“How is Dalle?”
The young man winced. “We haven’t spoken in four cycles. She sided with the rebels during the war. I … didn’t. Not that I was on the Raen’s side either. I don’t like violence.”
Zeke didn’t see Tyen’s wince, his attention turning to writing. The sound of pen running over paper followed. Zeke quickly finished one letter and pushed it aside, then hesitated before slowly writing another. By the time he was done, Tyen had seen most of the source of the conflict between the siblings. Dalle had joined the rebels after Baluka had become the leader. Zeke had refused to accompany her, or go to the final battle. He hadn’t believed that the rebels would win, or that she would go if he didn’t. Now everything was the way he had predicted it would be, adding resentment to her belief he had stayed neutral out of cowardice. The Restorers were unable to stop sorcerers behaving as badly as Valhan and the allies had. War was everywhere. Worlds had turned on their neighbours. Sorcerers sought to expand their empires. More and more worlds had been stripped of magic.
As Zeke started tossing clothes and other belongings into a sack, he wondered if destroying weaponised insectoids would please or displease her.
She’ll be happy I joined Tyen, the former head of the rebels. Unless he really was a spy. Zeke paused. If he was, do I care? He shrugged, lifted the sack, winced at its weight, then dug inside and drew out a few items, throwing them on the unmade bed. I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out. He slung the sack over one shoulder, looked around the room and nodded.
“I’m ready to go.”
A few good-quality tools, some gifts from his sister and some comfortable clothes, Tyen mused, remembering his own careful packing before leaving Liftre. He already knows what he values most. He held out a hand. Zeke grinned and seized it. Tyen pushed into the place between and started the journey back to his basement workroom.
CHAPTER 13
“Nice place you have here.”
Tyen stopped writing and looked up to see Zeke descending the stairs into the basement. The young man glanced upwards pointedly.
“Yes,” Tyen agreed. “A … I suppose you’d call him a patron … found it for me.”
Zeke’s eyebrows rose. “Is he financing some of this?”
“Most of it.” Tyen frowned as he realised that wasn’t entirely true. “All of it, really.”
“He has a particular interest in your experiment?”
“Yes, and he supports my wish to deal with the insectoids too.” Tyen paused. “I’m sorry. I should have mentioned him earlier. Are you okay with this? If you ever feel uncomfortable with the arrangement, I can take you back.”
“I guess …” Zeke moved to the tables where the war insectoids lay. “I’m just glad to be away from Liftre. Anyone who wants to get rid of the war insectoids already has my high opinion.”
Tyen managed not to wince. As soon as they’d arrived the night before, all the ways the arrangement could go badly had occurred to him. What if Zeke learned something Dahli did not want known? Would Dahli kill the young inventor?
Zeke was now examining the large notebook Tyen had left out for him, leafing through the drawings and observations on the first few pages. “Do you need me to be as thorough as this?”
Tyen considered. “What do you think?”
“I don’t normally take notes. Everything important goes in here.” Zeke tapped his forehead. “But then, nobody else has had to work with me before.” He gave the contents of the tables another quick scan, then looked at the shelves laden with the odd mix of tools and supplies around Tyen. “Can I ask what you’re working on?”
“I am seeking a way to transfer the mind of a person into a new body,” Tyen said.
Zeke’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s … ambitious. And more biological than mechanical. Is that the direction your interests have taken now?”
“Yes and no. I spent some time in Faurio, studying to be a healer, but I wasn’t very good at it. I guess this is another way I can use what I did learn.”
Zeke walked up to the shelves, examining the contents. “You’ve not begun yet?”
“Only if you consider throwing around theories a start.”
The young man chuckled. “I do. Will you be working on the insectoid destroyer? Hmm. We need to come up with a good name. The insect squasher? Bug catcher? Neutraliser?”
“‘Neutraliser’ is less fanciful, so more likely to be taken seriously. I’ll work with you when I can,” Tyen told him. “Do you have any ideas?”
“A few. It depends what you’re trying to achieve.” Zeke took a stool, brought it over to the other side of the table and sat down. “What is the best outcome we could achieve?”
“One where all war insectoids are destroyed and no more are made.”
Zeke nodded. “Let’s call them war machines, because from what I’ve heard they don’t always take the shape of insects now.”
“Very well.”
“Since the war machines are in many worlds, the neutralisers must move between worlds, too,” Zeke continued. “For that they need human help—unless they can be made to transport themselves between worlds?”
Tyen frowned. “If neutralisers can take themselves between worlds, the war machine creators would know it was possible and give their machines the ability.”
“There’s a nasty thought.”
“I’m not sure it’s possible though.”
“You don’t know?”
“Why would I?”
“Nobody thought machines could use magic until you came along. Surely you must know the limitations of what they can do with it.”
“I’ve not had a reason or time to find out,” Tyen admitted.
Zeke placed his hands flat on the table. “Well, if we don’t, you can be sure the war machine makers will eventually. If I don’t know what they might achieve, I won’t be able to counteract it.”
“Perhaps you had better not make those notes,” Tyen said, sighing. “In case you discover something we’d rather not risk anybody finding out.”
Zeke tapped his head. “Yes, sometimes it’s better to keep them up here. For now the neutralisers shouldn’t be able to do anything we haven’t seen war machines do. You’ll have to recruit a bunch of well-intentioned people to deliver them to their targets, though I don’t think that will be hard. In fact, I think there are plenty of people who will do that to stop their enemies, as long as they don’t have war machines of their own.” He paused. “Do you still have your first one?”
Tyen blinked, surprised by the question. “Yes.”
“Beetle, wasn’t it?” Zeke smiled. “So simple, but elegant.”
“It’s been modified quite a bit since then.”
“Not into a war machine?”
“Of course not. Though it has defensive features so it can protect my property.”
“You won’t want our neutralisers to target it.” Zeke shook his head. “It’s going to be very hard to make a machine that can decide what to destroy and what to ignore.”
“Must it be a machine?”
“Yes.” Zeke frowned. “I thought that’s what you wanted? Making machines is my specialty. Why else would you hire me?”
Tyen shrugged. “The problem is mechanical. The solution may not be. Keep your mind open. A human solution may prove the best.”
“If humans could hunt down and destroy every last war machine, the Restorers would have done it already.”
“Not necessarily. They may simply be too busy dealing with human problems.”
Zeke frowned. “War machines are essentially a human problem. They don’t create themselves. Yet.”
“Do you think they could be made to self-replicate?”
“If they had access to materials and were able to make parts … yes.”
Tyen shuddered as he imagined worlds filling up with war machines. Had Valhan seen this possibility, when he had predicted that Beetle was the future? His future, since he planned to be resurrected and resume his rule over
the worlds. The two projected futures combined in his mind, into a horrifying image of a Valhan-insectoid.
As a tingle ran down Tyen’s spine he sat up straight. What was it Zeke had said? “… from what I’ve heard they don’t always take the shape of insects now.” Had any of the machines been given the form of a human?
It probably wasn’t what Valhan had meant, but it raised a very interesting possibility. In Tyen’s imagination, a mechanical human formed. It shifted into a nightmare image of a gleaming, metallic human with Valhan’s ancient, calculating gaze, but he pushed that side and instead conjured a feminine form, beautiful and far less frightening: Vella.
Could he give her a mechanical body? One that could be repaired and modified. It wasn’t quite what he had in mind for her, but it was an idea worth exploring if his efforts at restoring her body failed. The greatest challenge would be to transfer the immense store of knowledge from her pages into the machine. No, he added. The hardest part would be replacing the parts of her mind that were missing, like the ability to feel emotion.
“Tyen?”
“Ah, sorry,” Tyen muttered as he brought his attention back to the inventor. Zeke’s eyes were wide and he was pointing somewhere behind Tyen. Turning, Tyen caught his breath as he recognised the figure rapidly sharpening into solidity.
Dahli.
At once his heart began to race. Everything would go badly for Zeke now if he recognised Dahli and objected to working for the Raen’s most loyal friend, or if Zeke’s belief that his powers weren’t strong proved to be wrong and he could read Dahli’s mind.
Tyen rose and beckoned to Zeke. “This is our patron.”
“Ah,” was all Zeke said as he moved to Tyen’s side. He hadn’t recognised Dahli yet …
Dahli, however, was regarding Zeke thoughtfully. Tyen knew the moment the man arrived because he was suddenly able to see the thoughts to accompany the expression.
… very good-looking, Dahli was thinking. And he has no idea who I am, or he wouldn’t be looking at me so boldly, thinking what he is thinking.
… hope I’m right about Tyen, because that’s one less good-looking man between me and any chance of getting this one …
Tyen smothered the urge to smile and stopped reading their minds. “This is Zeke, the best inventor at Liftre and a former student of mine.” He opened his mouth to introduce Dahli, then paused. Zeke might not recognise Dahli, but he might know the name.
Dahli spoke. “I am Dahli.”
Tyen hid his surprise, and searched Zeke’s mind. The young inventor hadn’t recognised the name. He bowed. “Honoured to meet you, Dahli.”
“And I you,” Dahli replied. He turned to Tyen. “You have an assistant; I have a volunteer.”
A shiver ran down Tyen’s spine. “Where?”
“Not far. I’ll take you there now.”
Tyen turned to Zeke. “Do you need anything?”
The young man tore his gaze from Dahli and shook his head.
“I’ll be back … to be honest I don’t know when, but I doubt it’ll be more than a day or two at most,” Tyen assured him.
Zeke shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
Tyen walked over to Dahli, who took hold of his arm. The basement and Zeke receded into whiteness as Dahli pushed out of the world. Until they’d started working together, the only time Tyen had travelled with Dahli had been to the ice chamber where Qall had lain ready to receive Valhan’s memories. Then, as now, he disliked being under another’s control, even though he knew that, as the stronger sorcerer, he could easily pull away from Dahli’s grip.
Maybe it’s because I don’t trust Dahli. I know he would do anything in order to bring Valhan back, no matter how immoral. While I respect his loyalty, knowing what he’s capable of makes me uneasy around him. But he did trust that while his and Dahli’s aims were in sympathy, Dahli would not act against him.
Several worlds appeared and disappeared. Tyen counted them and noted features in case he had to return alone. When they finally stopped, more than thirty worlds were between him and the basement. They stood high up the inside of an immense crater. The air stank of sulphur. Terraces curved in a great arc to either side, disappearing behind a column of steam which rose up from somewhere below the lowest.
It’s a live volcano, Tyen realised with horror. We’re inside the crater of a huge, active volcano.
The arrival place was a flat area carved from the black rock. A city spread around them, made of the same dark stone. Nearby, two sets of four men watched them expectantly. Their skin was pale and translucent, arteries and veins visible beneath their skin. Between each pair was a chair attached to two poles.
“Ugh,” Dahli said. “I hate being carried. So slow and uncomfortable.”
He still held Tyen’s arm. The terraced city faded slightly, then blurred as Dahli skimmed off the arrival place and traced a path along the streets, bringing them back into the world in front of a large stone building.
“Why did you seek a volunteer here?” Tyen asked when he could draw breath again.
Dahli shrugged. “Plenty of magic.”
It was true, Tyen realised as he focused on the world. The magic swelled up from the lower levels of the city. He sought the minds of the citizens there, curious to know what they were creating to generate so much magic, but before he found any, Dahli let go of his arm and stepped forward. The door to the building was open and a servant had emerged to invite them in.
The interior was opulent. Their volunteer was rich, or a friend of someone wealthy. As the servant brought them into a nearby room, the former became apparent. The man who awaited them was dressed in a sumptuous gown covered in rich embroidery and gold thread. Servants hovered nearby, ready to attend to his needs.
“This is Pieh, Patriarch of the Rivu,” Dahli said when he had introduced Tyen.
The man was very old, Tyen noted. He was suffering the usual ills the elderly endured, some of which were severe. While his mind was sharp, he was in constant pain. He regarded Dahli’s proposal that his mind be copied into a new body with scepticism, but saw no harm in trying it.
It won’t be me, the man thought. Someone else gets to be me. But it didn’t matter. He was dying anyway, and had no heir. Who better to inherit my wealth and power than another me? His only condition had been that Dahli not bring the new Pieh here until the old one was dead.
“Shall we begin?” Dahli asked.
“No reason to wait.” Pieh looked at Tyen. “Are you ready?”
Tyen nodded. “This may take a while, so you should be as comfortable as possible.” The old man moved to a large, padded chair. Tyen glanced around, then used magic to push two smaller chairs closer to either side of the old man. Dahli settled in one, and Tyen the other.
“Give me your hand,” Tyen instructed. The old man eyed him for a moment, then extended his arm. Taking the withered hand, Tyen closed his eyes and sought the state of mind that had allowed him to see the pattern within his own body. He achieved it more easily than he expected, but then it hadn’t been long since he’d learned to pattern-shift.
He considered which body part he would imprint the man’s memories onto. Something easy to detach and not likely to be missed. He chose the smallest finger of the left hand. It needed to be prepared for the task. He’d hoped to learn how to do so from Valhan’s notes, but the lack of information in them had forced Tyen to consult Vella instead. It seemed insensitive to ask how she had been created, especially when he knew the experience had been terrible, but she had reminded him that she could not feel emotion, and then delivered the information in a matter-of-fact way that was both helpful and refreshed his anger at Roporien for what he’d done to her.
The flesh that was to hold the pattern of memories must be dried out to help preserve it. Water was removed while the information was imprinted. More information could be added later as well, but it would be more difficult. The dried flesh was imprinted with the pattern of the subject’s memories, much like pressing a
n object into clay, but on a miniscule scale. The whole life of a person could be recorded in less than a pinch of Vella’s pages. Valhan had also decided that the memories ought to be copied several times, in case the preserved body part was damaged.
Why Valhan had chosen to use an entire hand was not clear. Tyen had wondered if it was because he wanted to record his physical pattern as well as his memories—though as far as Tyen could tell, the entire pattern of a single human body was contained within every cell of their body, so the hand would be an excellent record. Perhaps it was simply that the memories of someone a thousand cycles old required more flesh to store it. Yet Vella contained the memories of many thousands of people, and had room to spare.
Tyen regarded the end of Pieh’s little finger. How to copy memories into it was something even Vella hadn’t been able to explain clearly. She’d suggested the method might be obvious once Tyen had a person’s memory to copy. There was only one way to find out.
He focused his mind, extending and enhancing his senses by pattern shifting his own body. The flesh grew into a pattern he could understand. After blocking the pathways of pain and sensation to Pieh’s finger, to which the old man grunted in surprise, he sought the man’s memories. Examining the brain, he ignored the man’s current thoughts, instead seeking the physical manifestation of memories and enhancing his mind’s ability to sense detail.
A long stretch of concentration later, he began to see them: lightning-fast shivers of energy running along similar pathways to pain and sensation, sparking feedback where connections had previously been made. Memories, he saw, were not unlike paths between worlds. The more they were used, the stronger and more defined they became; the less, the swifter they faded. Some were created strong in the beginning, so they aged less quickly. He could see shortcuts and alterations, perhaps where less important details had been forgotten or corrected. Maybe even miscorrected. He could see how to block them, though not how that would affect the functioning of the subjects’ mind.