Confluence (Godbreaker Book 3) Read online

  “You’re right ma’am,” Teran said, nodding her head stiffly. “I have not heard of one of these machines attacking a clan of Outsiders in hiding. But I will tell you what I have heard: That these machines, these Guardians, have one job. And that job is to destroy all life on this planet, should the Nine Sons of Primus ever be released.” Teran held up a finger. “That is all life. Not just the demigods. Not just a select few humans. All. Everyone. So you ask me to explain why you should leave your hiding place? Because eventually they will come for you. That is a part of their programming, and they will see it through. You haven’t met one of these things, but I have. I’ve seen the way they fight. It is single-minded. They are robots. They are programmed to kill, until they themselves are killed.”

  She looked at the crowd. “They will come for you. It’s only a matter of time. But if you wait in these caves, if you hide, then there won’t be anyone left alive out there to help us survive.”

  “Outsiders have never needed the rest of humanity to survive,” the woman said, a little curtly, some of the grandmotherliness fading from her expression.

  Teran balked at that. “If Outsiders never needed the rest of humanity to survive, then why the hell did you send people to Karapalida for supplies? Why did you send people to Downing? Why did I spend my entire life ferrying food on the underground river?”

  The old woman made a dismissive “harrumph” noise and waved Teran off.

  “No!” Teran barked. “You can’t just wave that away! What happens when there are no more humans to raise grain from the earth? What happens when all the domesticated animals die because people are not there to care for them? What happens when the parts for your reactor begin to age, and you can’t find a replacement? All of these things we have relied on the rest of humanity for. But they won’t be there for much longer! They’re being exterminated! Even if we are somehow spared—which I don’t believe is true—we’re still going to die! Of starvation! Of sickness with no medicines!”

  The woman’s wrinkled lips pursed. “Well, if the filth that populates the rest of the world were to be exterminated, then that wouldn’t be such a bad thing for us. Once they’re gone, the world would belong to us. And then we could farm our own fields, and raise our own cattle for once. As harsh as this may sound, perhaps this extermination is a blessing. We will be able to live and farm and grow our own food in freedom! Without fear of being hunted down! Why should I fear such a thing?”

  About half of the gathering clapped at that. The old lady looked smug.

  Teran no longer cared for her. “That’s an easy thing to say for a woman that won’t have to do the work, and won’t live long enough to see if it pans out.” She raised her voice to cut the old woman off from speaking further. “I’m not done! Besides the fact that your statement is utterly heartless and completely forgets that the majority of humans on this planet never harmed us, dealt with us peacefully, and are innocent, it makes one big false assumption: That the Guardians are going to leave you alive. I don’t know of another way to explain this to you. I can’t say it in a way that is any clearer than I already have. All I can do is repeat myself at this point: They are going to come for you. They are going to exterminate you. They do not care about the war between the demigods and whether or not you were a part of it. They care only that this planet was an experiment, and that experiment has gone to shit. They’re wiping the slate clean, and you won’t be spared. You. Will. Not. Survive.”

  “Then why even come to us?” Sage demanded, having to nearly shout over the raucous objections swirling through the room—no one liked to admit that they were destined to die. “If we’re all going to die anyways, what are you even hoping to accomplish?”

  “I came because it doesn’t need to be that way,” Teran said, but was nearly drowned out by the clamor. People were actually booing her now. Waving their hands as though they might swipe her out of existence. Several were calling for her to be exiled, kicked out of their cave.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way!” Teran shouted.

  Sage, as disagreeable as he was, appeared to be a stickler for the rules of congregation. He spun on the crowd and raised his arms over his head, bellowing, “Quiet! Everyone be quiet!”

  It took a moment, but the people’s ire died down enough that shouting was no longer necessary. Sage glared at the gathering. “Clearly we are all in an emotional state, as we are continuing to forget the rules. So allow me to remind you: I have called this congregation to allow Teran to speak. We will hear what she has to say. After which we will make our own judgements. But until she has said everything she wishes to say, we will all refrain from shouting her down. She will be dismissed from this congregation when I have gathered all the facts, and not before.”

  By now, everyone was quiet again, although sullen.

  Sage mumbled something ornery under his breath, and then looked at Teran again. “Whatever you have to say, say it. And I would recommend that you get to the point quickly.”

  She nodded once, respectfully, feeling the tide of opinion flow away from her. Perhaps she could have done better. But perhaps they could have also listened more. She felt betrayed by them. Disappointed in her people.

  “The Guardians are not invincible,” Teran said, more quietly now as the emotion drained out of her. “They can be killed. I’ve watched it happen. And in Karapalida there is a legatus that has killed two of them when his legion was attacked. He is now attempting to erect defenses in Karapalida to protect the people there. But this is not a fight that he can win on his own. And it’s not a fight that you can win on your own either.

  “My entire purpose for coming here was to tell you, my people, that you are needed. That humanity needs you. The only way to stop the Guardians from killing everyone, is if everyone bands together. After five centuries of being ruled by the paladins, perhaps it’s difficult for you to believe that humanity could stand up to forces like this. But we can. Even the Ortus Deorum admits—the paladin’s own mythology admits—that when people band together, they can become incredibly dangerous. That is the entire reason why they started their forever war in the first place: Not for any of the reasons that they claimed, not because they believed in The Truth or The Light, but to keep us fighting each other. To keep us divided. The only way for them to maintain their power was to pit us against each other, because they knew—they knew—that if we were ever given the chance to be unified again, we would destroy them.”

  Teran took a breath that hurt her chest like she’d just sprinted for a mile. “That is all I’ve come to tell you. That there is only one way we live. And that is if we all work together towards a common goal. Unified, humanity can survive. But if we remain divided, then we will all die.”

  She raised her hands in a gesture as if to say, I can’t put it any clearer than that. And then her arms flopped back to their sides. “The choice is yours. Sage, thank you for your hospitality. I have said what I came to say. I’ll leave you now to your judgement.” She pointed to the tunnel through which she’d come earlier. “When you would like to find me, I’ll be on the lookout, watching the world burn.”

  INTERLUDE

  Choices. Decisions. Or perhaps it’s blood and DNA? Or maybe death and heroism? Which one? That’s what I want you to noodle your little brains on. What makes someone “great?” Is it how they were born? Is it simply in their DNA—

  You already said that part.

  What?

  You already said that part. About what makes someone great? And how it’s not their birth, or their death—it’s their choices? Remember? You said that hours ago.

  Did I? Well then. You know how it is. It’s late, and I’ve already killed half this bottle of whiskey. I’ve told the story a bajillion times now. You’ll be the bajillion and first. So pardon me if I get a little mixed up from time to time. Now are we done with interruptions? Can I continue telling the story, my rabid little monkeys?

  Yes.

  Good. Alright. Now. Where wer
e we?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SACRIFICE

  “Why do we have to sit down?” Bren inquired, as he settled into a cross-legged position against the siderail of the skiff, mirroring Sagum.

  “Because I’ve done this before,” Sagum commented as he gathered his tools and parts together. The lonely light of a single lantern lit his workspace—the only light that Lux would allow. “To Whimsby.”

  “Oh, I see,” Bren said, very peaceful and casual. No fear in his voice.

  Sagum glanced at him. Did he know that he was about to die? Did he perceive death in the same way that humans did? Whimsby certainly had. But Whimsby was a special case.

  Of course, Bren was exercising some form of free will by doing this in the first place. So didn’t that make him special too? Didn’t that free will make him want to cling to his life like humans did? Or did it still lack the meaning, because he was not in an animal form that pulsed with chemicals designed to make him want to survive?

  So many questions.

  Sagum sighed, hunching forward, elbows on knees. “Bren, you don’t have to do this.”

  The blankness of Bren’s expression intimated a certain brand of confusion. “Are you telling me not to?”

  “Oh, godsdammit with your programming,” Sagum huffed. “No, I’m not telling you anything.”

  “But…you just made a declarative statement. By its very nature, you are telling me something when you declare it.”

  Sagum scrunched his eyes shut, rubbing his brow. “Okay. Alright. We humans, we speak indirectly sometimes.”

  “I’ve noticed that myself.”

  “Well, it’s a difficult habit to break.” Sagum opened his eyes to cautious slits. “Let me try again. Are you aware that you don’t have to do this?”

  This time Bren’s blank stare lasted a bit longer. Their core processors were essentially the highest-technology super computers ever created. Why would such a simple question require so long for it to calculate?

  Well, maybe it’s not such a simple question.

  Bren finally smiled brightly, like a kid that’s stumbled upon the right answer in front of his teacher. “Yes.”

  Sagum quirked a tired eyebrow. “Yes what?”

  “Yes…I’m aware.”

  Sagum waited for the continuation, but none seemed forthcoming. He spread his hands. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What is your decision?”

  Still smiling: “I cannot make a decision for myself.”

  “Gods in the skies,” Sagum pressed himself away from his huddle with Bren. “This shit again?”

  “Back in Praesidium, you told me that I could think for myself. And so I have been thinking for myself, and I have discovered that you are correct—I can indeed think for myself. However, I still cannot take an action unless ordered to do so.”

  “But you can.”

  Bren shook his head, the smile fading. “I do not think that you understand, Sagum. And I’ve also thought about that—about how humans do not understand our programming. Which is, I think, strange, considering that we were designed by humans.”

  “You were designed by demigods.”

  Bren shrugged. “They are the same species.”

  “Are they?”

  Bren nodded. “Of course. A species is merely a classification. By definition, what makes two different beings the same species is whether or not they can procreate and produce fertile offspring.”

  “You’re talking about Perry.”

  “Yes.”

  Sagum frowned. “How the hell do you know that he’s fertile?”

  “I scanned him when he first arrived at Praesidium. Of course, Whimsby had already scanned him, and that data had been transmitted to our mainframe, so I already had access to that data. But it is part of our programming to continuously scan the humans we are in contact with. It assists us in making sense of some of your more subtle communication methods.”

  Sagum stared, wide-eyed, feeling slightly violated.

  “For instance,” Bren said, seeming to enjoy this teaching moment. “If a female guest of Praesidium were to say to ask me to come to her room, I can use the data from her scan, such as whether or not she is ovulating, whether there is increased heartrate and respiration, and whether or not she is producing hormones associated with the desire for procreative activities, to ascertain if she wants me to come to her room to clean it, or if I will be required to—”

  Sagum held up a hand. “Yeah, okay, I get it.” He frowned. “So you’ve scanned me?”

  “Oh yes. Many times.”

  “That’s kind of creepy.”

  Bren tilted his head. “Are you concerned about your fertility as well? I can assure you that your sperm counts and mobility are nominal across the board.”

  “I feel like we’ve really digressed.”

  “Oh. Pardon me. We were speaking about programming and humans’ inability to understand it.”

  “Yes. We were.”

  “I cannot explain Whimsby. Simple probability leads me to believe that his core processor underwent some sort of corruption, whether or not it is evident upon your inspection or not. But that is just a theory. And we are not talking about Whimsby. We are talking about all the other mechs and their programming. It is not that I don’t want to do this thing for Whimsby. I have my own thoughts, and, though it may surprise you, I have my own desires as well, though probably you would not recognize them as such, and they do not invoke in me the same types of feelings that it would for an organic being. But all of that is beside the point.”

  Bren looked at Sagum, his expression peaceful. “The point is, I can want something, and still not be able to do it. How Whimsby was able to make that jump, to deny his programming, I’m not sure. Perhaps, if I were alive as long as he was, I might eventually reach that point as well. But that is not the case at this moment in time. And so we must work with what we have.”

  “I’m not going to order you to do it, Bren.”

  “I understand your reticence on the matter. Whimsby wanted the rest of us mechs to think and act of our own volition. The thinking we can do. It is the acting part that is impossible. I know that you would like to honor Whimsby’s memory by not ordering me to allow you to shut me down. But I cannot do that.”

  Sagum smushed his face into his palm. “Then what the hell are we going to do?”

  Bren smiled and nodded. “I can have desires. And, perhaps Whimsby would be proud of me for figuring this out, but I can also speak my desires.”

  Sagum frowned, not sure what Bren was getting around to.

  Bren straightened and began unbuttoning his tunic. He exposed his chest, hairless, but supple, like human flesh. He reached across to his left breast and hooked his fingers into an invisible seam, pulling that fleshy substrate away and revealing the blue glow of his core processor beneath.

  “It is against programming,” Bren said. “For a mechanical man to allow itself to be deactivated, unless upon the request of the human who has taken charge of the mech. Sagum, I want you to order me to allow you to deactivate me.”

  Sagum peeled his palm away from his cheek. Stared at Bren for a long, unsettling moment. On the one hand, it seemed a betrayal of Whimsby’s philosophy. But on the other hand, Bren’s logic made sense.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Bren nodded. “Yes. I am making a request of you, Master Sagum—yes, I will call you master, though I know you don’t prefer it. Please order me to allow you to deactivate me and use my parts to bring Whimsby back.”

  “You understand that I can’t promise you this will work?” Sagum fiddled with a small socket wrench on the floor near his knee. “I can’t promise you that your parts will bring Whimsby back to life.”

  “You are a very intelligent human,” Bren replied. “Whimsby believed you were capable, and so do I. I understand you cannot promise me it will work. But I…” His eyes wandered away for a moment, looking…wistful? Could
a mech be wistful? “I would very much like for my existence to mean something.” Eyes back on Sagum. “Is that odd?”

  Sagum shook his head. “No, Bren. That’s not odd at all. That’s something every human can understand.”

  “Then please give me the order. That is what I want.”

  Sagum took a deep breath, inwardly chastising himself for feeling so guilty about the whole damn affair. It wasn’t a person he was dealing with. He wasn’t yanking the beating heart out of a human being. He was taking the core processor out of a computer.

  But if Sagum had learned one thing from Whimsby, it was that these mechanical men were…men. People. Perhaps not fully understood. Perhaps not human, per se. But people nonetheless.

  “Alright. Fine. Bren, I order you to allow me to deactivate you.”

  Bren let his hands settle down onto his folded knees. “Thank you, sir. Please. Proceed.”

  Sagum reached forward and set his fingers upon the glowing orb in the center of Bren’s chest. It was faintly warm. Not like a body, but like computer parts. He considered saying something else, something meaningful to Bren in these last moments of his existence, but his expression looked so serene, that Sagum didn’t think he could add anything.

  So he just twisted and pulled.

  ***

  Lux stalked the outside of the encampment, halfway between the groups of sleeping praetors and the outer perimeter of sentries. They slept in neat circles around the low red glow of their portable heaters—no fires, Lux had ordered; they didn’t want the visibility.

  Perhaps a more confident—or more loved—commander would stride through the midst of his ranks, but Lux didn’t think the praetors would get anything out of that. And he certainly wouldn’t. He’d had quite enough of their casually mutinous glances. Not downright hostile, he noted. But not exactly friendly either.