Thresholder

Flora had stayed up through the night, mostly watching Perry, but also poking around at Marchand.

The technology was so advanced that having it wouldn’t have done anything for the scientists and engineers of her world, except that it contained copies of millions of books and an ‘artificial intelligence’ that was a capable engineer in his own right. After some initial confusion over what Marchand was, Flora had settled into what she thought was an approximately correct understanding of him. Marchand was not the name for the armor, Marchand wasn’t a person who spoke through the armor, Marchand was a creature whose brain was a machine, and that machine was encased in armor, powered by an unbelievably strong engine.

Flora was no engineer, but the technology was so far beyond her world that it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been Cormorant Wesley himself. Perry himself had only an inexpert grasp on the capabilities of the armor, deferring to Marchand’s expertise.

The armor didn’t fit Flora, but her head was small enough for the helmet, and Perry had allowed her to wear it in the past. It was a disquieting feeling to have it on, given that it muted out the world around her and blinded her to any danger. She couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like to have the full armor on, with no light leaking in from outside. It would be like wearing a diving suit, claustrophobic and stiff. She didn’t know how Perry was able to handle being locked inside that thing for such long periods of time, as the helmet was quite sufficient to stir something in her mind. She could handle it only for relatively short periods.

“Diagnostics,” she said. It was connected to the main torso section by a thick cable, like an umbilical cord. “Troubleshooting. Analysis. Safe mode. Re-boot.” She was saying words she’d heard from Perry, magical words that had some hold over the machine. It was the last of those that did something, and the screen went black, no longer showing her the inside of the room. She pulled the helmet off, fearing the blackness, and watched the inside of the helmet as it showed various unintelligible words, text scrolling by so fast she couldn’t possibly read it.

When it was finished with all that, she put the helmet back on. It was showing a view of the room, as though she was looking through a simple window, the same as before, only this time it had what Perry called the ‘HUD’, one of the endless acronyms that seemed to be associated with the armor. She couldn’t recall what it stood for.

“Marchand?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Is Master Perry okay?”

Flora looked over at Perry. He was still an oversized wolf, curled up on the bed, snoring softly. He’d had his fill of the recently dead, and was now sleeping off the large meal. She doubted that he would wake until the morning, at which point he’d be hit by the morning sun and become human again. Werewolves could be brutal, but they were also sated easily, if with a great deal of destruction. A werewolf with no control of his faculties would rarely kill more than five people in a night, and they’d been fortunate that there were dead bodies for Perry to eat and enough blood in the air to calm him.

“He’ll be fine,” said Flora. “Give me a — systems … report.”

“There is critical damage to a number of systems and subsystems, ma’am,” said Marchand. He had an accent that Perry described as ‘French’, and Flora took a small amount of delight in listening to him which was still there, even after a fair amount of exposure to the machine. “The microfusion reactor has multiple damaged components, and I’ve taken the liberty of capping power production at one twentieth of usual. With wider limits, the reactor might be capable of generating one tenth baseline power, but this would risk worsening damage and complete chord collapse.”

The words didn’t make much sense, but it was good to know that the suit wasn’t completely dead.

“Are the … batteries … charging?” asked Flora.

“Unfortunately, battery charge has been compromised,” said Marchand. “Charge rates have been capped at fifty percent, and total charge carried will be capped at thirty percent. Much of that is caused by damage to the secondary batteries, and as such, cannot be overridden. It’s difficult for me to tell without performing advanced diagnostics, but I believe much of the problems stem from extensive damage to the battery vesicles in the legs. Repair seems unlikely, and replacement will require a long-overdue return to base.”

“There’s no base,” said Flora. “You’re in a different world.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, ma’am,” said Marchand. “Without a connection to the broader network, my capacity for complex problem-solving is a bit limited.”

Flora frowned. Perry had said there were certain things that March couldn’t understand. In a way, it was as though he had his own glamour affecting him.

“Can I help you do the advanced diagnostic?” asked Flora. She had seen Perry do one, after the injury to the arm, and it mostly seemed to involve pointing the camera at different pieces of the armor.

“I would prefer to wait for Master Perry,” said Marchand.

It was odd to Flora that he used Perry’s nickname, rather than his last name, but this might have been an affectation of Richter, his creator, or simply a difference in the ways that proper protocol had developed in their worlds. In her world, a servant would never refer to their master in that way, not even with a high degree of familiarity.

“Let’s just get it done,” said Flora. “Perry’s not going to be here for a bit. Once he’s back, he’ll need you fully operational.”

“Even with an advanced diagnostic it will be unlikely for me to return to my full capabilities, ma’am,” said Marchand. There was a long pause, and she thought he might be done speaking. “It’s perhaps not my place to ask, but if you could stress the urgency of a return to the workshop to Master Perry, it would be most appreciated.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Flora. Her voice was soft. Perhaps Marchand wasn’t fully a person, but she still felt some empathy for him. He was doing his best.

The ‘advanced diagnostic’ took a fair amount of time. Flora looked over every disconnected piece of the suit of armor, turning them this way and that, sometimes pulling on ingenious levers or opening hidden flaps to peer inside them. This was all done with one of the cameras mounted on the helmet, and exclusively for the benefit of Marchand. He offered no notes on his findings, not like she imagined a real person would have. He made no small talk with her, only asked for the next part, highlighting it with the HUD, or gave her instructions, which were written into her field of view, always with the relevant part highlighted. Sometimes she plugged cables into ‘ports’.

When this was all finished, Marchand spent some time by himself, analyzing the results and doing some invisible work that happened below the level that Flora could perceive. There were, apparently, wires running all up and down the armor, various systems and ‘subsystems’ that Marchand used in order to make it all work. It was shocking how much more complicated the armor was than a suit of metal, which was what it appeared to be at first glance.

Flora sat and watched Perry as the sun began to rise and he transformed back into a person. He shrank down, fur disappearing back into his body, the shifting of muscles and bones making sounds that were beautiful to her ears.

Eventually he was back to what he’d been, just human, naked on her bed, curled up and asleep. He had no wounds from the night before, no bruises, scrapes, or even the minor bumps of a normal life. She, by contrast, was marred, her face red, a bullet wound in her shoulder, and a few marks in other places that showed where a normal woman would have been outright killed.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped up from the bed with a start, eyes wide, awake in an instant.

He looked around, taking it all in. The balcony door had been broken off its hinges, and glass was scattered on the floor. In fact, he’d scrambled his way up the side of the building the night before, making conspicuous marks all over it, but no one had come in to see what all that was about. They would, with time, but her faith in the tower was growing. They would accept ridiculous explanations, even those that only made the barest amount of sense. There had been cannon fire from the fairgrounds, so perhaps a rogue shell could be blamed, even if the trajectory made no sense.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You don’t remember anything?” she asked.

“I remember — Cosme,” said Perry. “We got him. We got him?”

“We did,” said Flora.

“You threw him through the second portal,” said Perry.

“The second?” asked Flora.

“There were two,” said Perry. “He had me beat, one opened, I took off the armor, then …” He frowned. He had no idea that he was a werewolf, still had no idea, even though he’d actually experienced it. His eyes went to the broken balcony doors, then to the armor on the ground. “Marchand,” he said immediately. “Is he alright?”

“I got it to re-boot,” said Flora. “The damage is extensive.”

“No,” Perry groaned.

“Two portals,” said Flora. “Will you still be leaving then? Can you?”

“I don’t know,” said Perry. “I don’t know if the second portal was because the fight finished a second time, or if it was for him, or for me. I was so angry with him, I’d have killed him if you hadn’t taken him from me.” He frowned again. “Was I … biting him?”

“Yes,” said Flora.

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Perry. “Something is still foggy.”

“You might be trapped here,” said Flora. “You said you don’t control the portals, that they just … come.”

“The one in Seraphinus took some time,” said Perry. “Twelve hours, enough time to get my affairs in order. The other, on Richter’s Earth, took minutes, if that.” He was still frowning, still trying and failing to piece everything back together.

“It will make more sense in your next world,” said Flora. “Or if you go outside city limits.”

“City limits?” asked Perry. He remembered almost nothing of the plan, in spite of him being instrumental in its execution. He’d personally placed most of the plates on the tower.

“How long should we wait on the portal?” asked Flora.

Perry looked around the small apartment, which had seen better days. “How long can we wait? Are there people waiting on us? The battle last night, it was in our favor, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” said Flora. “And yes, now that you’re awake, I should go.” It might be possible to get on the inside of the situation, using her position to take control of any investigation. The king would know that he’d sent forces for some kind of conflict at the fairgrounds, and he’d have eyewitness accounts of something. The work wasn’t done, but Mellon had landed the strongest possible blow in favor of the Custom.

“You could have left me passed out,” said Perry. He’d jumped the inferential distance, thanks to the tower. His mind would land on whatever explanation was most plausible, the confusion not even reaching the surface most of the time. “I would have been fine.”

“Maybe,” said Flora. In truth, there was a strong chance you’d kill someone. “I’m going to go now, make up on some of the work I’ve been missing. I’ll speak with a few of our people, see how they fared. I know we lost a few in the fight, but less than I’d been expecting.”

“Alright,” said Perry. He looked at the armor, which was neatly laid out. “I’m going to suit up and wait for the portal.” He reached for the nearest piece.

“It’s not going to move like it did,” said Flora.

“I’m screwed without it,” said Perry. “I need to adapt now. If the portal works, I’ll have a fight coming up. Even if it doesn’t work, there’s a good chance we’ll need to fight against the king’s men, right?”

He seemed eager, but it wasn’t the eagerness of bloodthirst, it was the eagerness of someone who wants to prove his worth, to contribute.

“I helped Marchand with the advanced diagnostic,” said Flora. It felt good to say the words, the incantation of technical assistance. “Put the suit on, wait for the portal. I’m going to get dressed and go.”

“Wait,” said Perry. “If the portal comes when you’re gone, I’ll have to leave. This would be the last time we would ever see each other.”

“Yes,” said Flora. “This might be goodbye.”

“Stay,” said Perry. “Come with me. There are other worlds out there, better worlds, places where you won’t be mistreated, won’t have to hide who you are.” He had the puzzled look, one that she thought she would have to get used to, as the things he was saying didn’t quite line up. She’d seen that now and then with a glamour, but he’d lived these things and still couldn’t recall. The only saving grace was that the effect wasn’t permanent and would end once he was away from the tower.

“No,” said Flora. She said it simply, and didn’t back it up with anything. She didn’t think she owed him that. He was a complicated fling, nothing more.

“Alright,” said Perry. “I had to try.”

He didn’t, but she let him have the last word. It seemed like there was a good chance that he would still be there when she came back.

She put on her uniform and slipped out the door while he was distracted with Marchand, not wanting the goodbyes to extend any longer than they already had.

The city seemed different under the effects of the tower, but perhaps that was only because she felt safer than she had in years. The crisis was ongoing, but it had been stalled, contained, cuffed. The Custom was, if not safe, then not under the direct threat it had been.

The Jade Council was a part of the outstanding issues. They had proven themselves incompetent to govern, too concerned with their private affairs, too willing to throw everyone else under the wheels of a fast-moving carriage. It was possible that they would go unpunished, given the power they wielded, but a civil war between the Council and those they’d attempted to betray wasn’t unthinkable.

“You’re alive,” said Temmie, who’d approached Flora as she walked, almost unnoticed. The skinchanger looked different, but she hadn’t changed her gait, and the dress she wore had only minor alterations.

“I am,” said Flora.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend the ball, but you know my kind aren’t the most spectacular fighters,” said Temmie. “I heard there were cannons and wolves. And not our wolves.”

“One wolf that belonged to us,” said Flora.

“And how’s he?” asked Temmie. “Still with us?”

“For now,” said Flora. “His adversary is gone though, so I don’t imagine he’ll be far behind.”

“Ah, more’s the shame,” said Temmie. “I have the feeling we could use some muscle, coming up.”

They walked in lockstep, Flora in her blue uniform, Temmie in her red dress, making quite the pair for anyone who was looking, though both of them wore glamours, which tended to keep prying eyes from watching them.

“Muscle?” asked Flora. “It’s over. The king has lost. His plans won’t work if he can’t even think them. Or has something happened I’m not aware of?”

“Those wolves at the fairground,” said Temmie. She wrinkled her nose just a bit. “They weren’t the only ones our dear king had. A number of them had been stationed at the castle, which was perhaps ill-advised to begin with, but became a much worse prospect once all those soldiers couldn’t remember why they’d been locked up and put in the deepest recesses of the building.”

“There wasn’t one calamity last night then,” said Flora. “There were two.”

“It’s not clear what the casualties are at the moment,” said Temmie. “There’s a good chance that the king himself is dead, at least from what I’ve been able to hear so far, and dawn has just barely broken. There’s plenty of day ahead of us.”

“What would that mean, if the king is dead?” asked Flora.

“There would be a succession crisis,” said Temmie. “One that we might be able to leverage to our advantage. But as I think we both know, there are other problems, those close to home, that it would appear we need to deal with.”

“Yes,” said Flora. “You’re the one with all the ears on the ground. Tell me what our options are.”

“You’re one of my best sources,” said Temmie. “Let’s take the day and have a feel for the pulse, such as it were. You’re likely to become a hero for what you did last night, if you weren’t a hero to the people already. The current stink of the Jade Council hasn’t stuck to you.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Flora.

“There are too many imponderables right now,” said Temmie. “We don’t know quite how safe the tower has made us, don’t know whether the king is alive or dead, whether Wesley is alive or dead —”

“He’s dead,” said Flora. “I saw him die with my own eyes. He was operating some machine of his, throwing lightning.”

“Why was he on the field in the first place?” asked Temmie.

“Mellon was on the field too, making last minute adjustments, trying to get it working,” said Flora.

Temmie clucked her tongue, and slipped her arm into Flora’s. “I’ll chalk it up to the mysteries of men.”

“You think that I could be a figurehead, someone to rally around to get some reforms done,” said Flora. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“It depends on where and how the dust settles,” said Temmie. “I’ve taken more of an interest in our internal politics as of late, for obvious reasons. There’s wide agreement after the latest cock up that something must be done, even if it remains to be seen what that something is. “We’ll get out of this yet. The only problem is that with the danger past, we won’t have a good starting point for … whatever comes next.”

Temmie broke away, walking with elegant steps down the cobblestones. They were friends, but she had an annoying habit of getting the last word in, and she played at secrets more than was really necessary.

She was wrong though. She thought that the danger was in the past, something that could only be seen by turning and looking behind them. The problem was that Temmie simply hadn’t seen far enough in the future.

Flora had spoken with Perry enough to see his vision of the world, one where technology and progress were inevitable. Perry had made a roadmap from his own world, with dates and names given to all the things to come, and Marchand had made a map from his world as well, which had all the same things, only everything had been faster.

There was no reason to expect that computers, cameras, and everything else would be impossible in Flora’s world. They had decades, maybe more, before there were serious threats to the Custom, even if the tower held strong and stood tall.

If they wanted to survive, they would need to start planning now. And for that, they would need a planner.

Who, if not Flora? The options were thin on the ground.

The day passed quickly. She was tasked not with the handling massacre in the fairgrounds, which was being called a training exercise, but with more ‘domestic disturbances’. She handled that as best she could, and asked her questions of the common folk about what had happened the night before. People had heard gunfire, the cannons of the king’s men, late at night. Children had been woken, and the whispers had started.

None of the people she spoke to had known anything. She had poked at the citywide glamour a few times, testing it, asking questions that caused confusion for those she’d been talking to. The confusion faded away quickly though, and they always came up with their own explanations, or readily accepted hers. The ‘training exercise’ excuse seemed to satisfy them, when they asked her what she knew.

By midday, news had come from the castle that the king was still alive, though grievously injured. This they weren’t calling a training exercise: instead, it was labeled a failed coup, which was surely meant to give an excuse for the crown to exert its power. It matched the prior narrative of enemies moving against Wesley, and the evening papers would surely declare it a war against the Century of Progress.

They didn’t know quite how right they were.

By the time dinner came around, Flora was dragging her feet, and while she was leaving the job much later than she needed to, she still felt guilty that she couldn’t put in more work. Teaguewater was hurting, and it would take some time before anything went back to normal, if it ever did. Most of the blame could be laid at the king’s feet.

She had more work, of course, as the Jade Inquisitor, as she hadn’t been able to sneak away for more than a few quick words with those under the Custom.

She stopped by her apartment first, to change out of the uniform.

Of Perry, there was only a note, hastily scrawled, which said only ‘PORTAL’.

She stared at the empty room and all the damage it had sustained. She’d thought that she would feel worse about him leaving, but in her heart there was something like relief, and unclenching of some psychic muscle. He was a dangerous man, too comfortable with killing, too eager to prove himself, to set plans into action.

Flora gave herself a moment, then started changing clothes. She had work to do.