Chapter Twenty-Eight - Thermo-Atomics

Tattletail gestured one of her barmaids over, and the girl nodded after bowing next to Tattletail to hear the woman’s whispered instructions. Once the barmaid had her orders, she stepped up and followed me.

“Just going to give you the coords for something, alright?” I asked.

“Of course, ma’am,” she replied. “Miss Tattletail instructed me to guide you to our shop, for your fuel and ration needs.”

“Right, thanks,” I said.

I returned to Rusty with a quick jog and, after reassuring Clin that I was me, grabbed my notebook with the coordinates before returning and giving a copy of those to the barmaid. After that, it was a quick trip back to that dwarf in the shop to buy a bit of fuel and some rounds at prices that made me wince.

The barmaid found a cart to transport the ammunition in. It was just a dozen rounds for Rusty’s revolver and half that for the mech’s rifle. Good enough to last a little while, I hoped.

By the time I was back with Rusty and everything was sorted away, the sky was darkening and the wind was picking up. I hesitated. It wouldn’t be wise to be caught out in a storm. On the other hand, we had a good couple of hours before it really hit, and in that time we could make good time with no one the wiser.

Walking out in a storm was stupid, but we had some good hills between us and the worst of it, and it was a second front, less dangerous than the first.

It was a coin toss, but one I was willing to try my luck on.

“You ready?” I asked Clin as I jumped back into Rusty.

The elf nodded. “I suppose so. Are we really going to be heading out in a storm?”

“Yeah. Might be a bit rocky, but once we’re passed Gallow Hill we’ll be hugging the mountains. Should keep us safe from the wind. We’ll settle down properly to weather out the worst of it.”

I sat down, flicked things on, and brought down Rusty’s control interface around my temples. The needle dipped in, and maybe as a sign of my good luck, it didn’t prick nearly as bad as I was used to.

Combat Core - RUSTY - Active

... Surface Controls... Light Damage [RUN CHECK!]

... Cooling... Optimal

... Fuel Levels... Optimal

... Weapons... Loaded

... Mana Circulation ... Optimal

DAMAGE CHECK

...

Left Arm - MISSING

Right Shoulder MISSING

Neck Actuation Damaged

Primary Heat Sink Damaged

WEAPON CHECK

...

Lever-Action, Emberbar Rifle - Functional

Model 1634 Revolving Gun - Functional

Pilot Check

...

Pilot Online!

I shifted my shoulders and let myself sink into the awareness that I was Rusty. My metal skin was warm, and my sensors tingled as stray magic coursed and snapped in the air. It was a pleasant sort of tingling, like having a lover spread kisses down my spine. I knew from bitter experience that staying connected during a full-on storm was an entirely different sort of experience though.

“Let’s get moving then,” I said.

We walked past the front of Tattletail’s, then past one of Mortarview’s side gates where the gnomes I’d see earlier were parked, one of them arguing with a black-clad member of Clan Scorpio. I didn’t stick my nose in that and kept moving on through the bazaar, and finally onto the Shady Road heading due north.

The bazaar turned to little shops and garages, then normal homes as the road started to incline upwards. There were still plenty of rocky hills to our left, where the wind was coming from.

Just as we crested one hill in particular, I veered right and off the beaten path. Others had taken this route before, mostly the herdsman leading cattle down to the pasture land in the valley next to Mortarview. It was easy enough to follow.

Soon I saw Gallow Hill, a single mound atop which sat a rickety old structure of wood and tin. Mortarview’s own weren’t hung. They were allowed to take the long walk into the desert, where their victims were allowed to rain death upon them. If they survived the explosions and the desert with nothing on them but the clothes on their back, then they were merely considered exiles.

Folks that weren’t from Mortarview were hung, then they were charged for the cost of the rope.

“Clin,” I said as we crossed by the gallows.

“Yes?” the elf asked.

I felt a tingle running down my back, and even over the humm of Rusty’s engine and the clanging of limbs moving, I could make out the distant rumble of the storm coming. “I think it’s past due that you tell me what in damnation you did to piss off the gnomes that much.”

The elf was quiet for a bit, then he sighed. “It’s not the nicest story,” he said.

“I suspect I’ve heard my share of nasty stories,” I replied. I might’ve been a bit terse.

“That’s fair, I suppose. I think I’ll need to give you some background first.”

“Alright,” I replied. That was only normal. Lots of story-telling folk did their work that way. Lay the foundations, then tell the tale. If they were good, both halves were equally good to listen to.

Clin shifted, a shoe scuffing over the floor. “There are five major clans past the Drywall. We don’t actually have a nation, you know? Just a few cities, all agreeing to a set of laws that are determined by the votes of the clans. It’s a fair way of doing things, or it was once.”

“Once, huh?”

“Politics,” he replied. “Some elves wanted more power, and we live long enough that some plans were centuries in the making. Essentially, a clan’s vote is weighed based on how strong they are. Economically, militarily, however you want to count it. Their contribution to elven society as a whole marks how much power they hold during an election. The more a clan donates and helps, the more power they have. The strongest clans donate plenty, keeping people fed and watered entirely for free.”

“Sounds like it wouldn’t hold up for all that long, but alright,” I said. I couldn’t imagine no one trying to game that sort of thing, from either end.

“It works well enough. Clan Teast’wood is a smaller clan, but we’re still quite prominent. We deal in technologies and their intersection with magic. One other clan is better... no, bigger than us at that, but we’ve been getting an edge on them.”

“Getting stronger, then?”

“Yes,” he said. “In a century, we might well replace them as one of the big five.”

“That’s not for a while.”

“We’re elves, that might as well be next decade for a human. Not so soon that people would be surprised, but soon enough that most people still alive will see it happening.” Clin moved his legs back up, and I had the impression he was sitting with both knees to his chest. “Now, this clan, the Terrent’ino, they decided that the best way to keep their position now was to shake things up a little.”

“Sounds like they turned their sights on you and yours,” I said.

“Oh, no. Not directly, at least. That would be the height of impropriety. It’s one thing to undercut someone, it’s an entirely different thing to harm an opponent or their family. No, they can, as of now, out produce us. Mechs, guns, engines, transport vehicles, even things like generators and lights. We’re catching up, but it’ll be decades, maybe a century or more before our more advanced manufacturing methods overtake their larger factories.”

“I don’t think I’m holding on here,” I said.

“Forgive me, then. I’m poor at explaining such things. See, the Terrent’ino can out-produce us, but as of right now, that doesn’t matter. They can make a thousand warmechs in a year if they wish, but if no one needs them they’ll merely collect dust.”

“So they need a client,” I said. “Or a reason to use a thousand warmechs. I have a bad feeling about where this is going.”

“The Tarrent’ino have engineered a war. Not between the elves and someone else. That would lose them the people’s favour. So many dead, so many lost in war.”

“The gnomes,” I said. Things were starting to click.

Clin sighed. “The gnomes. They need equipment to go to war, to conquer and overtake the nations around them. Still, they’re hesitant to enter a war so easily. I was sent to negotiate against a war, to guarantee better rates on equipment and items that would encourage peace.”

“They really want to go to war?” I asked.

Mech for mech, the gnomes were about tied with the local human nations, and probably behind the dwarves.

“Yes. But only if they have an ace in their pocket, one the Tarrent’ino clan was all too willing to trade to them in exchange of guarantees and contracts.”

“What? What kind of ace would they take for that? If the humans and dwarves ally themselves against the gnomes, they’re done for.”

“A thermo-atomic storm bomb.”

Rusty clanged and clunked as we continued to walk ahead.

It was a good minute later before I replied.

“Fuck.”

***