Chapter Eighteen — Negotiations
Professor Mechaniacal regarded the young man and woman sitting across from him, fairly well pleased with how things had gone. Having to extract them from Blacktime’s grasp would have been irksome, but had proved to be an unnecessary worry. He wasn’t certain exactly what they’d done to send the man off, but clearly it had been sufficient for the moment.
Of course, that was only for the moment. Blacktime’s complete immunity to any personal consequences meant he was damnably persistent, and one of the reasons Mechaniacal tried to make himself annoying to deal with rather than a high-stakes threat. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be too long before it became public knowledge that the Hartson boy had decided to collaborate with him and Blacktime would be around again to try and acquire Hartson’s unique talents.
“Well, no time like the present,” he decided, rising from the sinfully comfortable armchair with the aid of his cane. “Mister Hartson, Miss Miller, your mounts will be safe here if you wish to come with me. No offense to them, but some things are rather too delicate for me to trust large dinosaurs nearby.” Not entirely true, but as a psychological ploy to keep them from any mischief while not actively seeming to take hostages, it was a useful claim.
“Alright,” Hartson said, clearly not particularly enthused, and stood with a glance toward the mounts while fiddling with the crystaltech band at his wrist. Clearly psionic technology; useful to other people, but Mechaniacal never touched the stuff. With a mind like his, such interactions were bound to end poorly.
The boy rose from the couch with an interesting bit of motion, something characteristic of a person who wasn’t operating by the usual rules of mass and momentum. Of course, Mechaniacal had known that Hartson was using his power on a fairly consistent basis, but it was always fascinating to see the nuances in person. The Miller girl followed suit with a nearly identical motion, demonstrating that she had been altered as well, beyond her power of course.
Now that he saw them in motion and heard them speak, Mechaniacal actually did recognize the two, though they were nothing like their counterparts from Mechaniacal’s original, doomed timeline. The Hartson boy had been a purely physical super going by Juggernaut, common-class and mostly forgettable. Far more capable in terms of raw strength than Hartson now, but clearly this version had been pushed in different ways.
The girl, on the other hand, was easier to remember, if only because the Miller family had been closely connected with a number of powerful supers and were prominent in their own right. The Miller girl he remembered barely used her power at all, being far more concerned with local politics. It just went to show how little his supposed foreknowledge actually meant, given how many changes had occurred. There were general outlines that were the same, shapes and shadows, but if he relied on his knowledge he’d be completely lost.
He led the pair out of the guest room, into a changeable hallway that jaunted at the tiniest angle along the skein of reality to connect with his laboratory. Not that he believed either of the two had any innate animus against him, but it was better not to risk people knowing the actual layout of every aspect of his tower. The heavy doors slid open ahead of them, rumbling along their track in purposeful inefficiency because such big and heavy things should make nose, and he ushered them into the lab.
Some might expect grand towers of indecipherable machinery, glowing spheres of glass and metal, conduits of impenetrable purpose humming with ominous energies. And they’d be right. Some of it was theatre, aesthetics, and appropriate set dressing, but the rest was truth. The laboratory was where he wrought miracles, and when those miracles were splayed across steel worktables, their secrets coded in schemata pinned to boards or flickering on monochrome screens, what they exposed was bound to disconcert.
He passed his hat off to a mechanical hand that drifted down from the ceiling, where it took the piece of haberdashery off to where it belonged. A quick tapping of a few controls withdrew some workbenches into the ceiling or floor, while others emerged with the soothing tick of well-meshed machinery. One of the worktables bore a segment of metal, one that had been previously altered by Hartson’s power, cut to size with some effort. The changes couldn’t defeat his tools, but they were quite fascinating.
“I knew leaving that stuff behind would come back to bite me,” Hartson muttered.
“Yes, actions have consequences, so does inaction. A man cannot hide from the harvest,” Mechaniacal remarked. Not that he’d ever tried hiding, but he was familiar with the full gamut of human behavior. After all, he’d been around a long while. “It is fairly remarkable just as a material, though with limited amounts there’s only so much that can be done with it.”
He actually wasn’t certain how his alternative self had projected the permanency effect from a sample to craft the depowerment projector. There were many and varied options, but he wasn’t sure which ones would function exactly as the altered ray had. A difference in understanding and approach, even given the same power. Alas, any actual examples of the work in question had been destroyed when the lab’s self-destruct had been activated, as the enhancements to the armor plating had only protected the internals of the deepest subbasements.
“If you could actually reverse the alterations on this sample, to start,” Mechaniacal said, pulling a lever on the side of the worktable. A large display slid upward and outward from the steel surface, gauges and oscilloscopes clicking into place, phlogiston lights blinking in series as the sensors readied themselves. “If we’re lucky, then there’s a simple way to undo things.”
Hartson glanced at the Miller girl, not for guidance but clearly in reaction to something Mechaniacal had said, before stepping forward and reaching out to touch the armor chunk. Which revealed an interesting limitation on the power, when clearly he had been affecting things from a distance when it came to the fight outside. Or was he? When it came to esoteric powers, it was best not to make even that base an assumption.
The actual alteration took very little time, perhaps a second, and by Hartson’s body language he was not particularly straining himself. Fully three-quarters of Mechaniacal’s sensors were useless, measuring either nothing or the simple change in a physical property. But only three-quarters, and the remaining devices were illustrative.
First, Hartson was not interacting with some lingering energy field, which Mechaniacal had mostly concluded but still sparked his interest to see. It also made countering or nullifying the power devilishly hard, since it wasn’t a simple matter of denying an active effect. He’d seen such powers before, but they weren’t all that common and, amusingly, so difficult to work with people rarely managed to achieve more than a nominal understanding of their talent.
Second, it seemed like his power was interacting with itself whenever he applied it. That kind of feedback was common, as many supers required more than the most direct effect to function and not simply tear themselves or anything they touched apart. Rather like how the brain prevented muscles from simply shattering the human skeleton anytime someone moved.
Mechaniacal’s devices captured more esoteric data as well, wavelengths and frequencies and dimensional shadows. Not merely identifying the nature of the power, but tracing its path through the physical realm to see how it spread and moved, even if he could not pinpoint the actual origin of the effect. That would probably require turning sensors on Hartson himself, and Mechaniacal didn’t really need that level of insight for his current goals. Years ago he would have been sorely tempted, but he had learned the value of discipline since then.
Hartson’s power adjusted reality — which was less dramatic than it might sound, as simply moving a rock from one point to another was adjusting reality. But it was very clearly a modification to the base nature of things, likely due to its own recursive nature and Hartson’s own method of application rather than being something like the Director’s power. It worked from within reality, not without.
The long and short of it was, there wasn’t a simple way to reverse depowerment.
Hartson himself would probably be required to restore Glorybeam, but he would not be required for reproducing the permanent effect. Irksome, but on the other hand, nobody else had yet managed to crack the wide-band power suppressor. Unfortunately it wasn’t viable or useful to try and eliminate everyone with a potential to contribute to a calamity, because that included virtually the entire population.
“Well, I can conclusively rule out any simple method,” he said aloud, adjusting levers and dials and then toggling a printout of the sensor data in question for later perusal. It was possible he had missed something subtle in the second or so of power use, but it was doubtful. “If I wanted to invert the original effect, I need something that directly targeted creating powers, and those are waters I don’t swim in anymore.”
“That’s about what I figured when I was trying to fix Sarah’s power,” Hartson volunteered, which raised Mechaniacal’s opinion of him. Paying proper attention and deriving valid conclusions to questions was a much rarer characteristic than it should be. Most sovereigns had a fair handle on their abilities, but there was astounding swath of humanity that never bothered to move beyond the obvious.
“Yes, how exactly did you do that? Be thorough, this is for science.” Mechaniacal activated his recording hardware, the multi-microphone micro-phonograph humming, and rested his fingers on a more conventional keyboard to take notes. Unfortunately, Hartson had only so much to say that was of immediate application. Bespoke powers were often that way, unlike tinker creations that could be used by many and spread far and wide.
But as Hartson described his tinkering – the boy’s word, which was amusing – with powers, Mechaniacal couldn’t deny the obvious possibilities. He had been trying not to let it ride at the front of his mind, but there were just too many aspects to what Hartson could do that fitted neatly into the problems that Mechaniacal had faced in the past. The issues of ensuring that the world didn’t tear itself to pieces.
There were, of course, various gods and cosmic powers that dedicated themselves to precisely that, but at the same time, any number of the same entities were also wreaking havoc in the dark places of the universe. As above, so below. Mechaniacal was never one to rely on the work of others, though, so he had pursued certain actions and understandings after the death of his original timeline to secure a more stable world. To somewhat mixed success.
The key to something lasting would never lie with people. People changed, adapted. They were stubborn, prideful, and the origin of the phrase to oppose is to maintain. Not that he excluded himself in that, because he was just as spiteful as the next man when it came right down to it. But if he wanted to do things correctly and permanently, he had to deal with something more fundamental and enduring.
The Cosmic Orrery.
Spheres of empyrean crystal surrounded every planet and moon in the solar system, a necessary protection considering the forces so often at play, and it was the Orrery that guided the movement of those spheres. Yet it was more than just mere mechanical motion; it was as much a concept as an apparatus, existing over many realms of reality simultaneously and embodying both the corporeal solidity of a stable orbit and the ephemeral concept of a stable future.
To take control of that, to be able to exert influence on a scale and a scope beyond what any mortal could, no matter how powerful, that would be a way to ensure there would be no more world-ending events. To guide things from that level stepped past any normal resistance to world domination. He wouldn’t even be ruling the world as such. Merely putting a finger on the scale would be enough.
It was doubtful Hartson would see it that way, however. Not if Mechaniacal merely demanded the use of his talents. And it would take voluntary help; unless he wished to try something truly extreme, simply mimicking the boy’s power would be far too crude a tool. And he had not exaggerated when he had warned about the boy’s power being dangerous if he were pushed too hard. Mechaniacal had no inherent resistance to being affected, and the only way to prevent that power from being exercised would be to stick him under the effects of a power suppressor. Which probably wouldn’t even work.
“Well, Mister Hartson.” Mechaniacal chose his words with care. He’d have to ease the boy into the idea. “For good or for ill your power is not a simple one. Not the oddest I’ve seen, but certainly one difficult to grapple with. If you are amenable, I can assist you in mastering it in a way, we can hope, that doesn’t throw the world out of balance.”
“Nothing is free,” Hartson said with justified suspicion. “What do you want out of it?”
“The truth is, I am comfortable here. I enjoy the food and drink, the shows and the music. This is where I live, and while I may be a villain, I still wish there to be a world. Something I have spent significant time and effort to ensure.” Mechaniacal waved his hand around at their surroundings, indicating the entire planet. “I have seen too many endings, and too many near-misses, to believe I can do it entirely on my own. However, I believe that you, with your particular talent, may be able to contribute. Simple enough, I would think.”
***
Alianora of Mare Crisium, known as Lia to most humans, regarded Administrator Ichabod with both a weary and wary eye. Behind him, on the large screen, the enormous machine that housed them projected Endymion’s futile attempts to break the defenses on Mechaniacal’s tower. Even as muffled as lunarian runes were at the center of the earth, she could sense the ripples of mystical powers from the clashing energies.
“I am not entirely certain I buy your story, Miss Lia,” Ichabod said, giving her a hard eye. Despite the man’s scarred and sickly appearance, she could feel the terrible potency contained in that frail frame. The chair keeping him alive was its own sort of horror to her senses, an eldritch agglomeration of impossibilities wrought by human magic, science, and superpower wrapped together in a way that no lunarian could have ever imagined.
“The Deep Kingdoms were not my first choice,” Lia said, which was not entirely a lie. She would have vastly preferred if Hartson had decided to take refuge somewhere closer by. “Perhaps Princess Liesta would be able to function properly down here, but I am certainly operating at a deficit.”
“Perhaps you are, but you do understand that I have a vested interest in avoiding too deep an entanglement with lunarian interests,” Ike told her, one of his fingers stroking the control panel of his disk-shaped hoverchair in an absent tic. “And we know Isaac operated under the guise of Ravdia in the past, who had completely accurate and scrupulously neutral lunarian runes on the costume armor. Which is more entanglement than any superhero normally exhibits.”
“It was a favor,” Lia said, still telling the truth. It was difficult to lie in the native lunarian language, but it wasn’t difficult to deceive. Something that she had found translated quite well to the human tongue. “He seemed pleased to have a proper verisimilitude for his costume, though he had no understanding of runes. It would have been churlish to take advantage of his ignorance.”
“Some would say that using lunarian runes to begin with was taking advantage,” Ike said repressively, clearly not impressed with her logic. “It is official policy to avoid invoking such runes unless it is actually part of someone’s power set. You know why as well as I do.”
“I understand the policy,” Lia said, which wasn’t actually agreement but it was a fair point that injudicious use of the runes could result in them either activating haphazardly, which was dangerous, or being used against the bearer, which was suicidal. “That is why I was careful about recommendations.”
In a way, she was glad that Ike was stuck on the procedural nature of something that had been done weeks ago, no matter how personally inconvenient it was for her. There was a very real risk that she might lose access to the Five City Alliance and be forced to return to the moon, but that was far less dangerous a thing than them realizing how much she had learned about Isaac’s power.
The boy had switched from being utterly secretive with his power to being relatively carefree with how often he had used it. More importantly, how often he had used it on her, which under most circumstances she would have objected to rather strenuously. But it served her purposes, and allowed her to examine every iota of the essence which he wielded. She would never understand it as a superpower, but she didn’t need it to act like a superpower. How it interacted with lunarian magic was the real issue — or more importantly, how it didn’t.
Mocker likely should have noticed Isaac’s influence, as it was enough to affect those as strong as sovereigns. Something that should make everyone nearby sit up and take notice, but if he wasn’t directly affected, the warlock must have missed it under the more aggressive presence of the Great Kings. In fact, she had created a new rune specifically to sense his power, branded onto her shoulder blade, and even now she could feel the lingering remnants of his influence as it was diluted by the world. Even if Mocker did realize where and how Isaac was using his power, it was better to pretend she didn’t so he wouldn’t realize how interested she was.
“We’ll send your visa for review when we get back,” Ike muttered, his fingers tapping out a rapid note to himself on his control panel. “For now, do you have any idea what he was doing, going to Mechaniacal like that? Has he decided to completely switch to supervillain?”
“I don’t believe so,” Lia said carefully, as the question was no less dangerous than the previous ones. The room tilted and swayed subtly, as the screen showed the mecha thrown back by some kind of energy burst, hectic motion dampened by some strange technology buried deep in the core of the machine. “From what I understand it is primarily a prejudice against Star Central itself, as one of the Lost Generation. He is too young to have any particular knowledge of or relation to Mechaniacal, so he simply thinks it is a better temporary option.”
“Inconvenient for us,” Ike said, casting a glance at the viewscreen. It was clear that Mechaniacal was not taking Endymion particularly seriously, given that the tower wasn’t attacking with anything like the weapon that had vaporized a massive crystalline entity. In fact, it was a little disturbing how easily the tinker’s technology was outright ignoring sovereign-level attacks. Though it was clear that Endymion hadn’t used any of the superweapons at his disposal either; things were not at a desperate enough pass, and the Great Kings would certainly have something to say about it.
“I would ask you to prevail upon him, when circumstances allow, to work with us at the very least. If he can escape Mechaniacal’s grasp, or is let go, he is likely to be set against us even more than he is now.” Ike’s fingers clenched, then straightened again. “That’s not something we can afford. He is already demonstrating a potentially strategic-level influence, and without a sovereign of our own…” Ike trailed off, and Lia felt a tiny pang of sympathy for him.
Truly, Glorybeam’s fall was unanticipated and shocking, the sort of thing that often did result in the reshaping of nations. The previous sovereign, Teraton, had made certain there was an adequate replacement for him before he had ventured out beyond the galaxy’s edge. Lia had been young when that happened, but she did remember his brief stop at the moon before continuing out beyond the bounds of the great crystal spheres in the living starship of his extragalactic bride. So it had been some time since the Five City Alliance was without a sovereign hero at their side.
On the other hand, Ike had been one of the major influences behind the official earth policy of neutrality when it came to the lunar civil war, the Five City Alliance sovereign before The Liar. On a purely intellectual level, she understood why that might be best for everyone, but at the same time, if Earth had bestirred itself the war would have been over long ago. It wasn’t clear who they’d side with, even given Princess Liesta’s presence, but it would have been done with regardless. Anything would have been preferable to the long, grinding civil war.
“I can speak with him on behalf of Star City,” Lia said after a moment. “But I cannot guarantee anything. His time at Justice For Hire was relatively brief, and even here I spent far too much time in stasis rather than journeying with him. Savage would be a better option for that.”
It was an unfair jab. Ichabod was responsible for Savage’s appearance in Star City, and his relationship with the raptor was fraught at best. But behind the cool mask she had assumed, Lia was more than a little frustrated. During the brief time with Hartson in the Deep Kingdoms, what she’d observed of his power had made her all but certain she could use it, but she knew her glimpse was brief and incomplete. If only her frailty hadn’t incapacitated her in the presence of the Great King, she might know even more now.
That said, she welcomed being given a responsibility to discuss things with him. It provided leverage to wield against Ichabod to prevent him from arranging to have her stay on Earth revoked. Like most sorts of political maneuvering, it was a concatenation of threats and blackmail, all unstated. Just as she knew she could be sent back to the moon, Ichabod knew she could turn Isaac even further against him.
“Savage is not a diplomat. You, given that you were even sent to Earth, are,” Ike said, skipping around involving the cyber-raptor. “No lunarian is sent here without extensive vetting and training. I know that much, and while I don’t know why you’re at Justice for Hire I am not so foolish as to believe you aren’t capable of more.” His tone implied he actually did know why she was at the mercenary company. Justice for Hire saw more new metas come through, even temporarily, than Star Central did by an order of magnitude.
And it had finally paid off.
“I don’t think it is in anyone’s interests for Isaac to be disaffected from human society at large,” Lia said after a moment. She wished she had the time to observe him longer, to gauge exactly the depths and origins of his motivations. If he was truly at risk for turning to supervillainy, or if he would stay somewhere more on the neutral side. Being a superhero was clearly out of the question, but that was for the best. Lia needed a rulebreaker to help with the civil war.
No matter what happened, it would take time to establish a path to get Hartson to the moon. She was merely one member of her faction, and it would take many others to pool the resources and expertise, not to mention find an opportunity. Especially since doing so would involve flaunting or circumventing many of the rules of the Five City Alliance. But at this point she knew enough to start that inevitable process the moment she returned to the surface.
“Indeed not,” Ichabod said, and then flicked a switch on his chair’s control panel. “Endymion, I do not think that it’s worth risking anything stronger at this time. Mechaniacal was clearly prepared for what you can do, and I can’t imagine the collateral if we escalate.” The purple mountain-city in the background was evidence of why. “Instead, we should contact the other sovereigns. Mechaniacal with access to that kind of superpower to enhance his own could be a world-shaking threat.”
“That bad?” Mocker asked, but of course he was younger. Mechaniacal had been imprisoned on the moon, and everyone nearby knew that Mechaniacal’s specialty wasn’t so much clockwork and gearing, even if that was how his machines looked. It was leverage. Lia didn’t know the details, but that knowledge was apparently how Teraton had defeated the tinker the last time.
“Mechaniacal may not be the most dangerous supervillain I’ve ever seen, but he’s bad enough,” Ichabod said grimly. “And he absolutely can learn from other superpowers. We still don’t quite know how Hartson’s mental influence works, but it’s subtle enough that if Mechaniacal can fit it to small drones…”
“Administrator Ichabod, it does you no good to catastrophize.” The woman’s voice wasn’t audible to most, Lia picking it up only because she had so much skin dedicated to sensory runes. It came through the tiny earpiece that Ichabod wore, something of the make of their new tinker, Machine Head. “If there is nothing that can safely be done down there, simply ask Endymion—”
Even Lia’s senses couldn’t hear the remainder of the sentence past the earth-shattering rumble as the purple kaiju tumbled past, as if literally thrown by the other Great King, and fetched up against Mechaniacal’s tower. The building didn’t even bend from the impact of uncounted tons of lizard smashing into it at speed. He popped up again, but the tension seemed to be gone from the immense being’s frame as he strode off out of the viewscreen.
A reminder that for all the comfort and insulation of the rooms inside the mecha, there were forces at play that went beyond anything Lia could have dealt with herself. Or even survived. As the mecha turned and the view shifted over to where the two kaiju had been fighting, there were vast swaths of churned earth, where hills had been turned into valleys and valleys built up into hills.
“What about my sister?” The question came from one of the non-supers in the room. The entire diplomatic corps, including James Miller, who had been decrystallized and looked more or less intact except for a few patches of fading, gemlike color on skin or clothing.
“I assume she will be with Hartson, however that ends up.” Ichabod didn’t exactly dismiss James, but there was indeed little to be done while the Miller girl voluntarily cleaved to Hartson’s side.
“Her talent is the most likely way for Hartson to leave,” Lia volunteered. “His own talent compounds with hers, and she can turn them both to smoke.”
“That is exactly the kind of interaction that worries me,” Ike muttered. “Endymion, I think we are no longer welcome here. Unless you feel like fighting a Great Scaled King today, perhaps it is time to be off.”
“Yeah.” Endymion seemed like an actual child to the eye, but her other senses could feel the incendiary vitality that pulsed within him, a heartbeat that synchronized with the energies of the great machine. She didn’t quite know how it worked, but there was a reason he was the pilot and not another.
“Back to Star City,” Endymion said, the enormous sword swinging through the air and cutting dimensions. “We’ll be waiting for you, Mechaniacal!”
***
Gratin had never witnessed a contest of strength between Kings.
They were rare things, for many reasons. Distances forbade it, as did good judgement. Even the most formally minimal of spars between the two could destroy cities, or worse. And things were different, for those at the pinnacle. They had no need to establish and understand the hierarchy of strength, they were its foundation, the very earth upon which society was built. True conflict between them was tooth and claw, in the ancient and savage ways.
Without the gift of his King, he would not have survived to witness this one. The augmented crystaltech, deep and sublime as it was, rendered him something closer to the transmission-light of the harmonic pathways, allowing him to dart through the tremendous crystal causeways that formed the bones of the Deep Kingdoms — and of course, gave rise to crystalline entities as a side effect, those that were not created by failed ascensions at least.
It was only by sheer luck that he had managed to convey his message before the human’s power was withdrawn. Under the strained atmosphere of two Great Kings meeting, the change had been like a rope fraying, and then snapping with catastrophic results. But instead of a true fight, considering the insult and weakness implied by the hesitation between them, it was almost friendly.
Great King Iy roared, shattering the earth for miles around as he slammed into Zys, the impact igniting nearby foliage and sending swaths of jungle flying into the air. Trees the size of buildings tumbled and crunched, or splattered against the amethyst walls of Zys’s mountain. Even insubstantial, Gratin could feel the impact of Iy’s voice, rippling through his harmonic form and threatening to tear him back into reality.
And that was just the edge of the effect. For all that it was clear to Gratin that Iy outclassed Zys, the other Great King was barely bothered by the voice, scales lighting as he opened his jaws and blasted Iy with energy at point-blank range. Of course, Gratin’s King was unbothered by such an attack, and reached out to grab Zys by the throat. In a move taken from some of the movies and media Gratin had sent down from Star City, Iy performed a shoulder throw, sending Zys end over end past the mecha and into the out-of-place steel tower.
That signaled the end of the match. Iy could just have easily sent Zys into the mountainside, and the amethyst would not have held up the way Mechaniacal’s tower did. Zys popped to his feet, his back spines gouging a sizzling chasm in the process. The mech chose that moment to depart, the crystal veins beneath the earth shuddering in protest as reality was bent and folded.
“We’ll be waiting for you, Mechaniacal!” The mech broadcast one final line before stepping through. The tower did not reply, but since it had been so far immune to anything anyone there had thrown at it, even the Great Kings, there was nothing to be done about it. Zys gave the building a disgusted look and walked back toward his fellow Great King, but Iy no longer had any interest.
Gratin’s grasp of the True Tongue was shaky, as he rarely spoke to his Great King directly, but all Claws were expected to at least know the fundamentals of the hypercompressed language. A basso rumble and pipe-organ chirp popped Gratin out of his hiding space, scurrying to Iy’s feet and bowing his head.
He was, it seemed, being sent after Hartson once again. His specific talents as Tenth Claw would serve him to infiltrate Mechaniacal’s tower, or at worst return to Star City. And Iy didn’t mean simply stealth; Gratin was good at speaking to humans and the art of simply asking nicely opened many doors.
Hartson would need to return to the Deep Kingdoms eventually. His ability to stymie crystal entity attacks and affect Great Kings made that inevitable, because everyone dealing with the surfacers would require a more proper introduction and, of course, would wish to avail themselves of his talents. Though what rank to assign him was difficult to discern; the boy couldn’t fight the Third Claw that had attacked them, but could kill him. Something that was utterly nonsensical and frankly terrifying to ikiski sensibilities, but was the way humans worked.
“I hear and obey,” he told Iy, engaging the kingly gift buzzing through his blood and racing off toward the tower. Just as he reached it, a strange thrumming sounded from arcane machines deep inside, as it began to fade from existence. Gratin popped through into a well-appointed vestibule, his claws tingling from the resonance between his harmonic drive and whatever strange mechanism Mechaniacal’s technology used.
Then he simply marched up to the elevator and waited patiently. Wherever they were going, force wouldn’t serve him, but a polite smile might. And if that wouldn’t, he was sure that Sarah would put in a good word for him. That was how humans worked.