12 Miles Below

Book 6. Chapter 39: Time's ticking

Turns out convincing a talking bird into finding a giant machine was a lot easier than expected. We’d been chatting with Kres for a good half hour now, which wasn’t a lot of time for any first contact situation - but there was still a clock to deal with.

Murdershrimp was out there, and the longer he had free roam to plot and scheme, the more time he had to break every bit of mite tech in range. Once I got things moving to recruitment and getting Kres’s help, he was rather amicable to that idea.

But there was a catch. “All right, so you help us with our machine problem, and we eliminate the animals around here?”

Kres squawked and took a quick hop to one side. I think that meant yes in bird, or Odin, but after a half hour of watching that bird move in every direction possible, I had stopped trying to guess. The squat little creature had been constantly twitching, flicking his feathers, tapping on the ground with his beak, turning his head in every single direction - It’s like the Odin could not sit still unless strapped down to a chair. Or their version of a chair. Which might be a branch? Perch?

We probably looked more like statues to him, completely unmoving in comparison.

“The animals that attacked you, they were not wild animals.” Kres finally said. “They were diseased. We need you to eliminate the infestation itself.”

“... so it was a disease then. Tell us more details?” Drakonis asked. “Were they also sentient like you, only turned mad?”

The bird did bird things, not sure if those were normal bird things since I wasn’t an Undersider and birds didn’t exist on the surface besides reasonable normal flightless chickens.

“The Icon called it a fungal infection.” Kres said. “It rots the mind, makes any intelligent animal grow delusional, paranoid, aggressive to anyone around. They hear whispers in their minds, and grow to trust those above all other voices. Wild animals do not retain even that, becoming only aggressive. We’ve attempted to study it, at great cost.”

“How does a mushroom manage to do all that?” Drakonis asked. “That’s what fungus means, right? Or is the armor mistranslating that?”

“Negative, no mistranslation detected.” Journey’s helmet said from the center of the rock table. “Accuracy rated at ninety-eight percent given context clues, verbiage and wording used.”

“The Icon called it a bioweapon, built to eradicate life.” Kres clarified. “It has a mind and obeys no master. Neither machine, worldshaper, human or any other race alive.”

“A bioweapon. Huh.” I tapped my chin, thinking it through. There’s only one era when someone could have made ratshit like that. Humans wouldn’t try to fight machines with a bioweapon, but the opposite would be very probable.

I had a very strong suspicion this was a left-behind remnant from Relinquished trying to make or reuse an old weapon, and messing it up.

“This would be in our ability to handle.” Drakonis said, turning to me. “Armor will filter out spores or anything of danger. But simply finding our target isn’t enough payment for this kind of service. I say, the bird will help us navigate the strata, find any machine, and search for terminals and fountains for us. In exchange, we kill the pests. Good deal?”

“It being a bioweapon changes things a bit.” I pointed back. “Small margin of error in case anything goes wrong while fighting. It’s built to kill life, and probably originally built specifically to kill humans. Sure, the armor can hold anything off, but what if something happens and we get a hole blown in the armor while in the middle of a spore cloud?”

“What do those animals have that could both penetrate the shields and metal plating of relic armor?” Drakonis asked. “Sharp teeth?”

Before I could even give him a raised eyebrow, I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. The fallacy here is thinking the infestation was a separate faction, and we’d be fighting them in a vacuum. They weren’t.

“Machines.” He hissed.

I flashed him a quick thumbs up. “A drake would do that. Take a quick potshot at us from a mile away. Even just a grazing shot would punch through both shield and armor integrity. And those are common enemies on the top three stratas. Who knows what else is lurking down here?”

Drakonis hummed. Then shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t overly complicate things. So long as one of us stays alive and recovers the other’s gear, we can continue the fight.”

Kres did some more bird movements before speaking out. “What is the problem with machines? I will guide you away from them, or guide you to eliminate them before they are a problem.”

“What the Winterscar is saying is that we cannot treat the infestation as a separate faction, disconnected with the machines and the larger world out there.” Drakonis said, “Some machines can be clever, and some will be patient enough to wait until we’re fighting the infestation before attacking.”

Kres walked back and forth on the table, head bobbing with every step. “We Odin could be far more watchful with machines. We can be sure you engage only when no machines are seen. Or give warnings to retreat when they approach.”

Drakonis shook his head. “What if the infestation was made to pair with a machine of some kind that hasn’t ever needed to be active yet? There are no humans down here. This thing has no master, but that’s limited to what you and the Odin know - and you’re not human, so you won’t trigger any human specific conditions.”

The bird gave a few noises, then pecked the ground under him. “I see. You are correct. We only know of how the infestation reacts when threatened by our own races, not by humans. Perhaps a different deal can be made? For weapons, or technology?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t out of the question.” Drakonis said, turning to me. “Even if we’re exposed to the infestation, the worst that can happen is death. It can’t contaminate the armor or our weapons. We could engage separately, always keep one of us in reserve and ready for a recovery mission so that when we return from death, we’ll be able to pick back up with the mission.”

I had a very big problem with that - I wasn’t actually Deathless, and dying would very much not be optimal for me.

“Death isn’t what I’m worried about.” I said, “We don’t know if we’ll actually die from this thing or not. Imagine living forever, completely mad?”

Kres, bless his beady little eyes, had finally gone still and stopped moving. “What do you mean, ‘return from death’?” He asked. “And living forever?”

“That’s going to be a long topic.” I said, waving a hand.

“No, it’s easy to explain.” Drakonis cut, then turned to the bird. “Deathless are humans who are immortal and have access to powers that science cannot explain. That’s it. Not all humans are Deathless, but both the Winterscar and I happen to be such beings.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“And I can breathe fire.” Kres answered, deadpan. The answer was so quick, it felt more like a reflex answer.

I had the fractal of fire etched on my helmet’s faceplate, so I could breathe out fire. Kres might be able to do the same with their version of the occult. If they had access to that. “Can you?” I asked.

The bird gave a few curt wing flaps and a series of squawks. The armor didn’t know Odin and couldn’t translate that, but I think I had an idea. “Of course I cannot!” Kres eventually said. “Are you taking me for a fool? Is this a human sense of humor or jape?”

I turned to my fellow Deathless and gave him a shrug. “Told you it can’t be easily explained.”

“I wasn’t done.” A pulse of occult came out of him, small crackling hints of lighting scattered over his armor, skittering in different directions.

I was long used to the feeling of occult in the air, but the bird clearly wasn’t because he’d frozen up for the second time now. As far as proving there was magic in the world to someone who didn’t know about magic, that would do the trick.

“Very well then.” Kres said, ruffling his feathers. “Humans can also use magic. Of course they can. Good to know.”

“He’s a little dramatic, but that’s about right.” I said, waving a lazy hand at my companion.

“Some say it comes from divinity,” Drakonis said. “Others claim it was hidden technology beyond what was ever documented in the golden era. We do not know, Deathless simply appear over the years to fight machines. One day I was a normal human and then overnight I woke to have powers.”

“So. Humanity is a warrior race with natural aggressive tendencies, the best features of all predators we know of, true masters of the old weapons left behind, empowered by a metal shell that cannot be broken and under all that you are unkillable as well?!”

I turned to Drakonis. “Don’t tell him about warlocks yet. We can go over that later. ” Then I turned to Kres. “How about we owe you a favor for helping us kill Murdershrimp? We’re on a time limit right now, since we have no idea what sort of havoc he can deal while he’s on the loose. Soon as he’s dead and no longer breaking anything, we can sit down and really discuss things further?”

Kres hopped a few times, beady eyes tracking the both of us. “Very well. I will try to find the guardian and lead you to it. We can continue to discuss terms after. I cannot do more, as the guardian is powerful and will certainly take offense to the help should it find out.”

“Finding it is all we need.” Drakonis said. “For a giant machine, it’s been built in such a way as to be difficult for our armors to track down.”

I thought it would take an hour or two to find the giant metal lobster, but turns out it’s in-built vanity at keeping the plates perfectly clean and spotless was the undoing. Kres spotted the thing within ten minutes of flying.

“That way.” Kres spoke, landing on a perch above the trees. His beak turned to the opposite direction, dipping low while he flared his wings out a bit. “It’s on a path away from the portal tree, weaving through the trees.”

“Let’s go.” I turned to Drakonis, shooting him a thumbs up. “We’ll wrap up what we started, and then we’ve got time to examine the mess down here in more detail.”

He stood back up, tugged the strap of his rifle to verify it held tight, and then started on a jog in the bird’s direction. “It running away from the portal worries me.” He muttered. “Might mean it’s already done something there.”

On my side, I lifted a hand out, “Come down here Kres, I’ve got a comms unit we can attach to your strap there. It’ll help us communicate faster.”

Kres gave me a look from the top of the perch.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I think you could tell by now. More friends in a strata filled with things trying to kill us is hardly something I’ll complain about.”

“I know.” The bird said. “Odin are naturally cautious. Give me a moment.”

He strutted back and forth on the branch for a few seconds, lifted his head high, then turned and leaped straight down all at once.

Birds were something more myth to my people. We had chickens, and there were books and old video footage of hawks and others flying through the air. But anything that wasn’t made out of metal and insulated with a thick layer of aerogel couldn’t survive on the surface flying around. Not even tiny bugs, and they seemed the fastest to adapt to just about everything.

So getting up close and watching as one of these myths quite literally fly over to my hand definitely did something to my cold, dead heart.

Kres swept up and landed on my arm, claws quickly finding small grooves on my arm to hold onto. He was just about the size of my head, wings not included. Those folded up quickly from the graceful sweep he’d just done.

There was still a skittish nature to him that made me move slowly, trying not to spook him. “Had my armor build this while you were finding murdershrimp.” I said, taking the small chip out of my pouch.

It had a small clip made into it, which slipped well on the bird’s cloth harness.

“Your armor can create things?” He asked, head giving the chip a closer look.

“Armor can repair itself, if it’s fed the right materials and power. And to repair itself, it’s got to be able to make things. This isn’t got great range, but it’ll do in a pinch. I’ll tell you later, once we’re sure murdershrimp is stopped.”

I don’t know what Kres was thinking with the beady little eyes looking directly up at me, but I had the gut feeling he’d tossed this as another ridiculous human thing. To be fair, when everything was put down like this, we really did seem to have a lot of stacked up advantages.

“Place the chip closer to my beak or talons.” Kres said, balancing on one foot while the other tried to tap and touch the chip. “I do not have fingers like you do that can move in any direction. Operating this means placing it in the right position.”

“It’s smart enough to detect when you’re talking and transmit automatically.” I told him. “You won’t need to touch or press anything. Just make sure you’re loud enough for the speaker to pick your voice up.”

He didn’t answer, just once more stared at me.

“I swear, it’s pretty common in comms devices.” I said. “This one’s nearly exactly what’s in my helmet already, it does the same thing for me. I’m not going to re-create an entire comms unit in ten minutes.”

“I don’t know if I’d be surprised you did.” Kres said. “I fear the day you and Astrid meet.”

“Who’s Astrid?” I asked.

“Someone who’s just as ridiculous as you are. She is not a warrior, but an engineer. And if she hears about what your armor can do, I doubt anything short of tying her wings together would give you any amount of peace.”

I swapped the frequencies to a quick private channel. “That’s less of a threat than you think.” I told him. “Honestly, I’d be fascinated to meet an Odin engineer and see how your people develop things.”

“You? A warrior?” Kres asked. “How would the subject at all interest you?”

“Being a warrior’s mostly new to me. Only happened in the last few months. Most of my life I grew up working with circuits and Reachers.”

Kres did bird movements on my hand, which were oddly quick and nimble. “You are not a warrior, but an engineer?” He asked. “What’s thirty two multiplied by seven?”

That was interesting. Not the question itself - but that the number system Kres used was the universal one. One moment I heard the old gibberish and the echo of Journey translating it, and the next moment he’d swapped to numbers I could understand without translation.

If the Odin had learned everything from an old human AI that could pick and choose whatever it wanted to teach, made sense the AI had decided regular numbers would be easier than anything from ancient humanity. There’d been some strange number systems in the long past before the current standard.

“Two hundred twenty four.” I told the bird, “Also, I’m cheating because my armor can easily display the answers. It’s intelligent.” Journey hadn’t, but I could have easily asked it to throw up a calculator on the HUD. “You should ask me more complicated mathematics, or electrical laws and circuit questions if you’re actually trying to test me. Metallurgy could also be a good category to ask. I’d say just naming some more specific tools would be good enough, but don’t think the Odin use the same tools humans do.”

“Time’s burning.” Drakonis said, comms crackling in and I could hear the echo from the small chip in front of me. “I don’t want to give it any more time to break things. Get moving already Winterscar.”

Kres took the hint and leapt off my arm, flying up and past the trees. I turned to a quick sprint, catching up with Drakonis.

“It’s likely got keen senses. Kres, warn us when we are ten minutes off from catching up to it. We’ll need to strategize.” Drakonis send out. “Comms might alert it. Anywhere close to it, we’ll need to rely on signals instead, just to be certain.”

Murdershrimp had a head start on us, but it also wasn’t moving at any actual speed, favoring being sneaky around the trees than fast. Last I’d seen of the machine, it could hover in the air as it skittered around. Made sense there wasn’t a hint of tracks anywhere. We really were trusting everything that Kres had spotted the menace.

And the bird hadn’t let us down. Pretty soon, we caught a message telling us to slow down.

It’s time to handle murdershrimp, and this time we’re the ones ambushing.

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