Ad Romam

The HSV Melchizedek was a destroyer class battleship. A relic from pre-cataclysm days, it had weathered the centuries with the help of the See’s devoted care. Throughout its long life it had transformed from a squat and long ship of war to a wide and thick slab of hull plates and bristling weaponry. There was scant a flat surface not decorated with either painted iconography or etched scripture inlayed with bronze or gold. Railings and pipes were draped by cords of plastic or rope, trinkets of the faith dangling and tinkling from them like windchimes. A steady layer of smoke swirled from ventilation ducts down to the decks at all times so that none might be spared the musk of holy incense.

A bronze statue of Christ with sword in hand and a look of placid disdain on his face decorated the prow. Buddy cringed at the mockery on display. The See was quite blind at times to its very own theology.

It was noon, and the white sun shone down with its signature vehemence while the people mulled about the dock, trading and talking, praying and praising. Buddy didn’t partake. Instead, he sat on a crate, his wide hat offering him a relatively cool shade while simultaneously converting sunlight into much needed energy. He rubbed his empty elbow socket. The irritating phantom pain from where Lucia had removed his damaged arm two days ago still bothered him. Another item to be added to the long list of botherations. He was glad to be out of the outpost. Perhaps the journey from Roma Prima onward would be less of a hassle compared to the events so far. Somehow he doubted it, though.

Hound padded up to him from the crowd, relatively clean compared to his bloody countenance during the battle.

“They’re saying we cast off in an hour,” he said and sat down.

Buddy gave a noncommittal grunt. His focus was still on the bronze figurehead.

“The rest are already on board,” Hound said.

Buddy watched a stream of civilians cross the rickety sheet metal gangway, quickly disappearing behind open weathertight doors into the ship’s megastructure. He’d never been on a ship before, but his mother had told him lots of stories. He’d likewise seen some vid-chronicles depicting them, though the only one that presently came to mind was the one about a cruise liner that hit an iceberg. What a positive association.

He turned his machine eyes to the dog. “Hound, tell me, why do I’ve a feeling that shit’s going to go south on this boat ride?”

Hound’s ears perked and his head cocked. “That’s quite the negative attitude, Buddy. I think we’ll be safe from any outside threats, just look at all those guns.”

“I’d’ve thunk that way too just a month back, but now… Kill-bots, Wraiths, Conclave raids. Things just seem to get crazier and crazier, and who knows just how crazy things’ll get before all this is done.”

Hound looked at Buddy for a long moment. “Are you going to bail?”

“Hah! Hell no. Too much money on the line,” he raised an eyebrow, “did you remember to make a damage report for reimbursement?”

Hound nodded. “I also put in a requisition for a silicone mesh cover for my speakers. It’s really annoying when they choke.”

“Good thinking,” Buddy said and looked at his hemispherical feet, “think they’d have any spares? I don’t think I’ll be needing these for some time.”

Hound grinned in the way dogs do. “Get paws or hoofs. Human feet are suboptimal.”

“Yeah, maybe for your build. I got two legs, which I’d have to swap out entirely if I’d do what you say.”

Hound chuffed.

“What?”

“I imagined myself with four humanoid feet. The image was comical.”

Buddy smiled wide, each noble metal tooth on display. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

They sat there watching as their buggy was lifted on board and strapped to the deck. Lucia was overseeing the job, taking great pains in seeing that the vehicle was treated with due care. Jean and Jaques stood by a railing, the former’s mouth worked incessantly, while the latter stood glum and deep in thought. Men were gathering to the many bollards the ship was attached to, ready to let go the ropes.

“Well,” Buddy said and slapped his knee, “best be off. Don’t want to be left behind.”

“Aye, you can say that again,” an accented voice said from behind.

Buddy turned on his heel; Hound’s long strip of fur stood on edge. It was Rousseau. She had changed her minty green bedsheet robe for a crimson dress and trench coat. A large boxy pack was strapped to her back. Her flaming hair was tied in a high bun, and her mask seemed different. Seams cut through the cheeks to the corners of her mouth, and her chin was split in two parts.

“What’re you two gawking at?” she asked, her jaw clunkily trying to adapt the motions of speaking into something akin to normal.

“Your mouth, ma’am,” Hound said.

“Oh, this,” Rousseau brought a brassy hand to her lips, “just a wee project for the voyage. I’ve been speaking from a speaker for decades, so my actuator work is still quite subpar.”

Buddy removed his hat and bowed. “Excuse Hound here, what he meant to say is that you’re the image of beauty. But, I must ask, are you intending to join us?`”

Rousseau placed her hands on her hips. “Quit your flirting! And no, I’m not intending. I have. I put in my application as soon as we were back in town. Twas accepted.”

Buddy raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but, why?”

Rousseau jabbed a finger toward Lucia who was presently berating some poor deckhand. “Tha lass o’er there; I ain’t letting her continue without proper medical oversight. The See was more ‘an foolish to let her go as is.”

“We’d be happy to have you accompany us,” Hound said.

“Well, thank you mister Hound. Now come on the two of yous,” she said, “off we go.”

The three boarded the HSV Melchizedek just as the shoremen were ready to remove the gangway. Not long after, the ropes were let go, and slowly but surely, powered by two nuclear reactors deep within the ship’s guts, the colossus’s thrusters pushed it away from the quay and turned it to its new heading. North, toward Roma Prima.

---

It hated. Oh, how it hated, especially now that it waded across the wastes alone, completely cut off. It had stolen one of the ragged banners draped from the outpost’s central tower to use as a shawl. It looked a grim, misshapen thing without its two left arms to balance it out.

It didn’t even know where it was going. It had thought about swimming, about catching up to the ship and clinging to its keel, but that would’ve expended too much energy and would’ve likely ended in failure.

Something itched at the back of its mind. It growled and unlocked the cage.

“What are you doing?” Meridia asked from inside her storage.

“Walking…” Unit Five-One hissed.

“Yes, but where are you walking to?”

Unit Five-One didn’t respond. Instead, it jabbed its thigh with one long claw. Black blood ran down its leg. It felt Meridia writhe. It enjoyed her torment.

“Look, you overgrown knife!” Meridia said once she’d caught her figurative breath, “for the time being we’re in this together so I suggest you stop abusing me or I won’t help.”

“How can you help/aid?”

“First off, we need to fix you. Any town militia with enough guns can take you out in this condition.”

“We have no spares/replacements.”

Meridia sighed. “You forget that anything that breathes is scrap we can use to refit you. Granted, they won’t be as sophisticated as your originals, but they will suffice.”

“The Master—”

“The Master expects us to deliver. You can’t go crawling back to him now. Since when have kill-bots become such infants?”

Unit Five-One jabbed all six of its claws into its ruined left side. Meridia screamed as the amplified pain signals shot through her code. It was a hairs-breadth away from a killing blow.

“Speak so again and I end/kill you,” Unit Five-One snarled, its black metal teeth grinding together so hard they produced sparks.

When it was finished, it locked her cage again and kept walking. The rad winds buffeted its torn shawl, carrying the salty scent of the sea. Sands ripped at its ankles and face. Though it didn’t want to admit it, yet, Meridia was right. He couldn’t go back to the Master. It would have to rebuild itself on its own. It still had a mission to finish. And next time, Chronologist be damned, it would have what it sought.

END OF BOOK 2. 

 

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