12 Miles Below

Cathida wasn’t going to be done brooding for a while.

Journey confirmed the updates, gave an estimate of a half hour or so to process through, so I had some time to kill while we relaxed. Which gave me some well deserved retrospective thoughts.

These were some of the strangest days of my life so far, and that was a high bar to pass these days given Wrath, machines, gods, and other such shenanigans already. Literally doing both debugging and therapy to a digital engram was already up there on things I’d never thought I’d be doing. Watching what was supposed to be a living demi-god chatting along with a pack of giant intelligent dogs all circled around him using a mythical bird on the branch above to help translate was right up there as well. Not to mention being stuck on a strata underground that was so far beyond what most Deathless fireteams even explored that an entire civilization had sprung up down here unknown to everyone.

But I get ahead of myself. I’ll start with dogs.

Dogs were expensive pets to have on the surface. I hear it’s more wild-wastes and hands off in the Othersider side of the world, where if one’s important enough, they can afford to have a few dogs.

Othersiders dip around under the surface at their own leisure, since there are no laws prohibiting them from going further underground. And no laws protecting them from basically anything either. But there’s plenty of open space for them to run around in.

Pipe weasels, minks and ferrets are more the guard pet of choice among surface clans. They’ll kill any rats running around and are exceedingly good at it, even hunting them down through ventilation pipes with hardly any effort.

But dogs appeared so many times among the golden era media a lot of idioms stuck around and are actively used even by the clans, despite most of us never having seen a dog more than a few times in our lives.

Undersiders break all rules like usual, I’ve seen more dogs running around in Capra’Nor than I ever had in my entire life - but Undersiders and pilgrims are where most surface dwellers or Othersiders get their dogs from in the first place. So not a surprise that to Drakonis, dogs were normal pets.

It’s been a little weird to be around something that’s around my size, rats are far more cuddly and what I actually think of when someone says ‘pets’ around me.

“Yes, they’re smart. Nothing in the same league as you all are.” Drakonis said, letting the helmet translate into old human, so that Kres could understand and then translate into greyroamer. “They’re considered man’s best friend, loyal to a fault, and always far more positive than we are. There’s a saying among us Undersiders, ‘Be the man your dog believes you are.’ And it’s accurate.”

Kres tried his best to translate that. And Drakonis held his right arm’s elbows while he waved the arm itself left and right. His attempt to mimic the tail swishing of the greyroamers. From what Kres explained, he was doing a poor job of it, but the attempt itself was winning him plenty of points among the greyroamers. The actual emotion he was trying to convey might not be there, but they could tell he was trying his best.

The wolves around him pawed at the ground, giving mild yips and shaking their heads. Kres turned his beak back to Drakonis, translating what was said back. No they weren’t angry or disgusted that animals related to their own race were used as pets to the humans. It was more a curiosity, and they were interested in the dynamics of it. Or why the humans claimed to feel such a strong bond with animals that were clearly weaker and far less intelligent. Something about pack cohesion.

He spoke to them about the Undersider city, and how humans lived up there. He also pointed at me a few times, explaining what was further above, at the end of the world. The bitter, unrelenting wasteland that only the most insane of humans decided to live at.

Such as me and mine.

And talking about that, Journey’s HUD pinged that the update to Cathida was complete. With mild worry, I went through the process to turn her back on and see what ended up happening.

It didn’t blow up in my face.

“You’re a piece of squireshit and the next time a Feather’s choking the life out of you, I’ll be right there cheering her on.” Was the first thing she said to me.

I swear, this time, it didn’t blow up in my face. It might seem bad, but Journey confirmed the update worked as I’d hoped it would, and the armors don’t usually lie. Usually.

Every now and then I do something smart and it works. Statistically speaking. Anyday now.

“Lot to unpack here.” I said, tapping my two fingers together in contemplation on what had blown up in my face this time. “First, I thought Journey said the update worked as planned? And second, why is the Feather a girl in your hypothetical situation? That seems oddly specific.”

“Oh it worked. I don’t hate them, and I hate that I don’t hate them anymore. Hating them was easy, fun even. Now I have to insult them all half-heartedly instead of full-heartedly, and it’s far less enjoyable. There’s no greater cathartic feeling than nailing a really good set of insults that come straight from the heart. On the other hand, I do get to think up brand new insults focused on machines that float between being offensive and deeply offensive. So there’s still a dawn to enjoy in all this, thank the goddess.”

“How very… Cathida of you. And the second part to all that?”

“Should be obvious who I mean. Do I really need to spell it ou- golden tits, of course I’d need to. Forgot who I was talking to in the first place, you dense piece of hardboiled scrap. Heavens me.” She politely coughed, clearing her digital throat and hamming it up for dramatics. “Young man, if there’s anyone who’s going to end up upset enough to put you through the laundry and hang you up to dry for being the little rat that you are, it will be our favorite marshmallow toaster oven with the added rack and wing options. There’s only so many times you can con her into eating a plate before she ends up getting petty right back. Poor thing.”

“Hey now, wait just a second here.” I raised a finger up, planning my defense.

She did wait, which I hadn’t expected. A beat passed. “Yes deary?”

My finger went back down. “... I got nothing, it’s a pretty fair accusation all things considered. More importantly, you said she’s our favorite? Does that mean she’s your favorite too by implication? Seems like the kind of development I was hoping for.”

“Peh, it’s a low bar for machines. I can count on one wrinkly little hand how many of those I approve of as of now. But the real Cathida would have developed a soft spot for Wrath, even as an enemy given all she’d been forced to see about her all this time. Problem is that feeling that way, realizing it, and then admitting it is an entire ordeal for even the most emotionally in-touch person. To which, the old bat was everything but. That’s an entire character arc you blatantly cheated through, I should add.”

“Winterscar.” I proudly said, hand wiping off some invisible dust off my chest, making the matted down and ripped cloth look a little bit more presentable. “I learned from the worst.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start.” She hissed back. “Goddess protect me from idiots and fools.”

“Tsuya’s too far to help you now.”

“Don’t I know it.” She said with despair. “Get the interrogation over with already. And don’t act so shocked, of course you’re going to start sniffing around to see what changed. Swear on all that is holy, if you say ‘I told you so’ even once, I will show you the true meaning of petty.”

I spent the rest of that night talking with my favorite wise hermit of the armor, getting a feel for the changes in her. She was still her crabby old self, but in a way that felt more aged and mellowed out. Like she’d walked through a veil of shadows, lifted it up, nodded in understanding now having seen what lay beyond her biases and prejudices - and then let it drop right back down where it used to be, pretending to have seen nothing at all. But one cannot unsee truth once seen, and other such mambo-jumbo.

She had odd opinions about the Odin and the greyroamers. Imperials prized dogs, though more in a symbolic sense. The 'flying loot-bug' as she called Kres was less warmly received, since ravens and crows were known as the animal of choice for Puritans, who liked to dress up with their feathers. So seeing both the symbols of the Imperial faith and the Puritan faith running around together made her feel like the world was trying to cram some lesson down her throat and she wasn't having it.

An actual set of civilizations down underground entirely unknown to humankind seemed less important to her than the above religious connotations. Absolutely wild to me, but it was just a matter of priority to Cathida. Neither the Odin nor the greyroamers had any kind of tech or armor that would put them up as an ally against machines, nor an enemy to humans. So they were largely ignored as just 'More mite shenanigans.'

By the time my watch shift was over and my curiosity with Cathida’s changes satisfied, I’d only had a maybe fifteen minutes total to look over Hexis’s textbook for the nightly reading. Which was enough to skim again through all the pretty illustrations and debate over if he’d actually drawn those himself somehow, had those just lying around in his data drives, or if he’d gotten some of the clan artists to draw it up for him. There were some drawings in there that were clearly related to the surface clan and our actual lessons. Including illustrations of me fumbling through lessons, with him being the wise patient mentor that didn't berate at all, the little puffed up egomaniac. Still making fun of me despite being miles and miles away.

Whatever the method to his madness was, it did make the entire manual he wrote look very gothic and interesting to read.

Maybe I was zoning out by that point and all the overly complicated words he constantly used were slipping over my head like water over a smooth rock.

In the end, it turns out my old master had given me one last gift, either unintentionally or with a bit of forward thinking tongue in cheek planning, because gods above did his textbook do a perfect job of putting me into deep sleep the moment I tried to focus on it.

It had been a long long day in my defence.

And I had the worst sleep ever.

First night down here in a while that I’d had this nightmare. I’d open my eyes and only see wave after wave of machines rushing right at me. I’d fight them off, go into the battle trance I’d learned to live in. And I’d survive for a good while, but every single time, my luck would run out. I’d get my ankle too far out of position and one clawed hand would wrap around it. That’s usually the number one way I’d die. After my ankle was grabbed, I’d be thrown off my footing, and then die getting stabbed, choked, burned, ripped apart and every other way of dying possible.

This wasn’t new to me, I had it a few nights straight in a row when I’d returned to the surface. Then it went away and I never had to deal with it again, so I assumed my head got all the pieces back in order and functioning well.

I don’t know why it decided today of all days to come back, but it had. I grabbed my bag of power cells, a few already empty, and got back on my feet. Gear and everything was accounted for as usual, and my HUD showed full green across the board everywhere except for my head which was groggy as could be.

In minutes, the pack was off running ahead while we followed behind. Kres was equally flying above, and later today when he finally got tired of carrying his loot, he’d come flying over to us for a perch. Or he’d land on the strange backpack contraption one of the greyroamers ran with.

“You want to talk about it?” Drakonis asked, sliding up next to me on the jog.

I had a sudden sinking feeling in my gut, the same kind of feeling when I’ve been caught doing something I was hoping no one would notice. “About what?” I asked, praying it wasn’t going to be what I think it was going to be.

“Your nightmares.” He said, crushing my hopes with barely two words. “Only other person I’ve seen shake and flinch as much as you did during the night was Lionheart.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, hoping to throw him off the tail. “I slept just fine.”

“Do you remember any of it when you wake up?” Ah scrapshit, he’s not letting go.

“Not at all.” I lied. “Maybe for the best given what you’re saying.”

His helmet looked my way for a moment, then turned back to the road ahead. As if saying ‘You’ll come talk when you need to.’

I took him up on that offer, the one of being left alone I mean.

Midway through the day we took a break from the jog to replace power cells and help the pack hunt more meat. They were always hungry, and ate far more than I’d think possible. Like mini-Wraths running amok. And clearly not picky eaters either. She's get right along with them. Probably better than humans.

Lighting a campfire was less of an ordeal today than it had been yesterday, with some greyroamers trying to stand close to the fire. Which Kres snickered about, telling us they were trying to prove themselves brave, and capable of standing next to the humans.

Drakonis patted the head of the one nearest to him, fingers digging into the fur and rubbing small circles. He’d told them before about this, that humans found it comforting to do that, and dogs seemed to like it too. The greyroamers found it similar to licking one another, so they already had a social rite around it. Somewhere between a small bite and a lick of greeting.

As far as Kres translated, they seemed to enjoy the feeling of it, but liked the sign of friendship it was more. Or so they told the bird that.

Meat was grilled up, herbs were debated over and Drakonis and I ate our fill along with the rest of the pack. No dangers spotted since the pack here had been very carful to steer us away from any known machine nests.

Pays to have a guide down here. Ones who are certainly more happy-go-lucky than a cranky old robot hiding behind a comms signal and probably losing his mind right about now given the situation.

I found a nice tree again to sit by while I waited for the pack to finish their lunch and continue moving. Idle time I could use to meditate a bit, maybe try another crack at Hexis’s tome.

“It’s going to happen again.” Cathida said, out of nowhere while I was going through the armor options. “Journey’s already running the medical diagnostics from your brain, and is predicting you’ll be having some trouble sleeping from now on.”

“The sleep thing? I think that’s just a one-off thing. If anything, everything’s was going great right now. We killed off Murdershrimp, I managed to give Relinquished the slip, and if we get out of here in time, the problems with the Deathless are going to be resolved pretty amicably. Drakonis seems willing to put his issues aside and actually consult the facts instead of rushing as quick as possible to make up for lost time.”

“Wouldn’t that be neat, huh deary? That you can get a full night’s sleep just by telling yourself everything’s golden. Don’t let me hold your squire by the cuff or anything. I’m sure it works that way just fine.”

"har har, I register your vote of confidence and adjourn this session for the night."

Cathida cackled. "You'll be back. They always come back."

I sat and watched the pack ahead. They were so animated with one another, yips and barks, occasionally biting at each other’s tails or getting things done. Drakonis was in the middle of all this, getting more lessons from the greyroamers themselves on how fast to move his arm to different rhythms. Kres was up there, pecking at his overstuffed back, likely regretting his choices. The beak was shifting between Drakonis, Silverfur and myself. Like he was debating who to hitch a ride from.

I let out a deep sigh. “All right, how do you know I’m going to get bad sleep again tonight? This nightmare was intermittent before. Why wouldn’t it be now?”

“Hate to admit it," Cathida said, starting out the gate without telling me 'I told you you'd be back' - "But you do actually get a clinically correct amount of sleep when the toaster’s nearby or when you know she’s around. So that klutz with a food obsession is good for something besides being eyecandy.”

That… wasn’t what I’d expected at all. “Wait, I don’t get good sleep when Wrath’s not around? When did that start?”

But I knew the answer to that the moment I spoke it out loud. The temple. That’s what my nightmares were about, dying on that bridge. Because I’d seen and felt every single possible way a Keith could die over there, basically an infinite amount of times.

Come to think of it, more surprised I ended up fine. Maybe because every Keith in that fight was also on trauma suppressors at the time? That worked out for something, but not enough of something.

“That doesn’t make sense.” I said before Cathida could ruin it further. “The nightmares went away and I got good sleep pretty quickly after we’d settled into the clan. Maybe a week tops I had to deal with them. Wrath started hanging out with me in my room days later. And they were intermittent when we’d been climbing back up to the surface. They only really took root after I’d gotten back into my old room. A week, tops, like I said.”

“Keith.” Cathida said with the tone of exasperation. “What do you think the old bat would do when she sees one of her squires have a hard time sleeping? Respect your medical privacy? I fed your sleep logs to Wrath of course. Gave her the kick in the butt she needed to actually start coming into your room more often. Also gave her a schematic to print out your deadbolt key. Journey's seen your keys plenty of times. Ever wonder how silver tits picked her way through your locks without any damage? You really see her being delicate with picklocks? Or just ripping the doorhinges off first and asking question about how they taste later?”

“Hang on, you hated her guts back then.” This was a lot of information to process through and I found myself holding my hands out, as if placating Cathida to slow down. I probably looked a little crazy sitting at the stump of a tree talking to myself. “Why were you even working with her?”

“Enemy of my enemy is still my enemy - but they’re useful. She’s an enemy but your night terrors were even more of an enemy to me, so I picked the lesser option. She could heal anything, deary. What’s to say she can’t heal psychological trauma? It would be our little secret, and in exchange, I’d coach her on how to gaslight you correctly about it if she’s ever caught. She took that deal in a heartbeat, greedy thing. That’s how the old bat would justify it to you and herself, but I think we both know the real reason she went behind your back on this to exactly the one toaster she thought better about. Not your sister, or your friends, or anyone else.”

That… that made me feel oddly warm somehow. Makes more sense why Wrath actually did admit to getting coaching lessons from the old crusader.

I mulled that over while we continued the jog well into twilight. And sitting down where I’d sleep for the night, no matter how long I tried to focus, eventually I couldn’t fight off sleep forever.

It was exactly what Cathida had warned me would happen. Which made it two days of bad sleep in a row. Unlucky that.

But by the very start of the morning we’d spotted our destination. The trading post was up ahead, probably the rest of the day’s walk. I knew that because there was a giant fin section from an old human starship of some kind breaking past the treeline, visible even all this way. The rest of the ship was probably half buried into the soil. And when Journey zoomed in the vision, on the very top of the fin was what looked to be a bird’s nest of ropes and wood, all making a nice platform to stand on. With plenty of perches that were suspiciously Odin-sized.

One giant antenna sticking far up past the fin. Which was clearly bolted on by string and wood. And where there was a giant antenna like that, there was a reason for it.

The long range howl as the greyromaers called it. Our current objective, reached without any problems to boot.

Love it when nothing goes wrong.

Far off, a hundred miles away, a drake padded up the side of a cliff. It’s head turned to watch over the strata of purple trees beyond, eyes going through the few landmarks ahead. The giant world tree far far in the distance. The mountains that broke the treeline. And the occasional metal monuments of past human ruins.

A tongue flicked out. This was the place, the teleportation network had been correctly navigated. One paw reached behind itself, and slowly lifted his master up and back onto the ground so that he might survey and give his approval.

“Ssss…. We are here, great one.” The drake said.

The giant scanned over the strata below, the drake standing idly at attention behind him. A green ping appeared in his vision, marking the exact location To’Avalis had sent him to investigate. It was a long way off, but he’d made it this far. And likely, his target wouldn’t be directly at that location anyhow.

The hammer was hefted back onto his shoulder, and he cracked his neck with a side twist. All artificial of course, but it was a learned habit from his past and he saw no reason to bother editing that out. It would be work anyhow.

And speaking of work, violet eyes deep within his white shawl scanned the surrounding forest and found a possible workaround. A means to get to his targets faster, and with less effort. He didn’t want to do all the work to reach some hypothetical estimated location only to find out the targets had given him the slip anyhow.

Not only would that be annoying, he’d also be berated incessantly by the two Feathers micromanaging everything he did.

It wasn’t his fault they both had nothing better to do. Why should they make it his problem? The world wasn’t fair.

He took one last look at the forest below, calculating, the drake’s paw already grabbing to lift him up back on.

“You should make sure your shawl doesn’t cover your eyes again.” To’Sefit said over the network, as the drake jumped into the abyss below, expertly leaping off the rocks until it was deep inside the forest, sprinting through the trees. “You know the boss wants to stream all this so she can watch in realtime. Particularly vicious, I approve. It should be quite… fun.”

“Nnnn…” To’Orda grumbled.

Nothing was ever fun. And the idea of three Feathers all screaming at each other and him while he was trying to focus on getting his work done sounded particularly unfun. Two of them would constantly tell him he wasn’t killing fast enough, and the third would be spamming him with death threats if he did kill fast enough.

The only mercy was that they hadn't yet started streaming his progress to his little sister. No, that was going to come during the actual work portion of the job.

It was going to be a truly miserable experience. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been left in his mite containment cube. At least there he could sleep all he wanted.

Truely, he was cursed.