12 Miles Below

To’Wrathh observed the kneeled humans. The camp around her had stopped burning down about an hour ago, all the tents gone, while the rest of the buildings were mostly safe from the flames. Her chosen would be arriving to pick up the leftover supplies, once she'd dealt with the prisoners.

Humans were fragile creatures in the end. Even with the pale lady’s gifts and modifications, her ex-humans still needed to feed and house themselves. This outpost would serve well in terms of location.

“Your. Will?” The old runner asked at her side, coolly watching the captured humans.

There were seventy of the undersiders left. Armors had been stripped and taken from each, though many were servicemen without armor of their own. Weapons had been collected and piled away, to be processed. Caravan skivvies were seized and so were the trade goods they held.

She walked by the line of prisoners, a few looked back at her before shifting their gaze back down to the ground the moment she met their eyes.

“Send them off. They are to return to their city on their own.”

And bring word of her to the humans.

If she was to negotiate any quick victory, the humans required a sense of trust that she would follow through with her terms. Trust had to begin somewhere. She rose her voice slightly, so that they might overhear her discussion. "I gave my word they would be granted safe passage back to their homes should they surrender. They have. And so now I must follow through with my part of the terms."

Like insipid venom, knowledge of who she was would seep inside the walled city, cycling around by word of mouth, breaking down the city’s morale from the inside out. Each outpost she took, each mercy she allowed, all would slowly build up a reputation that would eliminate soldiers from the fight without having to expend energy killing them.

“Journey is long.” The old runner said at her side. “Humans need food. I learned.”

"I did not offer food or provisions. Only a safe passage."

"If pain from hunger, not a safe passage."

To'Wrathh tilted her head in curiosity. Not out of what the runner had said, but of what it meant. The runner was disagreeing with her. Bold of him. To'Aacar would have surely had the machine ripped apart as an example to the rest on what to avoid. Even To'Wrathh would have been attacked if she had challenged her mentor on any point. It was in his name and nature to do so.

She realized she had a choice here to make. Either discourage this kind of independent thought or let it go free. The feather pondered for a moment and then decided she had thus far been well served by having multiple dissenting opinions to compare from. Her nest hadn't been one voice, it had been many. So too, she would run her army as. A web was only as strong as the sum of individual weaves, and grew stronger when threads were not all parallel.

"I understand your logic. This is a fair point. I will amend the terms." She told the runner, then turned to one of the prisoners. An older man with a white beard, his clothing denoted him as a serviceman. “How fast do you travel? How long will it take you to reach your city?”

He glanced up at her, then looked to his right. Not finding whatever he was searching for, he turned to the left, sticking his head out further to see a longer distance. Again, all the humans avoided his gaze. There was fear in his eyes when he turned slowly to look at her. Subroutines marked it at a ninety four percent confidence.

“Speak.” She ordered.

“Umm, we usually take… take a caravan. The city is about a day on one of those.” He said feebly, slowly pointing a hand out to one of the hovering skiffs. There were about a dozen, all idling around now that they had been emptied. Long enough to house about ten to twenty humans, if crammed.

She made a quick tally in her mind, deciding on what direction to take. “Each of you will take three units of ration for the trip. You do not need more than that.” Her Chosen needed the food more than these prisoners did, but the runner had made a point that they should have at least some rations to solidify a safe passage. Humans could survive without food for some time, but it would go against the spirit of her promise to send them out with nothing. “You will be allowed to take eight skiffs. The rest of the skiffs will stay.”

These skiffs could be used by her ex-humans to move around without tiring them out. "The rest of the rations and supplies will stay with me."

The old runner nodded. “Food for Chosen. Food for you?”

To’Wrathh supposed she hadn’t yet sampled what the rations held here would taste like. The runner had no means to eat, so to taste anything it would have to be through her. “Fine.” She decided, “Food for me too. I will share with you.”

The old runner nodded with more vigor, claws clicking together as he hunched over. He seemed impatient now, so the Feather indulged him by letting her wings take over movement, zipping across the ground as the Runner's gait took him directly to the warehouse storage. It occurred to To’Wrathh that this machine had no name. Something to fix.

“You need a name.” She said, floating by his side, easily keeping pace with his large strides.

“I have. A name.” The machine answered.

That took the feather by surprise. “When? How?”

The runner stopped in his tracks, and turned his gaze. Searching for something far away from the camp. “Old human. She named me. You. Rag. Of. Bones. Bones when short.”

“Yrob? What does it mean?”

Yrob turned, stopped, and then thought for a moment. His shoulders raised and fell in a shrug. “Don’t know.”

“How can you not? You were named. It must mean something.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Bones I am to them. Yrob I am to us. That is not maybe.”

Perhaps it really did mean nothing besides the surface message. She wasn’t sure how Yrob would live up to his name, it seemed too vague and directionless. Yrob seemed to have taken it in stride, as if the name held no hold over him. It was blizzard to To’Wrathh, but then again, the old runner had been named by a human. Not by a machine. They wouldn’t understand the sense of purpose a name would grant.

It was curious how some of the ex-humans were adjusting to her army. The runner had made odd friends with an old lady who’d taught him to cook, while others hid away anytime he lumbed around their camp. Perhaps the future would look different. Yrob might be the first of his kind to truly synergize with the Chosen, though To’Wrathh couldn’t figure out a way of turning this into a military advantage.

So she would stay the original course. “Tamery.” She called out, reaching through the fractal of Unity to connect to the girl. “Select fifty one of your best warriors. Outfit them with the captured armor. Approach the camp only when all of them have been sent away.”

To’Aacar had taken all the knights among the chosen, leaving only the weak behind. To make more use of her Chosen, they would need to be outfitted with armor, and she had great need of them to handle with one particular fortress the city relied on. Machines held control over many of the mite forges, however the creation of armor was beyond what the automated forges could make. Only the mites could create armor now that the technology had been lost to all sides.

“Umm, I can do that, my lady. But, we don’t know how to… how to use relic armor.” Tamery said, voice going small and quick as if worried of her master’s reaction. “None of us were ever in the guard, and the ones that were, got picked by Lord To’Aacar for his own expedition.”

To’Wrathh tutted. “No issue. I will teach you how to use and fight in relic armor.”

She had, after all, the memories and skills of a master. How hard would it be to teach these skills to her chosen? It worked out well, the undersider style of combat was unsuited to her new chosen, their enemies will all be human after all. But the surface style of fighting? An excellent fit, that had been made to cut down humans.

She would make good use of the Chosen. They would be a card she would keep close to her hand, the knife in her sleeve, until the best moment came to use them. To’Aacar had been right. If you want to kill a human, there’s no greater monster at killing humans than another one.

A data package arrived through the connection that spanned across the machine network. A message from To’Aacar, her mentor. Curious timing as she’d just been rewatching her earlier discussions with the Feather.

“I am nearing their nest, my dear sister.” His voice came up. “Soon the pests will be scattering in every direction when I lift the little rock they’re hiding under and shine a light on the wretches. Be a useful little assistant and deal with them when they come.”

The message ended. No reply expected.

She would be prepared when the time came. Her enemies would be arriving in her domain. And with them, the score that was left to settle.

Soon.

Next chapter - Chosen

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