Nine

[keaalu]

     The first of the strings of small lights was so delicate, it was virtually invisible under the onslaught of the amiable giant’s headlights. The further they got, though, the less impact the larger lights had, and at last the giant noticed the strings of lighting and disengaged its own lamps. Curiously, it ran a finger down the skein, and made a soft little appreciative hum at watching the fairy lights dance.

     Jazny shared its appreciation. Long chains of small lights lined the tunnel, like bright dew-covered webs – first at a low level, at just above lepuuri height, and then higher, coverage gradually increasing until the entire tunnel was festooned. It wasn’t quite as bright as daylight, but it was definitely approaching it. Sporadic plant growth had become thick carpets of vegetation up the walls.

     A narrow track of close-packed stone ran down the centre, along which the giant elected to walk. Jazny watched it place its feet carefully, avoiding walking on the crops – although whether it was being polite, or just didn’t want to get vegetable matter on its heavy soles, he was again unsure. Whatever it was doing, it was also not paying such close attention to what was ahead; Jazny couldn’t quite see the colony lights, but the little herd of grazers frantically scrambling up the mossy tunnel walls strongly suggested they were getting very close.

     “Stop-... please stop?”

     How did you stop a creature at least twenty times your size without speaking its language? The giant gave him an amiable glance, with those strange curved mouthparts, and carried on as though Jazny hadn’t spoken.

     “Please, you have to stop-!” Jazny exclaimed, watching as the livestock dashed away from the advancing giant, animals crawling on top of each other in their efforts to get away. If it kept going... it would soon be at the colony border, and could cause all manner of destruction! Even now, Five was probably preparing a defence, although Jazny was at a loss to what he thought they could achieve against a headstrong giant made of cool metal.

     I need to stop it, but how do I do that? Oh Mercy, what if it keeps going? What if they try and stop it but it has not put me down?! “Please stop-! You will be the death of me!” Jazny yanked hard on the bristly stems coming out from the side of its head, and thankfully the creature finally stopped. The big eyes came around to glare at him, but that was the limit of the creature’s hostility.

     “Forgive me,” Jazny apologised, trying to straighten the bent stems with trembling fingers. He’d wrenched at the wound in his side in the process, and could feel the awkward warmth of haemolymph puddling in his fur again. “But we are coming upon the city, and I do not wish for you to be injured because of an understanding. Do you understand?”

     Once more, glowing blue eyes stared at him without comprehension. Jazny sighed.

     “May I get down?” he wondered.

     The head perked confusedly to one side.

     “Down?” Jazny repeated, pointing at the ground. When the giant still failed to move, he patted a hand to his chest, and repeated the word “down”, and at last the connection seemed to have been made.

     The big machine crouched, carefully, and lowered its hand, allowing Jazny to step off. It remained in a crouch next to him, watching out of those curious glowing eyes.

     “We are coming upon the colony, you see? We have farmed the outskirts.” Jazny waved a hand to take in the elegant rows of strange, grass-like plants growing along the natural terraces formed by the broken rock, then leaned down and demonstrated one of the plants. The tall, wiry stems swayed gracefully, making the comically large fruit at their ends bob and make little hollow bok sounds where they bumped together.

     The giant curved its mouth again and tapped the fruits. It seemed amused by the little sounds, or perhaps confused by what they meant? Or perhaps... hungry? Did machine giants require nourishment?

     Jazny carefully snapped one of the stems and held the pebbly beige sphere up to the giant. “Are you hungry? Is that your intention?”

     The giant took the fruit, but just looked at it. It gave him a curious glance. For once, its meaning was clear; what do I do with this?

     “It is food. Observe!” Jazny took one for himself, and dug his sharp little fingertips into the strangely textured outer rind. It broke away like polystyrene, revealing a mostly hollow interior filled with a sort of translucent honeycomb, which he carefully broke up with his fingers; it disintegrated rapidly into a sort of thick, slushy juice. “You see?” He held up a fingertip, demonstrating the slush. “You drink it.”

     The giant perked its head and narrowed its eyes, still not comprehending.

     Jazny unrolled his proboscis and dipped it into the interior of the fruit, sucking up the small quantity of juice. Kheh! He should have known the fruit wouldn’t quite be ripe, at this stage! Still, bitter or not, it should not be allowed to go to waste. “You see?” he went on, inverting the fruit’s shell and showing it was empty.

     What was a fair-sized ball in Jazny’s little hands was more of a pea, between the giant’s thumb and forefinger. It gave the fruit a critical look, and placed the whole thing in its mouth.

     ...it seemed expressions of distaste, however, were universal. The giant made a face and egested the rind into its hand, then offered it solemnly back to the lepuuri.

     “I wish I understood whether it is simply the flavour you dislike, or that you cannot utilise the fruit for energy,” Jazny sighed, taking the broken rind and carefully hiding it among the stems. “We had better move on. The sooner I may introduce you to the colony, the sooner I can cease worrying if you – and I, as a consequence – will be attacked.”

     Jazny made barely six steps before the giant’s long legs had passed him. Not again!

     He squeaked frantically, and the giant dithered, apparently concerned by the racket, turning to look down at him. What?

     He held up his hands in a stop gesture. “You need to follow me, not walk in front,” Jazny instructed. “Do you understand?” He beckoned slightly, and after a combination of halt and follow hand signals at last the giant understood, and followed him quite amiably, instead of charging ahead.

     Proving the taller lepuuri’s concerns correct, Five stood waiting for them to arrive. The powerful male was flanked by half a dozen hand-picked warrior, all armed with stout electric quarterstaffs.

     “Jazny,” Five greeted, warily. “Please stop and explain yourself.”

     After a gesture to the giant – it stopped, obediently – Jazny bowed his head and held up his palms in a placatory gesture before advancing. “It means us no harm, sir.”

     “And yet it has followed you. Why would it have done so unless it intended us mischief?”

     “It was already travelling in this direction when we found it, if you recall...?” Jazny cringed away from the larger male, awkwardly. “I think it may be injured. May-... maybe we should attempt to ascertain where it belongs, so it may be sent back...?”

     “Hm.” Five clicked, annoyedly, and snapped his wings. “While I would personally ask that you entice your pet to return in the direction from which it has come, it is unfortunately not my call to make. The monarch wishes to see it for herself. You may enter.” He caught the taller lepuuri’s upper arm as Jazny prepared to pass him. “But be warned, we will not tolerate disobedience,” he added, softly. “Any adverse behaviour will be met with resistance. Is that understood?”

     “Of-of course, sir...” Jazny inclined his head, respectfully, antennae folded, and waited until Five had backed away before beckoning to the giant.

* * * * *
     Whitesides watched the exchange with curiosity. The more dramatically-marked of the small creatures seemed to be in a command position, of some kind, if the response of his slightly-taller guide was anything to go by. At first, he was concerned they intended harm to each other, which left him torn – should he intervene? – but the smaller one abruptly backed off and gestured for them to pass.

     He followed his guide deeper into the settlement, carefully, watching where he placed his feet; the path was wider, and smoother, but a significant number of the small sentients had been attracted out of hiding by his arrival, and were now clustering closer, to get a better look. He had to be careful where he placed his feet to ensure none got stepped on.

     His guide seemed to be one of the tallest of the creatures, although he was slender also; the majority had slightly longer, fluffier pelts, but came only to his guide’s shoulder. They moved around in little groups – and how odd, most groups consisted of individuals with similar markings. Some form of extreme segregation? Or something else entirely...?

     Belatedly, he realised his guide had stopped, and hastily put on the brakes. The small creature pointed at the ground and chirped something clicky and incomprehensible. Assuming he had been told to sit, Whitesides complied, finding an area large enough to occupy without damaging anything, lowering his aft carefully to the ground. His audience kept to a respectful distance, chirping among themselves.

     It was definitely a well-established little colony – an odd mixture of tribal and technological, nestled into a strange subterranean woodland. The patch of springy green plant matter on which he sat seemed like more of a “village green”, surrounded by slightly larger clumps of vegetation, and all around him on every scrap of spare land (and up the walls) were what looked like the creatures’ homes. The ‘houses’ were more like nests, lots of little ovoid units woven of reeds with circular holes; half of the little doorways were hung with curtains, through some of which a subdued golden light gleamed. Each individual nest formed part of a cluster, like a bunch of grapes, forming a haphazard scramble up the rocky walls.

     The more he saw, the less it felt like this was where he belonged. Everything was far too small – designed to be manipulated by small, six-limbed creatures with tiny fingers. Nothing had been designed with his kind in mind. If they had created him? It was for use somewhere else. He vented warm air, dispiritedly.

* * * * *
     Relief was like something palpable, as Jazny returned with the monarch and found their guest was still where he’d asked it – or was it a ‘him’, after all? Seemed more personable than an ‘it’, but how did you determine machine gender? – to sit.

     “Respectfully, I think Five is over-reacting in this case, ma’am,” he explained, remaining a reverential step behind the monarch and her entourage, bowing his back so he was at her height. “He does not seem to intend us any harm.”

     “That is as may be,” the old female agreed, although her voice gave no inclination of what she was actually thinking. “But what does it want?” The monarch gave Jazny a harder, semi-critical look and flicked a hand at one of her workers.

     The smaller female dashed forwards and bowed very steeply. “Ma’am?”

     “Fetch water, and medical supplies,” the older female instructed. “Then tend to our guest’s guide. He seems to be injured.”

     Jazny, smoothed his wings back, sheepishly. He’d not realised the wound was so visible. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”

     She made a dismissive noise. “I wonder where it has come from,” she mused, out loud, returning to the original conversation. The giant watched her approach, remaining passive as she came closer.

     “It is doubtful that it is from lepuuri lands,” one of her advisors commented, and a ripple of agreement passed around the group.

     “Your reasoning?” The monarch gave the speaker a curious glance.

     He puffed himself up and tried not to flinch under her gaze. “Its face is malformed. It lacks limbs. It lacks joints in the limbs it does have! Why would we have created such a distasteful creature?”

     “Hm. Which begs the question, who created it, and for what purpose?”

     The giant just watched her, with an apparently-amiable but non-comprehending expression on its alien face.

     “Jazny? You have had most contact thus far, what is your opinion?” The monarch gave the petrol-coloured lepuuri a serious look – one that said consider your words before you voice them. Do not offer an idle comment, as it may come back on you. “You are confident it does not pose a threat?”

     Jazny bobbed his antennae. “Correct, madame,” he agreed, with a wince as the nurse carefully washed dried haemolymph from his flank. “He has not – ah! careful, please! – shown me any aggression, and carried me a significant distance back here when he realised I was injured.” Pause. “He does not seem to understand us, so communication is often difficult, but I do not think he intends any harm.

     “Hm.” She tapped her fingers together, thoughtfully. “Although I know Five will disagree, for now? He may stay.” A ripple of hastily-quelled displeasure followed her words. “At least until we can determine from whence he came. And unless anyone has any additional evidence they would like to provide me with,” she elevated her voice, just to make the point, “that is my final decision! Jazny?”

     “...y-yes, madame?”

     “For now, I am tasking you with looking after him. Understood?”

     “Yes, ma’am!” In his haste to provide a suitably polite reply, Jazny lurched to his feet to bow while the nurse was still tending his wound. He promptly flopped back onto his tail with a little wheeze of pain.

     “Until we can determine his origin, we shall call him Cenac,” the monarch decreed. “As we cannot call him ‘giant monster’ and still make him welcome, here.” She laced the fingers of both sets of hands and bowed her head to him – and perhaps to illustrate Jazny’s point, the giant politely bowed his head, as well.

     Jazny perked his antennae forwards. Cenac made sense, at least – descriptive names were all the rage in lepuuri society and their guest was most certainly green. Plus it meant he could stop calling him “the giant”.

     The monarch had just turned to go when a small, high voice attracted her attention. “Madame?”

     “Yes?” She turned her attention onto the small worker female that had come forwards, apparently out of breath; silver and green in colour, she wasn’t a member of the monarch’s extended family or one of her advisors, and she couldn’t quite remember where she recognised her from. “I assume Five permitted you through as you have something to tell me?” She glanced up at her guard, who inclined his head and snapped his wings in agreement, just the once.

     “There has been another disappearance...”

* * * * *
     In an alley just across the street from the apartment Slipstream shared with his friends, Sharpshins was dithering. He’d found something – a small, flattish satchel – on his travels, and thought might be important to uh, to ‘someone’... but he wanted to hand it in to someone who he could be confident would give it back to its rightful owner, not just... stuff it in the Lost Property where it’d sit and go ignored for years. Although he himself was going to end up tearing the comparatively flimsy brown fabric of the strap, if he wrang it awkwardly through his hands much more.

     What was he waiting for, anyway? For that little yellow brat to turn up? In a way, he’d felt more comfortable talking to her than he thought he would talking to Slipstream. At least he knew what talking to her would involve – insults, mostly. After all, he and Seem had been pretty close, in dorms – brothers-in-arms, or something. He didn’t really want to see his old friend, unless his hand was forced. To say he’d let him down was a major understatement-

     “Sharpshins?”

     The silver mech clearly hadn’t been expecting the voice, so close to his audio, but managed to disguise his alarm fairly well. Drat. “Hello, Slipstream.” He straightened up – no point hiding any more.

     “...Hey, Sharp,” Slipstream greeted, warily. “Uh... can I help?”

     Sharpshins kept his gaze lowered, and held out the satchel, making no move to advance. “I found this by the Rift, up towards Tysta.”

     “It’s a bag,” Slipstream observed, flatly, nevertheless accepting it. “Is it supposed to mean something?”

     “I, uh-...” Sharpshins coughed, rebooted his vocaliser. “I think it belongs to Whitesides. Could you give it back to him?”

     Silence greeted his words.

     At last, Sharpshins allowed himself to glance up, and noticed that Slipstream was watching with a very serious expression on his face. “What?”

     “You didn’t know?” Slipstream’s frown deepened, fractionally.

     “I... guess not? Didn’t know what?”

     “Whitesides is missing. Has been for a few days, actually. And now Blink has gone missing too.”

     For several seconds, Sharp was silent, trying to work out exactly what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed, at last, inadequately. “I hope they turn up safe and sound.” Beat. “I-... guess I’ll see you around.”

     “Sharp?”

     Sharpshins hesitated for a moment or two before looking back at his old colleague. “What?” His voice came out almost as a gruff cough.

     His cobalt twin jerked his head at his apartment. “Uh-... listen, thanks. Um, and... didja want a shower, or something? As you’re here anyway? Or something to drink?”

     “...?”

     “Listen, it’s no big deal. The others aren’t about, and won’t be back for a while. I can spare some soap and some of my rations. Easy.”

     Sharpshins studied the ground between them. “Thanks, but... I ought to be off,” he excused himself, hoarsely. “Things to do. People to see.” People to avoid. “You know.”

     “No, I don’t know.” The lilac stare became more probing. “I didn’t know Empties had such a busy social life.”

     Sharpshins refused to meet his friend’s challenging gaze. “Well, consider this an education.”

     “Listen, Sharp... I’m... sorry.”

     “What for?”

     “Sorry it all turned out the way it did. I would have warned you what I was going to do, I just-... I wasn’t thinking so straight. You know?”

     Sharpshins managed a half-hearted smile, and shrugged with one shoulder. “Eh, don’t go blow a fuse over it. No big deal,” he lied. “I’ve got past it. I think I’d have got the boot anyway. Too many black marks on my record, and all that.”

     “No more than mine.”

     Sharpshins snorted. “If you’re going to lie to save my feelings, Seem, please find something more believable to lie about?”

     “I just-... They could have offered you rehab or something, at least-?”

     “Look.” Sharpshins interrupted, in a clipped staccato tone of voice that suggested he was trying not to lose his temper. “Just-... lay off, all right? I don’t want to talk about it.” He put up his hands. “It’s over. I missed my chance. I get it. I’m a bad example, I’m a bad worker, I’m a bad cop. They were just waiting for me to do something horrible enough that they could give me my marching orders.”

     Slipstream backed off, his own hands in the air, defensive. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he soothed, unhappily. “I didn’t mean-... I just-... You were a good friend-”

     Apparently not good enough, Sharpshins thought, but kept it to himself.

     “-and... Listen, if you’re ever back in the neighbourhood-”

     Sharpshins shook his head, knowing what the other mech was going to offer. “Thanks, but I’d rather not.”

     “I don’t mind-”

     “Well I do, all right?” The silver mech bristled. “I’m not a charity case, Slipstream. I didn’t come by so you could make yourself feel good. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. Just-... take the stupid bag, and do what you want with it.”

~3308 words

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