Cory Herndon - The Fifth Dawn

Vektro yanked Geth’s pack from her shoulder and kicked it across the floor, then slipped the Miracore from her neck and held it aloft in Malil’s mottled hand. The hand betrayed an nervous tremble as he slowly lifted the chain over his head and-

A loud hiss and a cloud of blue-white steam erupted from the base of the ovoid in the center of the room. Vektro jumped and almost dropped the Miracore, but caught it before it slipped away.

“Watch yourself, Vektro,” Glissa said. “Daddy doesn’t like sharing his toys.”

The imposter backhanded Glissa across the jaw, and her head struck solid darksteel. Vektro/Malil stepped to the ovoid, dropped to one knee and bowed, holding the Miracore above his head like a shield.

A thin, glowing blue line appeared in the center of the ovoid, and grew wider as clamps released, atmospheric pressure found equilibrium, and whining gears slowly pulled the apparatus open like an overripe fruit. A looming shadow appeared in the steam and fog, took on definition, shape, and finally identy.

Memnarch’s skin shone like quicksilver. Glissa could not see any of the flesh that had once mottled this Guardian’s skin as it had Malil’s. Memnarch radiated power from the glowing serum tanks that he carried on his back to the insectoid legs that held up his massive metal bulk.

The Guardian stepped confidently from the hibernation chamber and into the light. “Karn,” he thundered, “I am restored. Pure. The flesh is cleansed.” The crab-like metal man looked down at his servant. “Malil … no, my Creator, it is not Malil.”

“Master-” Vektro began.

“Vektro was to remain on the surface, yes!” Memnarch said. “It should not be here. But that is unimportant.” The Guardian snatched the Miracore from the false Malil’s hands and held it up to the light. Vektro remained, his head down.

“Master,” Vektro repeated, “the surface battle is all but over. The fools could not have reached my explosive, and it is only a matter of time before-”

Without removing his eyes from the Miracore, the Guardian swept a gleaming silver hand through Vektro/Malil’s torso, neatly slicing him in half. There was no explosion of gore, but a thin mist of glowing red energy seeped into a cloud. The plasma swirled as if trying to gain cohesion.

“It was useful, Karn,” Memnarch said wistfully, “but ultimately a failed idea. A creation of a tainted mind.” He waved a hand, and the glowing red energy that was Vektro blew away like smoke before the wind. Memnarch waved again, and a swarm of the small four-legged construct bugs scuttled into the room and covered Malil’s corpse. Bright blue beams of energy shot from their gemstone eyes and reduced the remains to nothingness. The bugs scuttled back to their corners, and one of them tapped Glissa deliberately on the toe as it passed.

The elf girl’s stomach did gymnastics. Slobad was alive, apparently controlling those little machines somehow, but what kind of life was this? Was Glissa going to find herself nothing more than a mind connected to a machine, only able to communicate via bug-talk?

“I’m sorry, Slobad,” Glissa said softly.

With a smooth flourish, the Guardian lifted the Miracore’s chain over his head and let the asymmetrical disk dangle on his chest. On the Guardian, the talisman looked miniscule.

“Rest, Karn,” Memnarch said with a cheerfulness that made Glissa wonder if that tone was just the beginning of the torture. “Rest and recuperation was what we needed. A good long rest to cleanse the soul. Good for the spark, too. It has kept the spark safe. It returned, as we knew it would. Now, in this pure body, I shall surely be worthy, Karn.”

“Nice,” Glissa said. “Very shiny.”

“The spark thinks it needs a tongue to be of use to me, my Creator,” the Guardian said. “Perhaps I shall remove it.” The bulky silver creature crab-walked to a silver panel and tapped out a pattern on colored gemstones. The entire Panopticon, including the rack that held Glissa in place, began to vibrate with a deep hum. She felt her guts lurch as the diamond-shaped structure started to slide toward the center of the great platform outside, taking them all with it. After a few minutes, a loud clang sounded as an enormous latch somewhere below snapped into place. If Glissa didn’t miss her guess, they were now sitting directly over the large hole cut into the center of the platform. There was nothing between her and the simmering mana core but this structure, which suddenly felt much less solid.

“It is genius,” Memnarch said. “You see my new form, and the mycosynth spires are gone. The time of flesh has passed.” He gazed out a tinted crystal window at the enormous struts and spikes that comprised the world-sized machine Memnarch-or someone-had built into the interior.

“I know what it thinks,” the Guardian said. “It thinks I built this great machine. But it cannot understand how, if I have been sleeping for five years. It thinks five years is a long time.” He laughed, a cold, mechanical sound. “Of course, the goblin built it, as you advised me. And I took the time to rejuvenate myself. To cleanse the spore. The goblin did very good work, don’t you think?”

Even if Glissa had thought Memnarch was speaking to her-and apparently he wasn’t-she wouldn’t have answered. What the Guardian said had just sunk in. Glissa stared at poor Slobad, a hunk of sentient meat connected to nothing but serum and the tiny artifact creatures. In thrall to the Guardian.

“Yes, wonderful work, built to specifications but with a few special idiosyncratic touches that shows it was goblin-made,” Memnarch said. “My very own Ascension Web.”

“Can it feel the power gathering above? In the caged mana core below?” Memnarch asked. “Does the spark it has stolen tell it the time is near? Does the spark cry out, ready to feed my ascension?”

Glissa could feel the power gathering. She strained against her bonds and said, “I can’t feel anything-all my blood’s stuck down in my boots. Think you could loosen this thing a little?”

“How could you choose such an unworthy vessel, Karn?” Memnarch called to the sky. There was no answer that Glissa could hear. Memnarch nodded as if listening to a good joke, then burst into laughter. “Ah, of course,” the Guardian chuckled.

“Uh, what did … er, Karn say?” Glissa asked.

“Yes, all vessels shatter eventually, my Creator,” Memnarch said, ignoring her. “Mere storage.”

Glissa’s skin was beginning to tingle. The alignment of the suns-moons-was so close she could taste it, and from the way Memnarch was raving he could tell, too. In desperation, Glissa tried to call on the destructive spark-magic. But something was cutting her off completely from the power. She hoped that didn’t mean the Tangle was already gone.

Light poured in from above as the Guardian slapped another gemstone, and the top half of the diamond-shaped structure split open like a budding flower. What had been the ceiling folded flat against the exterior, and Glissa stared up into a reflection of the dazzling mana ball, occulted by the black shadow cast by the core of Memnarch’s Ascension Web.

Memnarch slipped a pair of slim silver disks into his palm and scuttled over to Glissa. Without preamble, he slapped one disk to her forehead, where it stuck. He slipped the other one into a thin slit on the top of the Miracore. Then he busied himself with examining the flat panels that lined the walls, occasionally muttering, “Yes, yes,” or “Not long now, my Creator.”

The elf girl bit back a cry as a sharp pain jabbed into the side of her neck. She strained her eyes and saw one of the construct bugs had mounted her shoulder and extended a thin silver needle into a spot just below her ear.