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It takes them far too long for them to exit the Amphemereon, Torse thinks. He would like to storm out, to sprint out of this accursed place, but even through the haze of his frustration with Olethra, he does not think it is wise to leave her in the protection of these frivolous automata, who choose to dawdle about the hallways. They have to circle back to pick up her mech suit, as well, where there is a great deal of maneuvering to get her disassembled mechanical toad companion inside with her. Torse’s mechanisms whir, halfway between a groan of frustration and a shudder of fear.
Olethra was right when she said the Amphemereon was abandoned. The halls of the Corrodi are coated in a film of dust, disturbed only by the footprints of the crew of the Zephyr, but he feels uncomfortable regardless. His iron heart is only exacerbating the issue, the contempt he holds for the Corrodi strengthening that pit of fear forming at the back of his chest, the grief as he remembers the destruction of his comrades. How many of their parts were used in this place’s construction? Does he stand, even now, on the corpses of his brethren?
Eventually they leave, Olethra and Sandy guiding Torse and the Zoodian construct he has come to know as ‘Buzz’ to the entrance. The visages of the Corrodi, despite their stillness, seem to be following Torse as they move through. He can barely hear the voices of his companions between the scraping of his gears. Sandy glances back at him.
“Are you in need of repairs?” The bot says, glancing at the mechanisms of his chest. Sandy has not earned his ire like Wisconson and Buzz have, but the question frustrates him all the same. He feels the frivolous impulse to cover the gaps in his ribs that reveal his internal mechanisms as they stutter and shake against each other.
“No. Thank you for repairing me.” Torse says instead, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. Sandy chirps in response, though Torse cannot decipher what he means by it. Sandy returns to the mech’s side, falling in step with Olethra.
Eventually they reach the exit, the light of Zern poking through the gated entrance. Torse is struck with a wave of homesickness, the realization that it has been years since he has stood on the ground of his homeworld coming over him all at once. Even through the mounds of scrap, the dismembered bodies of fallen automata covering its landscape, Zern is beautiful. That feeling of rage wells up inside him again, as he watches the horizon of Zern. He feels the stares of the lifeless Corrodi burning into his back, and is struck with the long-buried urge to break something. He needs to get Professor MacLeod to repair his golden heart as soon as he can. Torse allows the mechanisms of his body to click back into place, forcibly relaxing himself.
“My recollection of events while under the control of her majesty is limited.” He tears his eyes away from the horizon to look towards Olethra. The windshield of her mech is tinted, but he thinks he can make out a concerned expression on her face. “Have the beacons of Katur fallen?”
“I’m… honestly, we’re not sure.” Olethra sighs, sounding embarrassed. Though the tinny speaker of her mech attempts to amplify her voice, it still comes out as a murmur. “It all happened so fast. When you looked at that picture, you pierced your heart that was still remotely powering Katur. No idea how that was working, by the way, but apparently Zood has all kinds of crazy frequencies. I guess Zoodian gold can do some long-distance wireless connections? But not all of the beacons were dimmed before you put your heart in the engine, so maybe the one that was still lit is up? But Straka still managed to grab you, so the barrier is at least weakened. Marya might be able to figure it out, she had a bunch of notes on everything in Katur, but we’ve not really had a chance to debrief since arriving.”
The mech rocks back and forth on its feet, a restless tick Torse has observed on Olethra in passing.
“It seems likely, then, that we are stuck on Zern for the moment.” Torse replies. For so long he has wanted to return, despite Professor MacLeod’s assurances that it was impossible. He has finally made it, with his companions in tow, but he feels no better for it.
“I mean, it’s gonna be tough getting anywhere without the Zephyr.” Olethra says, offhandedly. Torse nearly short-circuits.
“What do you mean? Do we not have the Zephyr?” That earlier frustration rises to his voice again, his voice coil vibrating harshly against his diaphragm. He hates being disanimated. He hates not knowing what is going on, not knowing the plan. Because surely, there must be a plan. They would not be so foolish as to venture into Zern at the peak of the Queen’s power without a plan. “Are we without a craft?”
“No, I mean, we built something!” Olethra assures him, the mech’s hands rising in what Torse knows is meant to be a placating gesture. “We found some scrap and made a new vehicle. It can’t fly, but it’s still pretty good!”
The gears in Torse’s chest chatter in frustration, and he can feel himself going taut again.
“Is the rest of the crew here?” Torse asks.
“They’re– around.” The mech looks out towards the horizon, unsure. Torse wishes to comment on the danger of travelling the land of Zern alone, but thinks that if he tried to speak at all it would come out as a scream. Olethra is not responsible for the crew’s choices, he reminds himself. Really, Torse is upset with Comfrey, who should know better than to split her crew while naughtomata lurk. “We said we would all regroup at the mech, just over that hill. Monty and Marya were looking at some other old machinery, and Pappy, Max, Van, and my grandma went to go look at a weird dam.”
Olethra clambers up the side of a pile of scrap, and turns back to her mechanical entourage.
“Let’s get to higher ground, we’ll be able to see them coming. Or other things coming.”
“That is a good plan.” Torse says, and despite the dark glass between them, he thinks he can see Olethra smile.
The four of them — and the broken body of Wisconson P. Toad, from inside of Olethra’s mech — make their way up the incline of scrap. The hills formed by the junk-bodies of automata are perilous to climb, Sandy finding their way onto Olethra’s back, and Torse having to drag Buzz up steeper sections several times. On Zood the blades across his body prove to be little more than inconvenience, as he accidentally makes holes in walls and scuffs up the floor, but back on Zern they are reproving their utility. His hold on the ruinous landscape is unyielding, the blades of his body easily piercing the corroded metal.
“This place sure has changed.” Buzz muses, mostly to himself.
“Excuse me?” Torse drags himself up the last ledge. He reaches an arm down for Buzz to grab. He does not comment on the way Buzz hesitates to take it.
Eventually, he does, and Torse pulls him up.
“I have been disanimated for the past 1200 years.” Buzz says, breaking the hold to brush remnants of rust from his body. “I am shocked to see how Zern has changed in that time. It is not at all as I recall. Just disorienting, is all!”
“Very.” Torse agrees. He realizes it might have been a good idea for him to be listening to the discussions of his companions, suddenly very curious what business this Zoodian construct had on Zern 1200 years ago. Dates are not his strong suit, but if he is remembering correctly, that was before the rise of the Queen of Zern. “What part of Zern were you visiting?”
“I was at the Amphemereon.” Buzz says. “I was assisting in diplomacy between the Zumharan elders and the Corrodi Primarchs for a collaboration between Zern and Zood. But, you can see how that went.”
Buzz gestures to the machinery in his sternum, where his wires are badly damaged. Torse recognizes the damage of having one’s heart removed and amateurly reattached.
“I can.” Torse nods in sympathy. Buzz’s internal mechanisms are different from his own, fewer clockwork contraptions and more wires, but he can see the damage to him all the same. He does not find the automata to be particularly pleasant company, but he can understand the pain of being disanimated. “I am surprised to hear that the Zumharan nobles ever worked with the Primarchs. I have not heard of this collaboration.”
Torse considers himself fairly familiar with the history of Zern, the Aganti Zernai being especially dutiful in keeping and passing down records of information, and such an important event as the partnership between Zood and Zern, even before the beginning of the war and the construction of the Temple of Katur, would surely have been important enough to catalogue. It is strange that he is unaware of it.
It is also unusual that the Zumharans would collaborate with the Corrodi Primarchs, considering 1200 years ago predates the construction of naughtomata and the rise of the Primarchs from a distrusted organization, to true power across Zern. He feels rage begin to rise in his iron heart again, at the idea of Zoodians attempting to collaborate with the most despised group in Zern without the input of its population.
“Perhaps it never came to fruition. I would not know, on account of being unconscious for the past thousand years.” Buzz shrugs.
Torse realizes he will likely not get a straight answer out of Buzz for the time being. Zoodian automata are not quite as flighty as their organic counterparts, but they are similarly emotional, and Buzz appears to still be reeling from the shock of his comrades all being dead.
Before Torse can remove himself from the conversation with as much tact as he can currently manage, there is a large crashing sound coming from the other side of the hill. The haphazard mountains of junk that Zern is made up shake at the force, and Torse struggles to steady himself. Buzz fails to, and falls into his arms.
“What was that?” Torse says, frantically. He quickly rights Buzz and moves to join Olethra, who is looking out over the landscape. The naughtomata avoid the area around the Amphemereon, he knows, but he is struck with visions of a hulking beast dragging itself across the landscape, their companions already ripped apart by them.
There is another crash, a slow rumbling beneath their feet, and Olethra perks up.
“Is that water?” Olethra leans out over the ledge, trying to get a better vantage.
“That’s–” Before Torse can say it’s impossible, that water hasn’t existed on Zern for centuries, he catches sight of figures bounding over the horizon. He sees what must be Van, based on the tentacle, dragging Comfrey across the valley, her characteristic scarf flapping in the wind. Flying over the debris is, somehow, Maxwell, with Daisuke slung over his shoulder. Torse’s heart kicks into high gear, and he throws a hand up to wave him down. “Maxwell!”
“Torse?!” Maxwell shouts back, kicking up scrap as he suddenly halts. “You’re back!”
Maxwell barely slows as he lands, scampering over to close the difference between himself and Torse. He stops a few inches short, looking up at Torse in surprise. He wonders, for a moment, how long he has been disanimated. He assumed it had been perhaps a day, considering the crew had not gotten themselves killed yet, but Maxwell’s expression has him wondering if it’s been longer.
It certainly looks like it has, based on Maxwell’s disheveled appearance. He has discarded his blazer and bowtie, and the top two buttons of his shirt have been opened. His hair is undone, as well as his mustache, and especially strange, there is a large tear along Maxwell’s right pantleg, revealing a patch of skin.
The most surprising, though, are the wings on Maxwell’s back. Torse does not have the capability to dream, to hallucinate, like organic beings do, but it had been his assumption that the image of Maxwell Gotch chasing him into Zern on mechanical wings had been a wishful thought as the Straka’s claws dug into him. A comforting image as he disanimated. He sees now, though, that they are very real, and Torse has no idea when he acquired them.
“Sandy was able to fix him.” Olethra says. “What happened to your pants?”
“Thank god you’re here.” Maxwell says, ignoring Olethra. “Everyone’s been– they’ve been trying to give me nicknames? My name is Maxwell!”
“Your name is Maxwell Gotch.” Torse says, sternly. He is unsure why Maxwell is talking about nicknames, considering the circumstances, but he is too happy to see him to care. “Any who shorten your name, I will shorten by cutting their legs off at the knee.”
It is not entirely what he means to say, threats of violence escaping him before he can reshape them into a proper expression of gratitude, but Maxwell looks thankful regardless.
“I’m so glad you’re back.” He grins and takes Torse by the hand, pulling him close. Their foreheads meet, the sweat of Maxwell’s mingling with soot and rust on Torse’s, and for a second he forgets that he is probably going to die within the next hour.
Van and Comfrey make their way up the hill, Olethra in the mech dragging them up the side.
“What’s happening? What was that sound?” Olethra asks.
“Water. There’s– god, this is hard to explain.” Van brings a tentacle to her forehead, wiping sweat off of it.
“Van was able to free Jazzy Tazzy, so the barrier is properly down, and we can get back to Zood.” The professor says, quickly. She continues across the landscape, moving towards where the mech is parked. “In doing so she summoned water back to Zern, so that’s also happening.”
“The barrier is down? Why?” Torse quickly falls in step with Comfrey, a million questions racing to his mind. Had they not done everything they could to keep the beacons from dimming? God, he hates when plans change.
“Tazzy was hurting. It was inhumane.” Van says, like it’s any kind of explanation.
“And we can’t help Zood if we’re stuck over here. We need to get to Zumhara.” Comfrey shakes her head. “Where’s Marya? And Monty?”
“They’re still in the Amphemereon. I think.” Olethra follows behind them, Buzz and Sandy scooped up in the arms of her mech. “Do we need to go get them?”
“We shouldn’t have split up…” Comfrey mumbles. Torse restrains the impulse to say something rude.
“We’ve got another four minutes until the time we said we’d meet up.” Olethra says, consulting something in the mech. “Assuming Monty’s watch is wound right.”
“Marya always winds her watch right.” Comfrey dismisses.
“You said the plan is to go to Zumhara?” Torse interrupts.
“Yes, it’ll be the first place the Queen targets.” Comfrey nods. Torse intends to ask how the hell she knows that, but at that moment Montgomery runs up to the group, holding an unconscious and bleeding Marya.
“We’ve gotta go!” He shouts out, making quick work of the landscape, rapidly closing the distance between them.
“Junker!” Comfrey calls out. “Oh god, not again, kiddo, not again.”
“It’s just her hand, she’s gonna be okay.” Montgomery reassures her, as Comfrey mumbles to herself. “We need to get the mech started.”
“Right, you’re right.” Comfrey steels herself and moves into the mech, everyone following. Torse gets his first proper look at it, and while it lacks the aesthetic qualities that the Zephyr Mark I and II have, it is impressive work. He should not be surprised, with both Marya and Comfrey working together, of course they would have created something incredible with the scrap from Zern.
It is a tight fit inside, and as soon as the chatter breaks out again, orders being exchanged as Comfrey takes the wheel, Torse grows uncomfortable. Olethra has dragged Winsconson out of her mech and is trying to comfort Marya with it. Torse is overcome by the instinct to smash it again, but Daisuke beats him to it.
“Thank god.” He says, and Daisuke pats him on the back.
Comfrey runs the mech up the tallest hill she can find, the crab legs skittering over the debris, and they begin to pick up speed. There is not much in the way of holds, so Torse just digs his knuckle knives in the floor. Maxwell takes hold of his shoulder spike, unsteady on his feet.
“How far vex are we?” Comfrey calls out, and Montgomery pulls a sextant from Marya’s backpack.
“As far as we’re gonna get!” Montgomery calls back, leaning towards the portholes. As he looks out, he goes pale. “Oh, shit.”
The rest of the crew follow to look out the sparse windows, and they see it. The shadow of the Straka, as it tears off parallel to them, looking towards the sky. It knows the barrier is down. Torse’s hands tighten into fists, and he can feel his gears tightening again. He remembers the way those claws pierced his metal, how close he came to falling into its gaping maw. He swears it’s staring at him out of the corner of its eye.
“Comfrey, go!” Van shouts, and Comfrey takes off. Some kind of boosters within the legs push up, and they begin hurtling towards the sky. Zumhara comes into focus, light reflecting off its crystalline structures, and just as the mech begins to reach its peak and starts to slow, he feels it. Gravity shifts, they enter the new atmosphere, and begin hurtling towards the ground. The mech begins spinning in mid-air, and everyone goes flying.
Torse digs his blades further into the floor, unmoving, and Maxwell grabs the other shoulder spike, pulling himself into Torse’s space.
Comfrey loses her grip on the controls, and hurtles towards the ceiling. The mech goes into complete freefall, twisting wherever the forces of Zood takes it.
The whiplash draws Marya out of her trance, and she runs to the helm, and immediately takes hold.
“Brace!” Marya shouts, but it is a little redundant at this point, when Van has taken hold of Freyja and Bert, Daisuke has his arms wrapped around Olethra, Monty is leaning against Courtney with a tight grip on Comfrey’s shoulders, and Buzz is holding onto Wealwell. She rights the ship, pulls it upright as they draw closer to the mountains of Zumhara. Marya maneuvers the limbs of the ship to cushion their fall as they collide with the mountainside. Snow is kicked up by the impact, completely obscuring the windows, and they continue down the slide of the mountain, bumping across rocks and trees. They’re still speeding up, and Torse can hear the squealing of the mech against the stone of the mountain. They continue to be tossed around until the slam into what Torse thinks is a tree, and the mech mercifully stops.
There is one, blissful moment of silence as the crew all pull themselves together.
“Head count!” Comfrey yells out, muscling her way out of Montgomery’s grip. “Did anybody fly out the window? Anybody left in Zern?”
“All accounted for!” Van shouts back.
“Dear god, quit yelling.” Daisuke mumbles, as he lays his head in his hands. “I think I’m dead.”
The exit door of the mech is facing down and is inaccessible, so Comfrey instead opens the windshield, wiping snow off it as she goes.
“Well, luckily, we’re just outside the city, and not in some random valley in the mountains.” Comfrey says. “Everybody regroup, and then we’re gonna take off!”
The crew slowly comes to, examining each other for injuries and trying to salvage as much as they can from the mech. Torse quickly exits, having no personal possessions to gather, and joins Comfrey as she looks out towards the city. Torse is aware of the typical adrenal response of organic beings, reacting to stress with a burst of energy, and occasionally joy. He has witnessed it on Comfrey enough times to recognize it. Haggard breaths mixed with a wide grin, somewhere between panting and chuckling.
“That was really something, wasn’t it?” She elbows Torse, and grins at him.
Torse feels no such stress response. He just feels the stress. The knowledge of the Straka being set free, of the Queen finally having the ability to reinvade Zood, as she has longed to for centuries, just fills him with fear.
He hums in response, and when Comfrey just tilts her head, curious, that fear turns again to rage.