looked like small missiles on the advancing assassins.  Buster, almost as large as the little gnome, lowered himself to the ground in a ready position, growling.  Only Vasshka remained still, crossing her arms lazily in front of her.

“Welcome, Agrid Ogreson,” the Sigil said as the Destroyer reached at the edge of the oval.  The auric stood waiting, staring at me.

“I have no quarrel with you, Sigil,” the assassin said.  His voice was smooth but menacing, like a poisonous gas slipping free from a canister.

“Nor I with you or your masters,” the vacuum replied, its lights turning a shade of red that matched the entromancer’s overcoat.

“Then turn these ones over to me.”

“I cannot do that.”

The entromancer took a step into the oval, reaching into his crimson overcoat for something.

The Sigil’s response was immediate.  Dozens of mechanical and ceridium artillery weapons rose out of the thousands of machines in the arena, pointing at the assassins.  They buzzed and clicked, filling the coliseum with power.

“I will not have bloodshed in my sanctuary,” the Sigil intoned.

The Destroyer stopped in his tracks.  I could hear the Scribe behind me pause in his writing.

Slowly, the assassin removed his hand from his coat, holding it up in a signal of acquiescence.  His red eyes burned holes into mine.

“Very well,” he said.  “We shall wait outside.”

The auric turned on his heel confidently, signaling to his party.  The assassins left as quickly as they had come, disappearing into the casino.

I started breathing again, putting away my weapons.  The others did the same, and the Sigil’s weapons lowered themselves among the arena’s appliances.

“Rude,” said the Scribe, resuming his scribbling.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” the Sigil spoke.  “Yet I cannot protect you outside of these walls.”

I nodded, understanding.  “You have already helped us immensely, Your Grace.  I appreciate your help.”

“And I appreciate your honesty, Eskander Aradowsi.  May you see the daylight again.  My Scribe will be in contact with you, if that is the case.”

We said our goodbyes to the Sigil, Gloric genuflecting again.  As we walked towards the entryway, Tribe hurried to jump out in front of the group.

“Wait, we’re just going to go out there and fight them?”

“That’s the plan,” I said.

“No tactics?  Strategy?  Nothing?” he complained, his long ears standing on end.

I shrugged.  “I usually work alone.”

“I have an idea,” Alina spoke up.  It had been a long time since I had worked with a group, but the half-auric had done two tours in the military.

She explained her plan quickly, coming up with ideas as she spoke.  We made adjustments as questions came up, but formed a working strategy within a few minutes.

We left the arena and I took Tribe, Vasshka, and Buster as Alina and Gloric headed in a different direction.  My group walked back towards the casino area, still jangling with sound.

They were waiting for us in the central foyer, a large circle that led off into four directions.  Slot machines and card tables encroached on either side of the four paths, with each row blocked off by one of the assassins.  The Destroyer stood patiently in the middle of the foyer, two of his lackeys standing behind him with their weapons drawn.

“How did you find us?” I asked as we entered the circle.

The auric lifted the side of his mouth in what I presumed to be a snicker.  “Just followed the trail.”

I hid my confusion as best as I could.  Gloric had removed the tracers from our digitabs and put us on a hidden network, and we had been careful to move covertly.  It was unlikely that anyone heard our conversation in
Lucky Snake
, but our little altercation could have notified any number of underground networks of our presence.  For someone with the right instruments, it would have been a simple matter to track us from there.

I decided to leave the issue alone for now, but needed to buy time.  “So this is it, then?  Betray your own people for a handful of government cash?”

The auric snorted, his enforcers moving around nervously.  He didn’t seem to be the laughing type.

“Do not speak to me of traitors,” he said, motioning vaguely towards me.  I had to stop myself from reaching for my weapons.

“Why?” I pressed.  “Too close to home?  Or is Karthax paying you well enough to not care?”

The Destroyer didn’t rise to the bait.  He coughed, or chuckled.  It was difficult to tell the difference.

“You are too myopic to see past your own version of the truth,” he said, closing his hand into a fist.  “The world is changing, and one has to change with it to survive.”

“So you would be a traitor to your own race to survive?”

“
Do not speak to me of traitors
!” he yelled, taking a step forward.  His hands flexed dangerously, power building at his fingertips.  The other assassins looked at each other apprehensively.  To my eternal gratitude, my companions held their ground.  I was hitting a nerve.

“What, then?” I asked, trying to keep him talking but without getting myself killed.  “Why are you doing this?”

The auric let out a breath, visibly gathering himself.  “Do not speak to me of traitors,” he said again, more calmly.  “I’ve read your file.  You don’t have much moral high ground.”

I lifted my palms appeasingly, unperturbed.  “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“That’s your problem, you don’t see your own hand in the destruction of our people.”

I furrowed my brow, genuinely confused.

“First agent of underrace blood to join the NIGHTs?” he said pointedly.  I shook my head, not understanding.  He wasn’t wrong; I was a quarter auric from my father’s side of the family, but it wasn’t any secret.  My angular facial features and pointed ears made certain that anyone who met me knew my racial background, which got me into some places, and out of others.

The assassin snorted again.  “You’re the true government’s pet.  An auric who’s so self-hating that he doesn’t mind locking up his own people to preserve the status quo.”

I shrugged uncomfortably.  I had been called worse, and on the same topic.  For whatever reason, the assassin’s comment sat uneasily with me, in light of everything I had learned from Gloric and the Sigil.

“Just trying to survive,” I said, echoing his earlier comment.

He smirked, and despite our situation on opposite sides, I felt a sense of understanding, or something akin to respect, transfer between us.

It passed quickly.  The auric’s expression changed, eyeing our little group.

“Have your friends reconsidered their allegiances?” he said, noting the absence of Alina and Gloric.

“They’ve chosen sanctuary,” I said, noting a buzz in my earpiece signaling that the others were in position.

“They will rot in that arena.  I have men and women posted at every exit of this casino.”

He looked to the side, speaking to his hit squad.  “Keep the Nightpath and thief; kill the others.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, drawing his attention back towards me.

A streak of blue flashed from his left, blindingly fast.  The entromancer had just enough time to speak a word of power and raise his hand, creating a small transparent shield that deflected the bolt into one of his underlings.  The Pitcher’s sphere struck the lackey in the chest, sending him crashing into a craps table before disappearing back into Alina’s hand.

Half of the assassins turned to face the new threat, while the other half readied to open fire on my group.  From the opposite direction, I could hear a code being pronounced, all ones and zeroes, followed by a flash of blue.  One third of the enforcers’ weapons clanked loudly, jammed and useless by Gloric’s technomancy.

The gnome appeared hovering over a row of slot machines, the bottom of his sandals glowing with some kind of ceridium-powered propellant.  Another cobalt curveball streaked through the air to take out a short auric holding two machine guns, and the rest of us burst into action.

As we had rehearsed, Tribe and the wolf dashed in opposite directions in between the adjacent tables of chance, leaving Vasshka and I to deal with the Destroyer and his cronies.  The ones with weapons still working opened fire, but not before we rolled out of the way behind a couple of slot machines.  Bullets pelted the machines, ringing incongruously against the blaring casino sounds.  I nodded at the dwarf as I drew my nightblade and a ceridium capsule.

Doubleshot nodded back, springing from her crouch and back into the foyer.  In one smooth motion, she drew both of her long pistols, firing them twice as her leap took her horizontal.  Two assassins fell as she turned her jump in to a roll, spinning and firing twice again.  Two more assassins hit the ground as she rolled a second time, through another row of machines and out of sight.

I used the distraction to run around the slot machine, chanting and tossing the capsule in front of me.  A shimmering black portal appeared in front of me, wisps of shadow trailing from its corners.  I jumped through it as bullets fired upon my position, orienting myself towards the Destroyer, who was moving his hands through a spell.

I came through the shadowgate a few feet behind him, my nightblade raised for a killing blow.  Unthinkably fast, the auric turned and completed the casting, his red coat whipping behind him.  I ducked to avoid a spray of animal teeth and wrapped candies, which turned into some kind of metal spikes as they flew through the air above me.

I turned as I dropped, sticking a leg out and catching the backs of his knees, tripping him.  He used his fall to tumble backwards, jumping nimbly to his feet.  I saw movement from the corner of my eye and threw myself to the side and behind a booth emblazoned with augmented reality dollar signs and images of digital poker chips.  Ceridium bullets plunked into the metal as a pair of aurics fired at me, but Gloric zoomed into view and fired a couple of rockets from his shoulders, taking them both out and a good chunk of the carpeted floor with them.

From my vantage, I could see Alina far down one of the aisles leading off of the foyer, sending pitch after pitch at the assassins advancing upon her, her wild hair tucked under her cap and eyes focused straight ahead.  A pair of gnomes creeped through the machines around her, visible only as they passed in between the gaps in rows.  I wanted to call out to alert her to the danger, but then saw Tribe’s stalking form headed in their direction, and a tuft of fur moving to intersect.  The gnomes’ screams a few moments later assured me of Alina’s safety.

I turned back to the foyer to see Doubleshot backing out of another lane, firing her pistols two at a time at the Destroyer.  The assassin had equipped what looked to be a retractable ebony spear, blue ceridium currents swirling up and down its length.  He deflected Vasshka’s shots one by one with the staff and a wave of his hand, somehow still casting.

More henchmen came bounding into the foyer from the casino’s exits, having been alerted of the melee.  Doubleshot was forced to shift her attention off of the entromancer, picking off aurics with cobalt blasts from her pistols.

The Destroyer finished his spell, making a wild call that sounded like a crow cawing, dropping an egg to the ground and crushing it with his foot.  His skin shivered, shifting weirdly and hardening into an interlaced network of silvery hexagons.

The conjuring was timed to perfection, settling in place just as a zipping Gloric flew past the assassin, rockets firing.  They exploded against the entromancer’s armor, destroying chunks of it but leaving his body underneath it mostly unscathed.  Tracking Gloric’s receding form, the Destroyer sent the black and blue spear sailing through the air, harpooning the technomancer like an eel.  The gnome shrieked, veering off course and crashing into a table.

“Glory!” Vasshka screamed plaintively, planting a couple of bullets into a troll as she ran in the gnome’s direction.

I drew my pistol and moved around the kiosk, firing at the entromancer to get his attention.  It worked a little too well.  One of the ceridium bullets blasted against his head, destroying the armor and revealing his face, and the other grazed an exposed portion of his arm.  He staggered with the blows but called upon his spear, which returned to him in an instant.