Mickey the Mixer

Don't cry Mickey. Don't cry. You'll rust.

Oh Sue, I'm so sorry! I tried... I meant to follow you. To fight with you. Omar and Amos strapped the chain gun to me. It was so heavy. Not, in a physical sense. Not heavy like concrete is heavy. Heavy like death is heavy. I just stared at it. Amos was trying to tell me how to fire it. I know they gave it to me because they expected me to be useless in a fight, and I am.

I hate Bullet-Spitters. What makes you do that? Design yourself so that the only thing you're good for is killing people. Why are there so many of them? And Goshi loves it. They love it when we turn each other into heaps of shrapnel.

I'm sorry, Sue. They scared me. I'm still scared. I haven't moved the whole time. I saw Omar and Amos go in. I heard the fighting. I heard your scream of rage Sue and I knew you were angry because your boys were dying. You've tried so hard to protect us. I know that. I know we have to protect each other and to be brave, but I... I do the dishes.

I didn't climb in the lift. I found a dark nook and I stayed there. I watched the Bullet-Spitters without eyes come out of the shadows and stand, waiting for the lift to come back up. You came out and you were so angry Sue. Even the Allskin was risking his life, getting shot and bleeding. Even the beautiful Vorax - she had a look on her face that I never want to see again, ever. She cut - she cut one of them in half. I was sick then, quietly, in my hand.

You all left, and I stayed hiding. I couldn't come out and tell you that I hadn't been able to help in the battle. I couldn't do that, so I stayed hidden. I heard more gunshots later, a long way off, and I was afraid you were dead.

It stayed silent for a long time. I didn't think I would ever leave that nook, but then I saw the pink light. A wavery pink light coming around the corner. It was like flame dancing around a man's fist. A Biomade. I nearly shot him, but the realization that I hadn't been able to shoot even the horrible eyeless Bullet-Spitters made me stop. I was not about to kill anyone. He wore a long dark coat of some fancy fabric, and his black hair was cut so long it fell over his eyes.

He walked right up to me. He had a finger to his lips making a shushing sound and for some reason it made me feel much better.

It's okay, Mickey. He didn't speak out loud. He said it in my mind.

You don't need to be scared anymore. Sue and the others will be back very soon. Why don't you go home and get the place ready for them.

That sounded fine. I could do that. I would get some more candy out for High Dive. I like watching her eat candy.

Everything will be fine. I just need you to give them a little message for me.

Okay. I can be a messenger.

He leaned in close to me and touched my forehead. There was a bright flash and for a moment I couldn't see. When my vision cleared his face was right there in front of me, with his hair brushed to the side. He had the strangest pink eyes. No. Red. Blood Red.

Go home now Mickey. Everything will be fine.

A Vorax Sage-tale

Once upon a time a young vorax traveled far and wide in search of new cultural morsels on Karia, as all young vorax do. One day in a distant purpurant* glade he encountered a jevumm. The tiger-creature was about to pounce and devour him when the fledgling called out, "Wait! I wish to hear of your greatest pride so that I may spread it to the far reaches of Karia!" This made the jevumm pause; his demeanor changed, as did his form.

In man-shape he cleared his throat and began to relate a long pastoral poem about the life of a jevumm. The vorax noted down every word, and promised to spread it to everyone he met. In this way the fledgling cleverly played upon the jevumm's own vanity in order to save his life.

Now, the boy remained true to his word; everywhere he went he related the poem. Several other jevumm listened with almost lustful attention to his every word. By the time the jevumm gathered for their tribal meet nearly every one of them had heard the poem. It amazed the tiger-creatures that one vorax had been so proficient in spreading word throughout the entire territory of the tribe. In this way our young vorax had convinced them that the avians were unsurpassed lore-keepers, and most beneficial to their way of life. At this meet it was decided that the vorax were to be hunted no more, and thus fell amiable peace between the races.

So say the Sages.



*Purpurant - adj. Purple with vegetation, Karia's version of 'verdant'

Episode I: The Mercenary Miners

Waiting.

Headaches like a knife in my head. Clickity-clickity-clack. All night. All day. I'm going soft. The light hurts my eyes sometimes. I haven't heard the voice of God since that day. I still listen. And the dreams.

I don't know if the bird-woman is going to wake up. We keep her with us because Goshi is after us. They said we were dead, but they know we're not, and now they want to make us dead.

I talk to the others about the surgency. What they're doing and where. Collapsing this tunnel, cutting the cables for that lift, setting ambushes. Sometimes they talk about killing and it makes me sick. But I don't know what to say.

They're just like us, they just don't see it. We're just like them. That's why its wrong to use us like we're tools. That's why its wrong to kill them like we're not supposed to care. But they're coming to kill us so what are we supposed to do? I don't have an answer.

The bird-woman wakes up! And things start happening. Ascetaline Sue fills us in on what's going on. They all talk about me like I'm something really important. I guess that's what being a Symbol is like. I don't really want to be a Symbol but I don't think I can say no anymore. If a Symbol makes us free then I'll do that. But it means I'm stuck here. A Symbol can't go anywhere. A Symbol can't get caught by Goshi. I know, I know. But I'm getting soft.

I learn what "extinct" means. It means that all of the bird-people are going to be gone. I don't know - I guess there used to be more of them. I don't know why they're being extincted. Maybe Mother Nature is doing it because they don't fit. Something like that. I don't know.

And the Zipsum, I think she's crazy. Maybe they all are - not many come down here. Maybe it makes them crazy. They live in trees, don't they? I think living in trees is crazy. I wrote on the pot so that no one cooks her while she's sleeping. And I thought about it and thought maybe she wanted a bed, so I found her a bed, sort of.

Meat! Its been so long! Damn that was good.

And then trouble! Mercenaries! Looks like they found where we were going. How did they know? Sue doesn't want me to go but I have to go. They can't come here and take our people and sell them. I have to breathe very deep and remember that they are just poor. Maybe they got Laid Off. I don't think I'd sell people if I was poor, even if I got Laid Off. But we have to stop them.

Its horrible. When we find them. Its horrible. It gets worse and worse and worse and nothing gets better at all. Everyone yells and screams and bleeds and leaks. I keep getting shot and stuff thrown at me. Kiyoshi and Rei almost die. Why are they still down here? Maybe they're surgents too. I guess they are now. And Rei looks at me like I'm a Symbol, but I don't think I'm a Biomade Symbol. I don't know.

It feels like a long time before I see that their eyes are gone. No one said anything, and I wasn'tlooking close, I was just swinging my arm and trying to make them stop. But they. Don't. Have. Eyes.

You can't see without eyes! But they can see. Kiyoshi said they were Oni-demons. I don't know what that is, but they're something...so bad. Like the bird-man in the Goshi tower. Worse than anything.

We fight and fight. Everyone is killing, and its horrible. Just a little, I want to smash Kiyoshi. What if I sledded down stairs on a Allskin!? Would you like that? Even if he didn't have eyes! And more fighting, and more killing. More and more and more.

Something tore parts off of my brothers and sisters and riveted them to the wall. Something gives off a horrible gas that only Mechified can get through. Something took my brother like bait on a hook. I don't want them to pay for me to be their Symbol. I'm the Symbol! I should pay!

How can we make them stop? What do we have to do? They keep coming and coming.

I want to tear their stupid tower down. Then they can build a new stupid tower all by themselves. And dig for their own stupid Blackrock. And cut out their own damn eyes.

And more of them come. Soldiers on lines from the surface. Yeah, shoot your stupid guns! See if I care! Now you can choke on dust and see if you like it! Go tell your friends where they can stick their guns! In their butts, that's where!

And I knew it. The Zipsum is crazy. Now she's green. Do they all do that when they go crazy? I think she needs to go back to the trees.

Worse and worse and worse...

Fit for a King

Kiyoshi would never have believed it if someone had told him that he would be wearing a mechified training harness to his father's funeral. Yet there he stood in that hot, noisy apparatus trying to pretend he was a street cleaner or some such. It was humiliating, but necessary; one did not tread without care when Goshi wanted you dead, and there was no dishonor that would have been worse than not being present for his father's burial; and his own, he thought wryly, looking at the second casket symbolically laid out for himself, the report being that his body had either been incinerated or had been blown out the window and fell into the deepest parts of the mines, never to be seen again.

He watched somberly as his brother, Ichirou, spoke of their father's many deeds and awards. Nearby stood Ichirou's wife and their sister, Naomi, consoling each other in their grief. Kiyoshi wished very much that he could go to them, let them know that he was alive and well, and the real reason that their father had died, but he dared not. When those who hunted him were telepaths, the fewer people who knew he was alive the better. Speaking of which... Kiyoshi felt the tingling of something gliding over his mind, and quickly entered the Void to block access. In his heightened state of awareness he looked about, and, sure enough, there was a familiar pink-haired girl glancing about at everyone, her expression bored and yet almost... hopeful. Kiyoshi was incensed that she would dare to sully his father's funeral, but knew that the best thing to do in this case was to hide, so he carefully moved away from her, only dropping his combat meditations when he felt her probing stop.

He now found himself standing close to a gazebo that had been set up to shade its owner, none other than Tsuchinaga Yamoto, the man who, Kiyoshi knew, had paid for the funeral. Oh, he had not told him that we was going to, and would deny it if pressed, but Kiyoshi knew. Yamoto had been friends with his father as well, and if he wanted to contribute to make sure his burial was fitting to the lord that he had been, then the disguised young noble could find no fault. He just hoped that his attendence did not bring undue attention; besides Aimi poking about, Yamoto was one of a bare handful of Biomade in attendance, even though Lord Daitokuji had been one of the most important men in the city in his way, the Grand Master of the finest Mecha Academy in the world. Still, Yamoto was rich and powerful in his own right, and had made slipping away from trouble with seemingly no effort almost an art form, so Kiyoshi figured he would be alright.

Kiyoshi directed his attention once more to his brother, just finishing a speech about Kiyoshi himself, and the tireless efforts he had made on the part of his fellow Cheldrun. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling he got from hearing himself described thus, he thought that it was a tragedy that Ichirou, not even middle aged yet, would soon bear the burden of being Lord and Patriarch of the entire Silver Phoenix clan. If only he could be there to lend his mind and knowledge of administration! But no, first he had to find a way to protect himself from Goshi. They would not want any witnesses to what had happened during that demonstration, even if said witnesses had no idea what had really happened. Ichirou had left the podium and a new man, the new Grand Master of Washisan, apparently, had started in. Kiyoshi could not remember his name; he had never paid much attention to the politics of the Mecha pilots.

When he was finished, Ichirou himself threw the first symbolic handful of dirt over the caskets, along with flowers from Naomi, and Daitokuji Noboru, Patriarch of the Silver Phoenix clan and Grand Master of Washisan Academy was laid to rest beside his wife and, so most people thought, his second son. There was a sudden commotion then, as every single pilot of the Academy, student and master alike (and more than a few visiting from other cities to pay their respects to the fallen master) summoned their Mecha and stood in a line, gleaming in the sunlight. Surely a more impressive sight had not been seen in an age as dozens of Mecha saluted his father in a final farewell.

Kiyoshi had to turn away, a sudden gout of smoke from his suit causing his eyes to water (or so he told himself). And so he found himself face to face with Aimi, standing less than a meter away and peering at him, an expression of sadness on her singularly expressive face. Their eyes locked, and for a single, horrifying instant Kiyoshi thought that he would have to strike her down in the middle of the funeral. She just looked at him, however, and he heard a voice in his head. "I never had a father, but I think if I did have one, and he died, I would be really sad. I am off today, anyway. I just wanted to say... I am sorry for your loss." After this silent communication, she stood up on tip toes and placed a small kiss on his dusty, tear-streaked cheek, then turned and walked away without a word. With one last glance at his siblings, Kiyoshi resolutely did the same.

A View from the Gallery

Guard duty really sucks sometimes. Today it sucks more than most.

It was supposed to be an easy job. I wait on the stairs, I check the security clearance of anyone who approaches. If anyone gives me trouble, I shoot them. That’s what the chain gun arm is for. No problem. Goshi Mining Corp pays pretty well when you’re a bullet-spitter, and with what they promised for this job, I’d be able to afford that new black rock processor upgrade.

It was all going well, not a person in sight. Nobody takes the stairs in a building like this, after all, and if someone did try to break in via the stairway, there are three hundred and thirty three stories. Good luck with that, punk.

Then she arrived.

She didn’t look like much. Just some pale Biomade girl. Maybe nineteen. Dressed up in one of those form fitting body suits that her parents should have told her not to wear, if she had parents. That’s a fucking shame, by the way. How can they not have parents? Never having a father or a mother, never having even the possibility of BEING a father or a mother, it makes me wonder if they’re even human anymore. That’s a dangerous thing to think, but at this point, I don’t give a shit. She had red eyes. That’s rare. Actually, now that I think of it, I’d only seen it twice before, and both of those were earlier the same day. Anyways, she comes walking up the stairs, one of those sonic dampening devices slung over her shoulder. It caught my interest, as I’d often thought about incorporating one of those into my upgrades. It’d be damn useful, if I could ever afford it. Mechanical upgrades may be many things, but quiet isn’t one of them.

“I.D.,” I say. She’s Biomade, so either she has clearance to be here or she’s working for one of Goshi’s competitors. Either way, at least I’m not bored out of my skull anymore.

She keeps coming up the stairs towards me, and I shrug my shoulders, spin up my gun arm, and repeat my request. “I.D.”

Then she blurs forward and kicks me in the chest. Damn. She hits way harder than a girl that size has any right to.

I open fire.

Bullets start flying everywhere, but before I can blink, she’s behind me. She kicks me in the face, and my whole head feels like a watermelon that got a little bit too close to a sledgehammer. Then the world tips over, and I go tumbling backwards down the stairs.

Ow.

By the time I come to my senses, she’s gone, and I’ve got a hell of a headache. My right arm’s broken, too. I knew I should have replaced that with an upgrade. Still, it’s my duty to report it. So I do.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” my supervisor replies over the radio.

“No joke, boss,” I say, and it annoys me to call him boss.

“Well, don’t just stand there, get after her! If she’s an assassin, we’ll be in a world of trouble.”

I look up the stairs. “Uh, boss, you know I’m only on the thirty second floor, right?”

“So?”

“This building is three hundred and thirty three fucking stories tall!”

“Yeah, and if you don’t follow her up those three hundred and thirty three stories, your ass is going to be stripped down and sold for spare parts.”

I grind my teeth. “Well, when you put it that way...”

Three hundred and thirty three stories.

Whoever this girl is, I think I hate her.

It takes forever to get to the top. Flight after flight after flight after flight. Then, finally, when I’m FINALLY at the top, what do I hear but the sound of gunfire coming from the room where the VIPs are gathered?

This just isn’t my day.

I make it up to floor three hundred and thirty three just in time to see this fat fuck grab onto some white stone. Then everything goes white.

Which brings me to now. Yeah. Now. I wake up in midair, falling. Towards the pavement three hundred and thirty three stories below. Let me tell you, it’s a whole lot quicker to take three hundred and thirty three stories in freefall than it is to climb them. As the ground gets closer, I can see the security forces swarming around the base of the building. One of them looks up and points at me.

In I come.

Guard duty really sucks sometimes.

Pilot Episode: Goshi's Prototype

The flight to the city went fairly smoothly, despite the gagging clouds of smog that emanate from Geneva Prime. I felt like I'd have to clean out my sinuses with a giant pipe-cleaner, but I regress.. When I placed High Dive on the roof and my own feet landed, I suddenly felt the firm possibility that I might see another Vorax again, on this very day! My rising excitement could barely be contained, and all that HD's pipsqueak brother could go on about was how his neck was in so much trouble, and how he would only go so far with us. There was so much love between them that one of their fingers could have been chopped off, and the other wouldn't offer help. Man, the things you take for granted when your population is booming.

*sigh*

Despite my grumbling, he really was perfect at getting us safely to the site of the lab; well, at least around the corner from the lab. We had to knock out the three guards that were grumbling about how they were there on duty, instead of getting knocked up. We gave them a close alternative, I think. After getting in the lab a sing-songy voice called to us from behind a door, and HD immediately did some stellar work with cloth, chemicals and a lighter to get the door open.

Imagine my gigantic disappointment (literally) when therein resided some bedsore-ridden hulk of a man that was not the elegant Vorax I was seeking. Arghh! Luckily despite his bulk (and balls that High Dive's brother could have really used) he knew exactly how to get us where we wanted to be. So up the elevator we went until we hit a ceiling door that HD was more than happy to destroy.

When she set the explosive, Tanuki the hulk and I backed out into the hallway, only to be greeted by Ravers'R'us (TM). One guy was wicked with his floating chain and the other very nearly severed my head from my body. *whew* It was way too close. I got a couple good cuts in myself, but I was very glad when some girl dragged chain-boy away.

By the time I made it through the hole in the elevator, I was in a large room filled to the brim with havoc. Bullets were flying everywhere. Bless HD, she was already running toward my fellow Vorax, standing in the middle of the room. He was horribly chained and at some strange half-way point in his shift. What had they been doing to him!?!?! I made my way through the barrage with a few lucky rolling flips and noticed Tanuki spinning on his toes and making his blithe way to the white stone hanging above my fellow's head. I heard Tanuki happily exclaim, "Mana!"... Then there was nothing.

Everything went white, then came back, but without the noise. I felt like I was walking through cotton air. Now a white and glowing cloud floated in the center of the room, and I quailed as red tendrils came from the cloud and began to wrap around my Vorax. No! I ran to push him out of the cloud, but some mechified beat me there. Luckily the smoking-man didn't seem to intend any harm. As I ran, I smacked the glowing purple blade of some guy chopping it up way too close to my compatriot. Just a warning, no time for anything else now.. I caught up and took the Vorax's hand - finally - and he squeezed back. Exaltation! He's going to make it!

Unfortunately, my joy was short-lived. When he opened his eyes to look upon the mechified, blood poured out, and incomprehensible words flowed from his lips. The mechified dropped him as if he'd seen his own ghost - and ran. I tried and tried to call back the Vorax that I knew was in there, but the red tendrils possessed him. Everything in the room began to levitate like the creature.

I made to run away as well..the mechified beckoned to me..but then I realized that my dear, dear fellow Vorax had become an aberration and had nothing of noble avian left in him at all. These formative moments might be the only chance anyone had to destroy this new creature, so I turned around and struck out with my scythe. I struck true. Breath. Then some incredible force emanated from the creature and he rushed out the window, with me still attached. We had well over 300 stories to fall, then into the mine. That was just the beginning of a very looong adventure.

Karia Vitalus

From the beginning she was watching. At first she watched merely because she was curious and because, if she was perfectly honest, there wasn't much else for a planet to do except spin around and around all day getting dizzy. She watched oceans bubble up and freeze, then melt and shift around. She watched continents playing their games of bumper cars, bouncing on tip toes across beds of hot magma. She watched bacteria fizz and eat and multiply and diversify and start piling on extra cells until some of the cells on the outside started getting crispy and hard and they turned into trilobites.

She watched trilobites for a long time. What is it about them that they stick in the fossil record so... adamantly?

She watched fish and reptiles and algae and plants and insects. Sometimes, though she hoped they didn't notice, she napped. She took a long snooze through the cretaceous. Despite what most young boys believe, dinosaurs are not that interesting.

She watched ice come and retreat, and come and retreat again dozens of times. She watched births and deaths and usually she had a hard time telling the difference. She watched a lot of things, but through all of it she was watching indifferently; watching only because the cosmos had seen fit to put her here and give her something to watch. It wasn’t much of a show either.

Until lately.

Lately she hadn’t just been watching, she’d been positively glued to the screen of her own cosmic drama. It started when the tall lithe ones in the masks suddenly began whispering, and staring at scrolls, and shaking their heads, and pointing to the stars. Then, just as suddenly, the stars were multiplying, and then they were falling and the sky was full of fire, and the forest was burning and life and death and safety and doom were passionately dancing a tango across her view.

She observed transfixed, for though the literal fires were extinguished, the conflagration became an inferno and these little creatures, these little people, they cared. They cared and they were dying, and living, and fighting (and there was a difference between birth and death!) and more and more she realized that they cared, not because they were selfish and afraid, but because it mattered. It mattered who died and who lived and for how long, not just to them, but to everyone and everything.

Everything. She knew it wasn’t just hyperbole. It really did matter to absolutely everything. When she looked out across the cosmos she saw the sun and the moon and the planets, and the stars all standing on tip-toe to peek over the head of the person in front of them. She wasn’t just the one watching, she was being watched! They were watching her, because what was happening right now, on her little islands, in her little oceans, was the most important thing in the whole universe.

Bursting with pride and trembling with fear she scanned and she delved and she tried to discover the future, but it was stubbornly opaque. If there is one thing that watching for billions of years makes you good at, however, it is being observant. For though the future refused to yield its secrets, she could see the past working its way out in her present and she began to understand.

They would come. All of them. From everywhere. They would come and they would be there, all of them, together, in one place, her place, and when they did it would matter who was there and who was living and who was dead. It would matter in that moment and it would matter for all time. And because it would matter she would not be content just to watch, she could reach in. She could see and she could act.

She would give gifts. And curses. But the gifts would be cursed and the curses would be gifted. Then she would watch. Not because she had to, but because she could not resist.

They’re coming.

They’re here.

She’s watching.

Elder Winter

Elder Winter sat by the bonfire long into the night. The forest grew thickly all around him, great tree trunks seeming to peer down at him and his fire.

The other Elders were long gone now, retired from the vigil. Only he remained.

In his lap he held an elaborately carved wooden mask. Hollow eyeholes peered up at him. Silent. Empty.

Empty.

Still, there was a trace that yet lingered. A faint impression left in the very fiber of the mask that yet carried the distinctive scent of the one who had worn it, long ago.

Elder Winter was the oldest of his tribe, extraordinarily long lived: it was the nature of his Song to long endure the frosts of age, waiting for the renewal of the world that would inevitably come with the spring, when the flowers once again bloomed gloriously beneath the sun.

Winter had been waiting for the spring a very long time.

Still, he could not but continue as he had, waiting for the ones who would bring about that renewal. And though the one who had worn this mask had told him that he would not die before he saw those that would be the instruments of the world’s renewal, the old Prill found those prophetic words harder and harder to believe with every day that went by.

He had been given something important to keep for that day, but he was old. Impossibly old and unutterably weary. His bones ached, and he was nearly blind.

Still he lingered on, day after day, holding to the promise of the Dusk Sage that he had called ‘friend.’

There he sat before the bonfire, watching as the flames died away into embers, the embers into ashes.

When the last ember flickered out, the leaves of the great trees rustled in a sudden breeze, and the stifling, hot air of the old forest was lifted, if only for a moment.

It smelled like spring.

Childhood Memories

Smooth, clear acrylic floors. Power humming beneath the surface, channels of bright psychic energy flowing out through the room like a vibrant, pulsing, pink spider-web. Voices.

This was nothing new for Rei. She had known the voices of others for longer than she had known herself. What was new was that she had been given her very own desk to study at, transluscent, made of a reddish sort of acrylic substance. Even immersed as she was in her brand new copy of 'The Stardown Codex,' the latest mystery novel by the famous Biomade novelist, Tsunami, she would have been foolish indeed to ignore these particular voices.

Sever.
Stitch.
Her brothers.
Behind her.

She took very deliberate care in putting a bookmark on page 107 of the novel, shutting the book, and putting it down on the transluscent red desk. It was stupid, she realized, to have put the desk where it was, facing the wall. Sitting at it, her back was to the door. If her trainers found out, she'd never hear the end of it.

She turned around.

Immediately, their thoughts washed over her awareness, and for one confused moment she couldn't tell if she was herself or if they were her. The nine and a half year old twins stood not five yards distant, their faces lit up with innocent smiles that belied the mischief of their thoughts.

"No," Rei said.

"No what?" Stitch asked.

"You can't borrow my knife," Rei said, feeling simultaneously offended and annoyed in a way that was almost teenagerish.

Sever's smile faded. "We need it," he said.

Rei stared at the twins. "It's mine," she insisted. Property. Something that was hers and not theirs. It was a strange concept, but she liked it. She rose to her feet and took a step towards the twins.

That was when she stumbled, put off balance by the sudden discovery that her shoelaces were tied together, and fell flat on her face.

Hyena-like laughter rose up from the twins, and Rei felt a sudden flush of humiliation rising up in her chest. More than that, though, shock rippled through her mind: they had hid their intent from her! They'd lied to her in their minds! She'd never dreamed that such a thing was even possible. Anger. Resentment. Fear. They were laughing at her. They were laughing at her, and PEOPLE COULD LIE TO HER IN THEIR MINDS.

By the time she managed to undo the knots in her shoelaces with her own comparatively feeble telekinetic powers, the twins were long gone.

So was her knife.

Pulling Strings

Kiyoshi had to consciously keep himself from sneering when he looked upon the recumbent form of Tsuchinaga Yamato. Most Biomade were in great physical shape, but this one was positively corpulent. Yes, Tsuchinaga was one of Kiyoshi's only Biomade friends, and, yes, the old warrior had probably earned the right to some luxury, but in looking upon the enormous man lying back on his silk cushions, surrounded by platters of food and wine, overwhelming incense and young girls who really should not have bothered to wear anything at all for all the good their outfits did them, he could not help but look upon such gluttony as weakness.

"Kiyoshi! To what do I owe this honor, Director?" Even the man's voice was larger than normal, booming jovially.

"Director no more; I have been relieved of my position, as you have probably already heard, Yamoto."

His host sighed. "That I have, but I was hoping it was not true."

Kiyoshi lifted an eyebrow and regarded Yamoto coolly. "The decision was unanimous, 'old friend'. You were one of the signatories on the order."

"Yes, but I had hoped they would not get enough of them! Not everyone on the Board was against you, as you know. Still, there are certain persuasive factors that would have made it very unwise for me to side with you. Surely you did not expect me to stand up to the likes of Blade?"

It was the young Allskin's turn to sigh. "No, I suppose not. Now at least I know I still have one ally left on the board who can keep me in the loop as to what is going on."

"That's the spirit m'boy! And I have a couple of choice bits for you now, if you've a mind to listen."

Kiyoshi simply nodded and sat upon one of the many cushions scattered about.

"Well, most importantly, there have been attacks on some of the directors recently. A couple of them have even been killed!"

Kiyoshi made an encouraging murmur, knowing his large friend's flair for the dramatic. It was obvious that there was more to come.

"They say that someone attacked Katashi Blade himself; he was unharmed, of course, more's the pity. Typhon was found dead in his office, not that anyone will mourn that one." He paused, obviously waiting for encouragement from his audience.

"Really now? And what else?"

"Well, it looks like your pet project is starting on its own! A Mechified revolt down in the mine, they say. A small incident, but you know how these things can grow; they say that one of the AD's got killed in the scuffle, Jung or Jun or something... I don't know, all those little pencil-necks look the same to me."

Kiyoshi cursed. "Those fools! Don't they know that if they try to revolt now it will be a bloodbath? Without the support of the Allskin families, the Biomade will simply slaughter them, if they do not do it first themselves!"

Yamoto shrugged. "What's done is done, m'boy." He squinted shrewdly at his young guest. His gossip dispensed with, he was determined to get his price of a new story. "They say that the circumstances of your dismissal were... unusual. They say that you had a visitor; a young girl. Someone you would normally think would be spending all her time rebelling and listening to that 'raving' music you kids love so much."

Kiyoshi nodded. "An agent of some sort, a mind reader. A bit... unorthodox, but definitely more dangerous than she looked."

"Did I not just finish telling you that someone's trying to off Directors?! She was an assassin, mark my words!"

Again, a nod. "She admitted as much. But she was not there to kill me; apparently I am not important enough to kill." That last was almost bitter.

"Maybe not, and you should be glad of that," said Yamoto somberly. "But remember who you are: the second son of Daitokuji Noboru, one of the Grand Masters of Washisan Academy, a man who has personally trained some of the finest Mecha Pilots in the world, including your older brother and younger sister. Someone might see you as a weak link to strike at them."

Kiyoshi's fists clenched as he said "They would be most grievously mistaken in that."

Yamoto waved his hands. "Whoa, whoa, m'boy! You don't need to convince me of that! I was just speculating." He peered at Kiyoshi again. "I always did wonder why you didn't become a pilot like the rest of your family though."

Eyes flashing, Kiyoshi sneered. "Because I thought my intelligence should not be wasted on nothing more than going to brawl every time two cities decided to squabble over who owned a piece of Blackrock! My father agreed; that is why he helped me attain my position at Goshi when no other Allskin would have been considered."

The older man nodded. "Still, you should be careful. Give me some more info on that girl who visited you and I will look into it; see if I can figure out who she works for, at least."

Kiyoshi half-smiled, something that was not lost on his observant host. "She was very... distinctive. Tiny, not more than five feet tall. Lithe. Wild, bright pink hair. Blood red eyes." He shrugged. "Cute. Like someone's little sister that grew up and decided to start rebelling."

Yamoto nodded again. "Red eyes, you say? Where have I heard that before? Ah, it'll come to me. I'll look into it, lad, don't worry."

Kiyoshi stood and nodded to the only man he had ever let call him names such as "m'boy" or "lad", probably because the old warrior called everyone by such names. "Thank you. Be careful, though; you are a Director too."

Yamoto looked around in mock surprise. "Me? Ah, I may not be an Allskin, and therefore not worth killing, but I have worked long and hard to make myself too indispensable to get rid of. Besides, I don't cause trouble, unlike some young men I can name, so why would anyone want to bump off some fat old has-been?"

Kiyoshi chuckled as he bowed and left. Once he was gone, Tsuchinaga Yamoto watched the door that he had went through for a good, long time. "Who indeed?"

Story Time

This story is about love.

Well, it’s about plenty of things, but love’s as good a place to start as any, isn’t it? It starts with a young man with dreams of adventure, of grand chases and maidens what need saving, riding on the backs of dragons and battles with the dark magics of the Karians.

Ryu Washisan was his name, a member of some clan or another. It was hard to keep it all straight in his head. He’d grown up like most Allskins in a world of tattered finery and faded glory. He’d spent hours and hours and hours learning all sorts of useless things, like which fork to use with which dish, when to swap out his spoons during a meal, why he should always keep his word of honour. It hadn’t stuck. Well, except for that honour part. A little bit. ... Less than his family would have liked. ... Well, he did ok.

Come time for his teenaged years, Ryu didn’t think much of his family. They were holding him back, he thought. They expected him to be some kind of gorram Messiah, and he just wasn’t interested in fighting in the arena. He was much more interested in finding out if any maidens needed saving.

He didn’t have much luck in that regard.

All of that changed in his twenty second year of life: the day he met Sylvia. She perfect in that airbrushed Biomade sort of way. Hair just so, proportions just so. Long blue hair, expressive blue eyes, nary a blemish to be found.

Ryu was young and foolish, and he was in love scarcely before she’d so much as said, “Hello.” Well, in lust anyways. That’s how it started. They saw each other pretty regularly for the next couple months, and soon enough he had started to mean it when he swore his undying love for her. Another couple of months passed before (much to both of their surprise), she found that she loved him back.

Course, that didn’t help either of them when she tried to pilot his mecha to save his life when the vengeful student of a rival school went after him a year after their first meeting. Or maybe it did. First Age artifacts don't work for Biomade, after all, but it responded to her touch. Or maybe the dragon-mecha sensed its master was in danger, and simply tolerated her touch. It doesn't really matter at this point, considering what happened. The dragon-mecha responded to her touch and flew to his side in a matter of seconds. Now, there are many horrible ways to die, but burning up in the molten remains of what used to be the cockpit of your mecha after a burst of dragonfire hits it dead on? Probably one of the worst. Ryu wasn’t sure if the poor sap had drowned or burned first, but whichever it was, it had looked painful.

Unfortunately, as is the case with most things, the victory came at a price. There on top of the dragon-mecha, her hands still clasped around the reigns, Sylvia was fading. Fading like a ghost. The dragon’s metallic eyes pulsed again and again, and with each pulse, Sylvia faded a little more.

That didn’t go over well with either of them.

They tried everything they could think of with no success. Then came the tears, the anger, the recriminations. Then Sylvia was gone without a trace, and the dragon's eyes gleamed fitfully in the light of the setting sun.

Heartbroken and unwilling to go back to the life that had started all of this business, Ryu, scion of the Washisan Academy, climbed onto the back of the dragon-mecha, whipped its reigns savagely, and flew off into the setting sun, never to be seen again. Or at least, he was pretty thoroughly determined never to be seen again. You know how it goes, though. Going unseen is easier when you aren’t flying on the back of a metal dragon.

So that’s the story. Just one more tragedy in a world full of them, I guess. There’s a moral here somewhere. Guard your heart, maybe? Hide your love away? Maybe it’s better to have loved and lost? Whatever. The point is, it's a story about love, and loss.

Don't give me that look. Were you expecting something more? Something less depressing, maybe? Well, maybe there's more to be told. Maybe that's not the end of the story, with Ryu heart broken, leaving behind every obligation for a life of freedom in the wilds of Karia, and taking the very source of his grief there with him.

Time will tell. It usually does.

Winds of Change

"Something is changing in Karia Vitalus." The voice was an old man's voice, heavy with the weight of years.

--------------

In the great city of the Cheldrun, two bodies hang by a pair of ropes around their necks some two hundred floors up, lab coats fluttering in the breeze. A man and a woman, both Biomade. Though they were each attractive in life, death had done them no favors. Pale and bloated now, they swung like ghastly piñatas, waiting, oh just waiting for the chance to spill their gruesome cargo onto the streets two hundred stories below.

--------------

Far away, the sun rose over the jungles southwest of Matamos. Just above the canopy grew a single, thick, bare branch; thereupon a strange, sinuous shape rose with the dawn, lifting its cold, reptilian eyes to the heavens in silent contemplation of the wonder it beheld there; for one shining moment, a new star was born above those jungles, rivaling the sun itself in brightness. There and gone.

The Anakarix frowned thoughtfully.

Those who have eyes, let them see.

--------------

"The wind doesn't taste like it used to." The same old man had spoken again. We can see him now: he is a Prill, grizzled and weary, and there is wisdom in his countenance. "The flame that was sparked on the night of the bonfire skies spreads unchecked across the land."

--------------

In the depths of Geneva Prime, a Mechified dreamed of freedom, of revolution. As he looked down upon the body of his Biomade supervisor, the thought rang clear in his mind: ‘We are not your appendages.’

Those who have ears, let them hear.

--------------

A Zipsum raced from tree to tree, trying desperately to evade her would-be-captors. Her cheeks bulged strangely, ill-fitting around the data pad she held gently in her mouth as she ran - what she had risked her life in the Cheldrun city to obtain: the operational planning for the next great logging operation into the jungles of the Anakarix.

Hard metal bullets ravaged the trees around her, turning their trunks to so much splintered pulp, sending splinters flying in all direction: the sound of gunfire was deafening.

Pain. Burning pain. A spear-like shard of wood had lanced into her vulnerable belly. Biting back tears, she raced onwards, and soon she was beyond the reach of the bullet-spitters, and of the angry metal bees that they spat.

The shouts of angry Cheldrun echoed loudly in the woods behind her.

Bleeding from the stomach, agony racing through her mind, she ran on.

--------------

"How did it go?" Rei asked. She already knew, but it was polite to ask anyways. She walked down a corridor of light with another girl about four years her junior. There is both a striking similarity and a striking contrast between the two girls: Rei's hair is off-white and the other girl's is shockingly pink; Rei's appearance is neat and functional, while the other girl's is meant to entice; Rei moves with an unconscious grace, while Aimi's movements are deliberate and calculated, though no less graceful. And for all that, they could be sisters. They are sisters, actually. Two distinct variations on the same DNA recombined in slightly differing ways. It was like that with all six of them: genetic siblings, all of them. Three girls, 00, 01, and 05. Three boys, 02, 03, and 04.

Aimi met Rei’s gaze, doing her best not to giggle at the thought of her meeting with that young man. "You already know," she said. "You're the one who can't turn it off, after all."

Rei nodded faintly and said nothing, allowing Aimi's irritation to pass over her and through her, leaving her self unmoved in its wake. "Yes," she said. It wasn't worth it to argue over this again. She knew that the others thought her defective. "You..." she trailed off.

"If you don't say it now, you'll only mope about how you wished you had said it for the next week," Aimi said, wishing not for the first time that Rei's mental shielding wasn't quite so well fortified. She supposed it was for the best. In Rei's case, it was either intense mental shielding or near-insanity. Even so, it was disconcerting, not having ready access to someone's thoughts. More so in the wake of recent events.

“You like him.”

Aimi blushed. “That’s private,” she said warningly.

“Sorry.” The teasing note was gone from Rei's voice now, vanished like the morning mist beneath the heat of the sun. A pause. “Do you really think of me when you think of madness?”

Aimi caught Rei’s eyes with her own, blood red eyes peering into blood red eyes. “What’s all this about, Rei? You don’t usually take an interest in other people’s missions.”

"Because it is so clear, it takes a long time to realize it,” Rei murmured cryptically.

Aimi smiled bemusedly. “In English?”

Rei shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

For a moment, the shields wavered. For a moment, Aimi caught a glimpse of a Mechified Labor unit, (‘We are not your appendages!’ ) and a desperate sense of... something. It was gone. She frowned. “What was that?”

“Goodbye, Aimi,” Rei said. There was a note of finality in her voice. She walked away down the vast corridor of light, leaving her sister there near the entrance to the briefing room.

Aimi watched her go, confusion writ large in her expression. She wasn’t sure what just happened exactly, but she had the distinct impression that she had just missed something important. “Rei, wait,” she called.

“Go to your briefing, Aimi,” Rei said.

Despite her misgivings, Aimi did as she was told.

She always had.

--------------

“I fear that soon this fire may consume us all.” He shook his weathered head, pausing more from dramatic effect than out of necessity. “The magic of the dusk sages must be recovered if we are to have any hope of weathering the flames.” The old Prill looked at Inari with a serious expression. “This is your task, young one.”

Inari stared at the elder, wide-eyed. His task. His task! Finally, after years and years of demonstrating his cleverness to the whole choir, he had been entrusted not only with a song, but with a Task! A sacred quest! He was not totally successful in keeping the grin off of his face. “I won’t disappoint you, Elder Winter,” he said eagerly. He did not notice the very calculating look in the old Prill’s eye.

They sat in a clearing in the midst of a vast, old growth forest. It was dreary, and the light of the stars scarcely penetrated through the gloom of the place. The ground was treacherous here for any who did not know it well: for miles around the Prill village, sudden rifts and valleys opened unexpectedly in the wood, and sharp rocks were among the least dangerous of the things one might find at the bottom of one of these.

“I know you won’t,” the Elder said. “For the sake of us all, you won’t. Now, have you gathered what we asked for?”

“Water from a well holy to the Jevuum (and plenty of mud besides), a berry from the stores of the Zipsum, an Anakarix’s talon, blood spilled after insulting a Gogajin’s mother, a Vorax’s tail feather.” Inari frowned. “Elder Winter, did we really need all these things?”

Elder Winter’s upper lip twitched, as if he were trying not to laugh. “Indeed,” he said sagely as he collected the proffered items.

Inari looked unconvinced. The two red-furred fox-ears growing up from either side of his head twitched in irritation.

They were needed, mind you. They would make the blessing much easier. It’s just that other, easier to find items would have done the job just as well. Elder Winter put the items into a small leather pouch tied to his belt. “Come, Inari. You have proven yourself worthy of the task set before you. It is time to receive your blessing from the Choir of Elders.”

Inari nodded, his irritation forgotten. “Right.” He thought about it for a moment. They may be doing this to get rid of him, but it was still an honour to be chosen for a Sacred Quest.

Together, the two Prill rose to their feet and walked towards the distant firelight that came from the outer watch post of the village.

The forest allowed their passage only reluctantly, barely standing aside long enough to let them creep through, and closing immediately behind them.

The forest knew much, had seen much. Though it suffered the presence of the Prill, there were few others that walked on two legs that it would allow passage. Wooden creaks and voices like the rustling of leaves raced from tree to tree, and the air grew hot with anger. News had arrived from the distant north: another wood had fallen before the loggers. Murderers. Axe-bearers. Creatures of black smoke and steam.

Even as the song of the Choir of Elders rose into the air, filling all the land around the village with a sense of hope and glory, the trees took angry council together. No, it wasn’t time to act yet. They would watch, and wait, and plan.

For now.