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Chapter Twenty-One




Nathan heard the trio of distant rumbles and felt them reverberate in the pit of his stomach. The raiders sprang into motion moments later, drawing their weapons and filing out of the room’s main exit.

The surgeon stayed behind and dragged Rufus out of his cell far enough to lay him on his side. The cleric’s head rested against the floor, his legs slack and arms still bound behind his back. He let out a pitiful moan, and a line of drool oozed out from the corner of his parted lips.

Nathan heard the rattle of gunfire next, faint at first, but intense with the overlap of multiple weapons.

“Aiko and Vess?” Joshua asked hopefully.

“Doubt it,” Nathan replied.

“Why do you say that?”

“Simple. That’s more than two guns. A lot more.”

“But who else could it be?”

“Don’t know.” He listened carefully, gauged the volume. “But they’re getting closer.”

Nathan found the approaching noise eerie. The gunfire came in intense bursts, with a few sporadic reports escalating into a massed cacophony before trailing off again. This cycle repeated over and over, each time louder and closer.

But that was the only sound. Whatever fighting was taking place, no one shouted. No one barked orders or screamed in pain. He was listening to a cold, wordless advance through the factory, and a part of him knew what that most likely meant.

He caught a glimpse of a Jovian commando behind one corner of the far exit and felt a jolt of hope shoot through him, but that hope died a quick death when he realized the commando sported the traditional red-and-gold armor of the Everlife across its entire body, lacking Aiko’s custom purple paint job on the head.

The surgeon rose from Rufus’s side, but then his head and shoulders blew apart in a shower of guts and ruined implants. Nathan flinched from the sudden eruption of gore, and Joshua gasped. The surgeon’s body flopped to the ground next to Rufus. One of his mechanical arms flailed wildly for a few moments before coming to rest in a pool of blood.

The commando swept the bulk of his belt-fed, three-barreled heavy weapon over the operating tables. A second commando took up position on the opposite corner, and another four commandos stormed through the gap between them. Those four were armed with shorter weapons more suitable for cramped quarters. They gave each occupied table a quick glance, but no more as they hustled to the far end of the room.

“Jovians?” Joshua breathed to Nathan. “What’s going on here?”

“Not sure, but I doubt they’re here for our benefit.”

“You two!” barked one of the commandos, drawing a vibro-knife. “Stand back!”

Nathan pressed his back against the wall, though the position of his bound arms caused his belly to stick out. He sucked in his gut as best he could. The commando cut around the lock, then ripped it out. It clattered across the ground, and the door creaked open.

A second commando repeated the process with Joshua’s door.

“Move out!” One of the commandos pointed to the exit. “That way!”

“What about my friend here?” Nathan bobbed his head toward Rufus.

“Worry about yourself. Now get moving!”

“Okay, okay!” Nathan shouldered the door open. “No need to shout. By the way, mind cutting us free with that?”

“Shut your mouth and do as you’re told!”

“Come on. What’s the harm in—?”

The commando grabbed Nathan by the shoulder and shoved him toward the exit.

He stumbled forward but regained his balance and, once Joshua joined him, let the Jovians march them across the room. One of the commandos picked up Rufus and slung him over a shoulder.

Nathan counted six commandos waiting by the exit. That made at least ten total with perhaps more out of sight, which was deep into the “impossible odds” spectrum of his personal danger scale.

The commandos formed two groups around the prisoners, one in front and one behind, and together they headed back into the factory. Nathan tried to recall the route they’d taken to the operating room, and the Jovians retraced that path to a point, but then they took a sudden turn in the opposite direction.

We’re not leaving the factory? Nathan thought. I’m pretty sure this takes us deeper inside. Why lead us this way?

He looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.

The Jovians knew we were in the factory. They wasted no time fighting their way to us. But they’re not doing this out of the kindness of their nonexistent hearts. Do they want something from us? That seems obvious. Why bother collecting us if they didn’t? But then, why take us deeper into the factory instead of back to their ship?

Come to think of it, how’d they make it to the surface in the first place?

He shook his head, unable to fit the pieces together.

No, that’s not important, he thought. What is important is what they want from us. I need to figure that out as quickly as possible. That’ll give us some leverage, in theory. Hell, knowing is better than fumbling around blindly. Maybe I can even negotiate with their apex for our release, though getting these cuffs off would be a nice start.

So . . . what is it they want from us?

Hmm.

He chewed on the inside of his lip and mulled over what he knew.

Yep. No clue.


The commandos stopped so suddenly Nathan almost ran into the back of one. Those in front parted to either side, revealing a second, equally large group, only two of which weren’t Jovian commandos.

Two men stepped away from this new group and approached Nathan and the others. The first was an overweight man in purple robes with the glint of implants visible on parts of his bald scalp. He limped toward them, his left leg locked in a brace. He kept his cowed eyes downcast and cradled hands wrapped in bandages. A golden Church pentagon stood out on his left breast.

“Anterus?” Joshua gasped in disbelief.

“Anterus?” Nathan asked. “You mean your old professor? The one who went missing?”

“The same.”

The second man pushed past Anterus, who didn’t bother to look up. The Jovian’s silver skin gleamed in the light, his angular face a reasonable approximation of organic life except for the metallic sheen.

“Galatt Xormun?” Nathan asked.

“How delightful.” Xormun smiled as if they were old friends. “You remember me.”

“Your kind leaves a lasting impression.”

“I suppose worse things have been said about me.” Xormun shrugged. “Funny running into you again, Kade. Captain Kade, as it were, though I suppose the title is somewhat questionable, what with the Neptune Belle lying like a bloated corpse on the beach.”

“It’s still ‘captain,’ if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, my apologies, then. I’ll be sure to remember that.” He inspected the other two. “And who do we have here? Joshua Cotton and Rufus sen Qell. Excellent.”

ziin Qell,” Nathan corrected.

“Whatever.” Xormun poked Rufus’s cheek. The man groaned and continued to drool on the commando’s shoulder. “Your friend appears unwell.”

“He’s had a rough day.”

“Indeed?”

“We all have.”

“So it would seem. But now I’m curious. Where’s the rest of your crew? I was so looking forward to reacquainting myself with Aiko Pratti.”

“She’s not here,” Nathan replied stiffly, thinking fast.

“That much is clear.” Xormun stepped up to Nathan’s face, now uncomfortably close. “Where might she be?”

“Dead!” Nathan spat, trying to inject an undercurrent of grief into his voice.

“Dead?” Xormun scoffed. “Surely, you jest.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something this serious.”

Which is true enough, he thought, though I will lie to you about it.

“She was on her last body,” Nathan continued. “And the crash . . . killed her.”

“Oh, I see. How did she die?”

“Crushed during the landing.”

“How terrible. And your missing passenger? Vessani S’Kaari?”

“Dead.”

“The crash?”

“The crash.” Nathan swallowed hard. “Just . . . messier.”

Joshua bowed his head and let out a little sniffle.

“Well, you organics do break more easily than we do. Just look at poor Anterus over there.” Xormun gestured to the portly cleric. “Snapped his leg like a twig trying to go to the toilet during the flight over. ‘Overweight’ has a bit more punch when you’re on a Jovian ship, wouldn’t you say?”

“You subjected him to sustained high gees?” Nathan snarled.

“Oh, please! That’s hardly the worst thing I did to him,” Xormun confessed casually. “Well, how about it, Anterus? Have you figured out our next destination yet?”

The cleric shook his head.

“Work faster.” Xormun drew his vibro-knife and let it catch the light. “Otherwise, I might lose faith in your abilities again, and you know what that means.”

Anterus cowered back into one of the commandos, who pushed him forward. He nodded frantically.

“There’s a good lump of talking meat.” Xormun sheathed the knife.

“Still the charmer, I see,” Nathan said.

“Again, worse has been said about me. But Saturnian clerics have their uses. That one got us through the Sanguine Ring’s defenses, though I suspect he only managed the feat because your friend Rufus paved the way for him.”

“Is that why you ‘rescued’ us?”

“Partially.” Xormun frowned at the drooling cleric. “Though now that I see him, I’m having doubts about his utility.” He gave Nathan an indifferent shrug. “Oh, well. At least you have the pleasure of being my guest for a second time.”

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘guest’ and ‘pleasure.’”

“Perhaps we do. By the way, I suppose I should thank you.”

“For what?”

“For leading us this far, though now that we’re here, I’m curious. Do you even know what it is you’re searching for?”

The question took Nathan by surprise. He knew the artifact with the elliptical orbit was pentatech. Or, at the very least, the evidence indicated it was. But as far as what kind of lost technology . . . he didn’t have a clue.

Up until that very moment.

Nathan glanced around the corridor, surrounded by Jovian commandos armed to the teeth and confronted by a ruthless agent of the Everlife.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s a weapon.”

“Not quite.” Xormun smirked at him again. “The artifact is, in fact, a tool of tremendous scale and scope. But like so many tools, also a weapon when the need arises.”


Anterus eventually found his bearings and guided the Jovians deeper into the factory. The few raiders they encountered were gunned down with ease, though Nathan suspected the causalities represented only a small fraction of the cyborgs nearby. He wasn’t entirely sure due to the drumming of commando feet and the echoing acoustics of the factory, but he thought he heard groups of raiders moving in parallel around their position, including above and below.

Xormun pressed on, undeterred by the danger those unseen raiders represented, and soon Anterus led them to a huge space somewhere near the heart of the factory. Machinery hung from a high ceiling like mechanical stalactites, pressing downward with the oppressive inevitability of giant teeth. Despite the room’s scale, Nathan felt uncomfortably confined and a part of him desired to be back outside.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Xormun said, coming to a stop. “Good job, Anterus. I never doubted you for a second.”

The cleric kept his head low. He began to walk away, but a commando grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back.

The commandos spread out enough for Nathan to gain a clear view of the whole room. A row of plinths had been arranged at the edge of a wide chasm cut down through the factory floor. Black, egg-shaped devices sat atop half the plinths, each about the size of a human head. Some were cracked or busted open and leaked dark fluid through the breaks, a few had been collected in broken piles, while three intact specimens rested on their pedestals with hints of motion beneath their translucent shells: shifting machinery and coursing fluids.

“The Black Egg,” Joshua said softly.

“Black Eggs,” Xormun corrected. “It seems the natives are collectors of a sort.”

The Jovian apex stepped up to the edge of the cliff. Commandos shoved Nathan and Joshua forward.

The chasm curved away from them to either side so that it formed a wide arc not unlike a grinning mouth. Broken machinery lined the walls and a slick, damp mass undulated across the bottom.

Anterus muttered something under his breath.

“What’d he say?” Nathan asked.

“‘Flesh and metal for the wound.’” Xormun tapped his head. “We Jovians can hear it, too. It’s like a garbled chant being relayed through the Black Eggs. I wonder if the locals aren’t taking those words a bit too literally.”

“Why do you say that?”

Xormun didn’t respond, but instead glanced to one of the commandos. Nathan wondered if he’d passed the Jovian a wireless order, because the commando lit a flare and tossed it into the pit. The bright light came to rest on a horrible amalgamation of pulsating flesh and tubing, its stretched skin heaving and glistening all along the bottom of the chasm.

“Oh, gods,” Joshua gasped. “What is that?”

Xormun chuckled. “A ‘blessing’ of Divergence, perhaps?”

The mass seemed to be composed of hundreds of human bodies, all fused together by methods Nathan didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. Random arms, legs, and vacant, eyeless heads protruded from the mass like tumorous growths, while powerful muscles flexed underneath the patchwork skin.

A sudden memory assaulted Nathan’s mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was sixteen again with the weight of his mother on his back. His father stood on the far side of a locked pressure door, the flesh of his right arm oozing off like wax under a flame. Sweat glistened on his father’s face as the man strained to form words, ordering Nathan to carry his mother to safety.

The moment passed, and he opened his eyes.

“The wound,” Anterus muttered, his words faint, lips barely moving. “Flesh and metal for the wound.”

“Is this why the raiders kidnap people?” Joshua asked, horrified. “For this . . . thing?”

“Who can say?” Xormun kicked a piece of Black Egg shell on the ground. It fell into the chasm and clattered on its way down to the writhing, fleshy mass at the bottom.

“The wound.” Anterus clutched his head with both bandaged hands. “The wound, the wound, the wound. Flesh for the wound.”

“No excuses,” Xormun snapped. “Just pick an egg and connect. Any of the whole ones should do.”

“Flesh for the wound.”

Anterus took shuffling steps up to the unblemished Black Eggs in the center.

“Flesh for the wound!”

“Yes, yes,” Xormun rolled his eyes. “We hear it, too. No need to get all excited.”

Anterus reached for one of the Black Eggs with trembling hands. He glanced back to Xormun, who put a hand on the hilt of his knife as a form of “encouragement.” The cleric faced the Black Egg once more, ran his fingers over its smooth surface and looked as if he were about to grasp it—

—but then he sprinted past, straight for the cliff edge.

“FLESH FOR THE WOUND!”

Anterus leaped into the chasm, arms spread wide in acceptance of his fate. He plummeted away and landed next to the flare with a sickening crunch.

“No!” Joshua cried out. He tried to dash up to the edge, but the commando behind him grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back.

“Well.” Xormun clucked his tongue. “That was unexpected. A disappointment to the end.” He clapped his hands together. “Shall we move on and see if the spare can do better?”

The commando carrying Rufus stepped forward and placed him on the ground at Xormun’s feet.

“You awake in there?” Xormun crouched next to the cleric and grabbed him by the chin. “Huh?” He smacked the drooling man in the face back and forth a few times.

“The wound,” Rufus muttered. “The wound.”

“Not more of this nonsense.” Xormun punched Rufus in the gut, and the cleric’s eyes bugged out. He curled up into a ball, gasping for air.

“Hey!” Nathan snapped. “Stop that!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m just giving him a little wake-up call. He’s fine.”

“No, he’s not! The raiders jammed something into his head!”

“Is that so?” Xormun twisted Rufus’s neck to the side and examined the stake imbedded there. “And so they did. Is this why you’re such a mess?”

“The wound.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.” Xormun let go of the cleric’s chin and shoved him toward the plinths. “Are you with us enough to help or not?”

“Flesh and metal for the wound?”

“You see those Black Eggs?” Xormun pointed. “Commune with them. Find out where the signal is coming from.”

“The wound?” Rufus blinked his eyes, some sense of clarity returning to them at last.

“Do you even understand what I’m saying?”

“The . . .” Rufus looked up at him, then at the Black Eggs. “I . . .”

“Here. How’s this for clarity?” Xormun drew his knife and placed the tip against Nathan’s neck, who sucked in a quick breath. “Either you help us, or I start carving up the worthless baggage you came here with. Does this penetrate the fog in your meat-brain?”

Rufus swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good. Now get to work.” Xormun motioned one of the commandos forward, who cut Rufus’s bonds.

The cleric looked over to the Black Eggs. He took a deep breath and began crawling over to them on his hands and knees.


Rufus knelt before the Black Eggs, inclined his head, and began to mumble a chant. His lips trembled from the utterance of breathy words, and he spread a shaky hand over his chest.

“There,” Xormun declared with a satisfied smile. “Now maybe we’ll make some real progress!”

“You honestly think this’ll lead you to an ancient weapon?” Nathan asked.

“I do.”

Nathan shook his head.

“Is that so strange?” Xormun asked.

“What’s the Everlife need with more guns?”

“A better question is: would any government turn down the chance to become stronger at little to no cost? Answer: none of them. Both the Union and the Concord would attempt to seize this prize if they knew it existed. We simply intend to grab it before anyone else can.”

“All in the name of the Everlife’s jingoism.”

“In the name of peace,” Xormun corrected.

Peace? Come on!”

“No, it’s true. Think about it. People fight for any number of causes because they believe they can prevail. Otherwise, they would flee or submit to the opposition. So, what happens when one side possesses overwhelming strength?”

“You’re hoping the Union and the Concord will submit to you?”

“I know they will. Along with every other pissant group of high-techs out there. That’s how terrifying this weapon is.”

“What is it, then?”

“A tool, as I said. A very large, very powerful tool. One crafted by Pathfinder near the dawn of the Age of Communion.”

“What’s it do?”

“You’ll see.” Xormun grinned at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

“You plan to let us live that long?”

“Unless circumstances dictate otherwise,” Xormun replied with indifference. “Who knows? You three might prove useful. And speaking of which . . .”

Rufus reached out to the closest Black Egg, and his fingertips brushed against its translucent surface. The sense of motion within the artifact hastened, and the cleric’s mutterings grew louder. Nathan caught the name “Metatron,” but he couldn’t make out anything else.

Xormun frowned. “Are you sure you’re praying to the right god?”

Rufus continued his chant.

A loud clank echoed from a side passage, and the commandos stirred. Unseen boots squeaked from the opposite direction, and the commandos backed away from the outer walls. They formed a convex perimeter bristling with weapons, Xormun and the three organic men at the center.

“Sounds like you’re about to have company,” Nathan said, backing away to the Black Eggs with Joshua. None of the commandos stopped them.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“You sure about that?”

“Quiet,” Xormun hissed, drawing his pistol.

The clamor of unseen raiders grew in volume. Nathan couldn’t tell how many there were. Dozens? Hundreds? He heard motion in every direction except from the chasm at their backs. The commandos stood their ground, weapons raised, triangular heads sweeping back and forth.

All the while, Rufus chanted faster and louder. The insides of the Black Egg he’d picked swirled with frantic motion, and the cleric stood up. He held his chin high, stretched out his open hands to the heavens, and gazed up with clear eyes.

“Metatron, guardian of peace and order! Hear my plea! Cleanse these poor souls! Release them from their suffering!”

The Black Egg shuddered, rattling against its cradle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Xormun placed his pistol against the cleric’s temple.

Rufus smiled and closed his eyes.

The Black Egg stopped shaking.

The racket from raiders taking up their positions ceased.

A deep, eerie silence fell over the factory. Even the machinery seemed to pause and hold its figurative breath.

“Answer me,” Xormun snarled.

“I did what was required of me,” Rufus whispered, and opened his eyes. “I freed them.”

A howl echoed down the main corridor, hoarse and throaty but nonetheless powerful. Another joined it, then another. More and more voices cried out in terrifying joy, and soon the entire factory trembled with their wordless roars.

The shouting became almost deafening, and the first raider charged into view down the main entrance, brandishing a vibro-spear. He pulled his arm back for a throw—

—two commandos opened fire at the same instant and blew his torso to bits.

The raider’s broken body flopped to the ground, but more swarmed in from all directions, and the commandos cut loose with the full might of their weaponry. Dozens of cyborgs died in the first seconds, but dozens more poured in. Raiders flooded the chamber from everywhere all at once: down the wide main corridor, out of side passages, through grates in the floor, and some even dropped out of vents in the ceiling.

The overwhelming tide of bodies proved too much, forcing the commandos to split their fire in too many directions, and the first raider to reach the Jovians cleaved the commando’s head off with a jubilant swing.

Xormun grabbed one of the intact Black Eggs. His commandos formed up around him and together they fled down a side passage.

“Rufus?” Nathan asked urgently.

“It’s all right.” The cleric smiled warmly. “I’ve made peace with the natives.”

“You sure about that?”

Nathan staggered away from the raiders rushing them, only to trip and fall over the severed half of a commando. Raiders grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and turned him over. He tensed up, sensing the oscillation of the vibro-blade through his cuffs, expecting the raider to plunge the blade deep into his back.

But the feared moment never came. His bonds fell away, and he turned himself over, coming face-to-face with the raider who’d cut his bonds, a sword humming in his hand.

“Um, thanks?”

“Uuauh,” the raider gurgled, then rose and joined the others in their pursuit of the Jovians.

Nathan stood up and massaged his wrists.

“Are you okay, Rufus?” Joshua asked, shaking out his wrists.

“I’m fine.”

“What about the . . . ?” Nathan tapped the back of his head.

“A necessary hardship. Fortunately, my implants were able to adapt to the intrusion and overcome its cruder elements, as I suspected they would. I have complete control over it now, rather than the other way around.”

“You sound a lot better than a few minutes ago,” Nathan said.

Rufus gave him a sly smile. “I may have been playing up my disorientation just a tad.”

“It worked!” Nathan exclaimed. “You had me fooled!”

“Can you control the raiders now?” Joshua asked.

“No, and I wouldn’t even if I could. These poor people became thralls to this factory long ago, forced to carry out the broken remnants of its commands. The implants this place produced became their shackles. I’ve . . . cleaned up the mess, shall we say. At least as well as I can. In fact, if I were to guess—”

“Save it for later.” Nathan picked up one of the Jovian rifles and pried the commando’s severed hand off it. “Let’s get to somewhere safe first and try to find the others.”

“What about these?” Joshua patted the top of a Black Egg.

“The one to your immediate left belongs to the nekoans,” Rufus said.

“You sure? I don’t see any difference.”

“Quite sure.”

“Okay, then.” Joshua hefted that Black Egg and hugged it against his chest.

“Anyone going to throw a fit if we take that?” Nathan asked, crouching to pocket a few extra magazines.

“I doubt it,” Rufus said. “The natives might even smash the rest out of spite. It’s hard to say how they’ll react moving forward.”

“Then let’s get out of here.” Nathan stood up. “With any luck, we’ll have a clear path to the exit.”

“Don’t jinx us!” Joshua squeaked.



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