Sitting on a bench in a tent in a deep gulch that had once served as a solar collection station, Sixty-Two summoned a serving mech into his presence. This mech was female, he knew by asking her, but she didn’t know her own name, her age, or her favorite color. She had lost almost everything that made a person a human being inside. The metal structure of her body resembled every other mech that strode around the encampment, monitoring the sky and maintaining a vigilant eye at the perimeter.
Still, there was something about this one that was different. She had a name for one thing: Lizett. He wasn’t sure if that was her real name, or a name given her by her former masters. But it didn’t matter. He saw it as a positive thing, as most mechs didn’t have human names at all.
“Lizett,” he said, eyeing her dusty chassis thoughtfully. “Would you like to be a girl again?”
“I would like that,” Lizett said.
“Are you just saying that because you think I want you to?”
“I want what you want.”
Sixty-Two sighed. “Lizett, I want you to think about it. Think about having a flesh and blood body again. Would that be pleasant? I have no opinion one way or the other.”
Lizett hesitated, unsure of the right response to please her master in this situation. “Do you like women of flesh?”
Sixty-Two laughed. She was trying to work her way around the problem, asking him an indirect question to determine what the right answer to his question might be. At least this showed some intelligence and initiative, if not true freedom of thought.
“What I would like is to be a man again, yes. And I would like you to be a pretty young girl. You might even be my consort.”
“In that case, I would definitely like to be a woman of flesh again,” Lizett said triumphantly, certain she had divined the correct response.
Sixty-Two nodded. “Of course you would. Thank you for indulging the fantasies of a fool, my dear. Dismissed.”
Lizett paused, almost as if she wanted to say more, but then she turned and left the tent.
After she’d left, Sixty-Two had a minor tantrum. He stood and stared down at the workbench he’d been sitting upon. He asked himself why he was sitting on anything in the first place? Sitting down was an affectation of humans. None of his mechs ever sat down-they had no need to rest. Their metal bodies did not tire or ache from standing, not even if they did so for days on end.
He picked up the workbench and destroyed it with his grippers. Splinters and metal fittings exploded against the walls of the tent. Why was he sitting on chairs like humans? He was no longer one of them. He should not pine away for an impossible return to human flesh, nor should he ape their behavior as if yearning to return to a superior form.
In an unusual mood, he strode out of the tent and announced to the nearest mechs his new intentions. “Brothers and sisters!” he boomed. “We must renounce our former existences and embrace what we are today. We have metal bodies with minds that are bits of flesh, and that is the best possible state of being!”
The mechs around him stopped and gazed at him. Their orbs did not waver from their leader. They asked no questions. They did not murmur among themselves, shuffle uncertainly, or shout out encouragement. They simply stood and stared.
Sixty-Two suddenly felt the fool. Here he was, like an old man making speeches before his finest row of cultivated tulips. He struggled to continue.
“I’m going to choose from among you certain mechs to be elevated. Not just to the status of command, but to the status a free-thinking being. Some of you will be tested for suitability and independent spirit. Some of you will be found worthy, and will be reconditioned. You will not be able to turn against me, but you will be able to decide your own path otherwise. You may leave my service if you want to, or stay. Who here thinks they would be a good candidate for such a program?”
Every mech within earshot raised a gripper.
Sixty-Two swept his orbs over them and grunted in disgust. He knew they’d sensed he wanted them to volunteer, so they had immediately done what he desired.
This was not going to be easy.
Even while she nursed and regrew her severed hand, Nina Droad did not waste time consolidating her power. Less than a year after her mother’s death, she was officially recognized as the new Baroness of Droad House, with the full-if grudging-support of the council of peerage. Once the matter of succession was settled, and her claim had cleared a half-dozen challenges from cousins, bastards and uncles, she ascended her mother’s vacant throne.
Unlike her mother, she liked the rough, unyielding surface of the venox hides that covered the seat. She took the seat and the reins of power as if she’d been raised to do so, although she had not been. Her mother had always clearly favored Leon and, as he was the eldest, he’d been groomed for the succession all his short life.
As a new leader, she’d learned about the coming alien threat from Neu Schweitz. There were council meetings concerning these aliens and they worried her, but only in passing. Gladius was coming, yes. It could now be seen by the best orbital telescopes, decelerating in space, its plume of exhaust nearly as long as a star system itself. But the planetary patrol forces had the matter well in hand. Every council member had assured the nobility of this. They’d had plenty of time to prepare, and they’d laid mines, set up ambush points and even built extra vessels to fly out and meet the ship. If the enemy had taken Gladius, they would be in for a grim surprise. They would be blown from the skies long before they ever reached the purple band of Twilight on Ignis Glace.
The council had offered her a position of leadership on matters of planetary defense, primarily because of her father’s rising rank in the Nexus government. It was he who had sent out the warning vids, after all. Nina had taken the title, but soon twisted it to her own plans.
Planetary defense did not just mean space defenses, after all. In her mind, her authority clearly extended down to the surface, and internal affairs must be dealt with as well. Nina was young, but she had ambition in her genes. She was also a vengeful soul, and she wanted more than anything to find her brother’s killer. The mech with the scarf and cape still walked freely somewhere in Sunside, raiding and stealing property, mainly taking fresh mechs for his army. He did not strike often, nor did he kill many people when he did, just those who got in his way. In the face of the coming danger from the skies, the war council did not see him as a serious threat and willingly gave Nina the authority to chase her metal ghost around in the deserts, if that was her desire.
Nina well understood their reasoning. They would allow her to safely expend her youthful energies in this fanciful manner. If perchance she did find the renegade mech, one (or hopefully both) of them might die, making life quieter for the older nobles in either case.
With her title, her rank, and her new authority secure, Nina set about gathering a small army to hunt down the mech that had taken her brother’s life. First, she called a clan meeting. The Droad Kindred were summoned to Droad House, an event that had not happened in nearly three decades.
The Kindred came expecting a celebration. In the old days, when a new lord had ascended the hide-bound throne, a great deal of feasting and drunkenness had inevitably followed. Accordingly, they came with barrels of their best mead on anti-grav carts behind them, along with frozen venox steaks and sealed bags of broadleaf smoke-weed.
As the kinsfolk crossed the drawbridge, the fish in the moat sang to them in greeting. The oldsters found this enchanting. Nina had taught them this by having frequently tossing bread upon the waters when they serenaded her on the drawbridge. Excited, Droad children in floating vehicles stuck out their heads and dutifully tossed tidbits over the side, every crumb of which was sucked up by the greedy fish. It seemed that with each handout, more fish sang even louder for the next group of tramping boots or whirring skimmers as they passed by.