by
Allan Maki, Turbine Entertainment Software
(Found
on the Zone
)
Late.
One second beyond the time they had
arranged for the exchange, it began sending. The Collective sang behind
its mask as he relayed the incompetence of their servitors.
Inconsistency, absence, gray meat no
better than purple.
Within the second's time, the Collective
became aware of their servitors' failure and issued orders to the
fracture.
Understood.
It freed its death mask from its cloaks for
a moment and cleaned it. Mimicry leads to acceptance. In the distance,
three shapes coalesced within the driving snow. They would arrive at the
designated meeting place within the next twenty seconds.
Late.
Behind him, puppets waited in its
presence--their master--flanked by the newest members of their forces.
Were it not for the importance of the materials the gray beings provided,
they would have been eliminated. Flesh could be used to collect what
energy could not grasp.
After the twenty seconds had passed, three
Lugians stood before him. They pulled a makeshift device for carrying
objects.
Primitive.
Late. It spoke into their minds.
“We are here, and this is the hour that
we agreed upon.” The largest spoke in its language, a deep resonation
that reverberated against its mask. Its essence crumbled apart and
reformed into coherence.
Silence. Delivery. Cascading energy
in an unseen field filtered the thoughts into formative words that the
lesser being would understand in its fleshy mind. Transfer was
instantaneous and invisible to the lesser being.
The Lugian motioned to the others and they
dragged the heavy sled, weighted with a purple ore, closer to the Virindi.
A bee-buzz hum filled the air as its puppets moved closer. Flickers of
lavender licked from behind their masks and surrounded the makeshift
sleigh.
A sound like a swarm of locusts clearing
away a field churned and split the storm. The sleigh rose from the snow as
energy leapt into the ground, melting away a perfect half-sphere. Flanking
the sleigh, the puppets floated away from the Lugians, the sleigh
following under their command.
“You have the ore, where is our
payment?”
Payment.
Silent commands, carried by the space
between, touched the Virindi's other companions. They jangled to life in a
mockery of motion, arms swaying in opposition to the momentum of their
feet. Heads sealed in a swathing of leather flesh hid an etched cylinder
of chorizite framework. Fiber cloth covered the chorizite skeleton to
rounded hamhock hands; glittering bands of anti-magic locked in an
incandescent azure and pink swirl. A pair of rickety mock scarecrows
trundled toward the Lugians.
Payment, made. Learn. Teach. Fear.
Streaks of azure and pink hung in the air
as the Hollow Minions rained blows into the Lugian's body. Dumfounded, his
companions stumbled away from the onslaught. A voice thundered in their
minds as shimmering hands passed through armor, bones and flesh in ghostly
images. No blood flowed from their wounds, but their leader winced in pain
as life fled from his body.
Deliver. Learn. Time. . . Death.
The mannequins twisted their chorizite
heads over the living specimens and examined them with hollow eyes.
Swallowing their fear, the Lugians rose and turned back into the thick
sheets of the snow, hoping that their fallen brother would greet them in
their camp. The Virindi floated away from the lifeless form, flanked by
his Hollow Minions.
Termination. Life force removed.
***
Liquid flooded into the shell. Strings
fastened from the Singularity, pulled by the masters beyond, slid through
the liquefied energy to establish a harness for their control. Chorizite
hands fitted into place by servitors unaffected by the nature of the ore
spun to life. The minion sat upright, a sheer crystalline shell.
Incomplete.
The observer looked over the model once
more. A rotting orange husk of flesh, long turned rancid, sat upon a
wooden pole. Straw poked through a moth-eaten blue smock. Trousers filled
with leaves and wooden slats ended in an old pair of leather boots.
Previous control over these constructs had
resulted in surprise in the meatlings, but they were built fragile and
offered limited control from the Singularity. Gray fleshlings had been
offered gifts in the form of distillation and processing, in exchange for
continued delivery and collection. Inspiration had come from the meatlings
who had created these stick constructs.
Drudges pulled the clothing from the
scarecrow and fitted it onto the crystalline figure. Flames engulfed the
cloth and spread onto the Lurker. Mews of pain echoed in the stonework
room rising above the hum of portal energy.
Cease. The Drudge imploded, leaving
a neat red stain and perfect hide on the floor. Others scampered from
shadows and collected the remains. They hurried the remnants to a large
chamber and added the skin to a growing pile.
The crystalline stick-man sat perfectly
still, no features visible save for the azure and pink swirling fists.
Cloth had burned away on the shell. Compelled by its master a Lurker
reached out and took hold of the spinning fist. No ill befell the Drudge.
It moved behind the slab where the crystal
scarecrow sat and was joined by two others. Portal energy swirled as they
moved the slab toward an opening portal. Speckled white and purple dust
fell from the place beyond the portal--then the rent closed. Once again
the Lurker reached for the being. It mewed in protest, helpless to defy
the command. Its hand pressed against crystal coated in chorizite, and no
pain came.
Compose. Gathering clothing from
fallen comrades and piecing together fabrics from the hides of their
brethren, the Drudges obliged. A poor replica of the construct of the
meatlings came into being. Invisible strings etched the finishing touch by
way of the pumpkin face on the thin cylinder of the Hollow Minion.
Puppeteered by unseen masters it rose and
moved on ramshackle legs, swinging fists at unsuspecting and unmoving
Lurkers. Fists passed through flesh and bone rending life to stasis. No
blood flowed. No mess.
Lurkers emerged from the shadows. They
collected the corpses and added them to the growing pile in the other
room.
Complete.
Construct. |