The Earls' Legacy
Chapter Five
The guards had wanted to shackle the Orc to the table, but Union Jack told them not to. The two sat and stared at each other for a while.
The Orc stood perhaps five feet, six inches tall. He was basically humanoid, but differently proportioned. His legs were short, slightly-bowed and thickly-muscled, the hips and waist narrow, but the chest and shoulders very broad, making the body look almost triangular. His arms were longer, proportionally, than a humans', the muscles long, rather than thick. His head was large, the face looking square due to the heavy forehead and jaw. His skin was sallow, almost grey with only the slightest tinge of green, the eyes red, without an iris and with vertical slit pupils, the nose flat and broad, the mouth wide and thin-lipped, full of sharp teeth. He leaned forward suddenly and asked in a gravelly voice:
"Why's we still alive?"
Jack answered with a question of his own: "How come you speak English?"
"I doesn't." The Orc said. "You just hears it. The weirding does that. Why's we still alive?"
"Because we don't kill anyone unless we have to." Jack told him.
The Orc stared at him. "They lied on you, then." He said. "The weirdmen. They said you'd kill us on sight if they didn't protect us, an' that was why we 'ad to obey 'em. But they couldn't protect us, and you didn't kill us. Lagduf fried 'isself on that weirding gate, but 'e was an eejit. Mauhur got 'is 'ed bashed in, but 'e was an officer, so we wasn't surprised. But somebody put an arrer through Radbugs' leg, and your lot got it out and patched 'im up proper. You smacked the rest of us about good an' proper, but didn't kill us."
"Yes, we're sorry about your officer." Jack said. "The person who killed him didn't really know how to use his weapon. As to, Lagduf? There's no way he could've known what the gate could do to him if he touched it."
"No need to be sorry about Mauhur." The Orc said. "Them Black Uruks is nothin' but trouble. If 'e was still alive, 'ed've been makin' us try to escape and probably got more of us killed!"
"Fair enough." Jack said. "Now, you seem to be in charge of your people, so you can start by telling me your name."
"Sergeant Muzgash, of the Uruks of the Red Eye." The Orc said.
"OK, Sergeant," Jack said, "they call me Union Jack, but just Jack will do. Now, because you and your lads aren't officers, you're under no duty to try to escape, and we're not allowed to interrogate you. What that means is that I can ask you questions, but I can't try to force you to answer them. It also means that you can ask me any reasonable questions you have.
"So, is there anything you want to ask me?"
"Yeah." Muzgash said. "I want to know what's goin' on! First off, you doesn't kill us. Now the stories says that back in the Jewel War, you Tarks was with the Golugs, and you used to kill Uruks on sight. But now we comes here, and there's only one Golug, and he ain't in charge, and you doesn't kill us.
"Then we gets brought here. Radbug gets his wound looked at. We gets our armour and weapons taken, o'course. But then you makes us wash – all over! That scares us, 'cause in Esharra there ain't a lot o' water an' most of what there is'll take your hide off unless it's been through the Stills. We're not used to not stinkin', an' them water latrines are strange!
"You gives us these clothes," he indicated the orange jumpsuit he was wearing, "what is nicer than any clothes I'se 'ad in my whole life, and we gets clean new ones every couple of days! You feeds us, three times a day, not just once, and it ain't all squig, porridge and runga roots! We's all got our own little sleepin' rooms, there's the box with the pictures and sounds, and they keeps bringin' us books an' all bits an' pieces to keep us occupied.
"But when we tries to jump the guards, they puts us down 'ard!
"So some of the lads reckon you're soft, an' others says you're tryin' to soften us up. Me, I think your lot are so 'ard you can afford to be soft when you want.
"So what's the game?"
"No game." Jack said. "We're just not sure what to do with you. We don't kill people unless we have to, like I said. But we have to decide whether you're illegal immigrants, criminals or enemy soldiers. But we're required by our laws to look after you and treat you decently until we can decide what to do with you.
"Now, last night, we had a set-to with a lot of wargs and a Chimaera. We killed the Chimaera, but not all the Wargs. Then somebody else came along – like a man but invisible – and talked to the Wargs. Then he told us that Esharra is no threat, but we have to stop the meddling before his Master runs out of patience. Then he disappeared and took the wargs with him
"Can you explain that to me, Sergeant?"
Muzgash frowned. "I never 'eard of a Kimera, but wargs I knows. They comes from Esharra, like we does, an' the Bosses trains some of 'em to hunt an' fight for 'em. This invisible Tark, did 'e make it feel all cold an' dark around 'im?"
"He did." Jack said. "Like he was trying to scare us or something."
Muzgash shook his head. "Not tryin', they're just like that all the time. Nazgul, we call 'em. They used to be Tarks, nine of 'em, all weirdmen, as joined up with the Red Eye in the Jewel War. Now they's just wraiths, but they's still got a lot of weirding an' they're the Red Eyes' favourite servants."
"OK," Jack said, "so who's the Red Eye and how does he fit into Esharra?"
"He's one o' the Bosses." Muzgash said. "What their right names are, we don't know, we ain't allowed to know. We only got the old tales to go on, an' if we gets caught tellin' or listenin' to 'em, we gets a lashin'.
"But the old 'uns says that once, there was only Goblins, Niskaru, Wargs, Squigs and Firedrakes in Esharra. The Goblins grew roots an' grain an' 'unted Squigs. The Wargs 'unted Squigs an' Goblins, the Niskaru 'unted Squigs, Wargs an' Goblins an' Firedrakes 'unted everythin'.
"But then the Iron Crown came, with 'is Balrogs an' is Vedags, an' builds Thangorodrim. They say 'e was rightful King of the Titans, but the others rebelled, so 'e took 'is Jewels and went to Esharra. But the Vedag sent Golugs after 'im to steal the Jewels. So the Iron Crown enslaved the Goblins and trained some of the Wargs, Niskaru and even Firedrakes to fight for 'im. An' 'e took some of the Goblin Muvvers and put the weirding on 'em so they birthed Uruks like us. Bigger an' stronger an' smarter than Goblins, so we could fight for 'im.
"That was the start of the Jewel War, what was fought between the Iron Crown an' the Golugs. Then the Golugs started bringin' Tarks along, an' the Tarks wasn't as good at the weirding but they was better fighters. They say it was that that made the Red Eye change sides.
"The Red Eye is a Vedag, but 'e's got real powerful weirding, maybe more than the Iron Crown, because the Crown made 'im an ally, not a servant. So the Red Eye builds Lugburz, and 'e gets Uruk Muvvers an' Wargs, but the Crown doesn't let 'im 'ave Balrogs or Niskaru or Firedrakes. But the Eye's got 'is Nazgul an' 'e changes some of the Muvvers to birth Black Uruks, what is very smart, an' 'e puts 'em over us Uruks.
"But then it was too late an' the Titans sent their Vedag, an' they pushed the Eye an' the Crown back to their fortresses an' forced the Iron Crown to 'and over the Jewels to stop the other Titans from comin' for' im theirselves. Then the Titans made the Great Abyss between Esharra an' the Golug country so there'd be no more war.
"But there was a Tark weirdman what stayed in Esharra. They calls 'im the White 'And and 'e's got a place called Isengard. They say 'e made 'is Tark warriors mate with Goblin Muvvers so they'd birth 'is Uruk-Hai. Them's like 'alf Uruk, 'alf Tark and they's bloody 'ard bastards everybodys' scared of.
"So that's 'ow it is. The Iron Crown an' the Red Eye talks to each other, but they doesn't trust each other, an' neither of 'em trusts the White 'And, what doesn't talk to either of 'em. But the only way out of Esharra is if a weirdman summons you. I reckon the Red Eye let us go just so 'e could send a Nazgul along to see what was goin' on."
"That sounds reasonable." Jack said. "We're looking to deal with the meddlers soon enough. Now look, Sergeant, we could probably find a way to send you and your lads home. Do you want us to do that?"
"No, we bloody well doesn't!" Muzgash stated. "We was talkin' about it before they fetched me to talk to you. Me and my lads reckon we're better off as your prisoners than the Red Eye's soldiers an' we wants to stay 'ere!"
"None of you have families at home?" Jack asked.
Muzgash laughed. "Uruks, nor Goblins neither, doesn't 'ave family." He said. "We get birthed by the Muvvers, a dozen at a time, an' raised by 'em for a year. The Muvver eats the weak ones, then boots the rest out for us to finish growin' 'em up. Then some poor bastard Uruk draws the short straw an' 'as to go and mate 'er, an' unless 'e's smart or lucky, she eats 'im when she's done with 'im!
"Life at 'ome is all drill, duty an' rations, Jack. We doesn't mind workin' an' we won't make no trouble, but we wants to stay."
XXXXX
"The Summonings remain difficult." Adamancus told the Council of Nine. "It is not any incapacity of these new wizards. Most of them were already well-versed in the theory to begin with. It is the lack of mana, magical energy, that is the difficulty."
Mardanax nodded from his great black chair. "This I have also noted." He hissed. "The wizards who answered my call are either already learned, or learn quickly and well, but their castings are limited by the lack of energy and its slow rate of renewal. It is as Brother Xoth foretold."
Xoth leaned forward in his sapphire throne, the light from the great central fire harshly illuminating his almost fleshless face, parchment-like skin drawn tight over bone and muscle. "Two, perhaps three years." He said in his hollow tones. "Then the mana will ether fade away or become strong enough to use freely. Should the Sleeper fully awake, then so will the mana. But at that point our peril will be greater."
"We all know the risks, Brother!" Maldruths' face was handsome, bearded, his powerful form was in stark contrast to most of his Brothers'. "We have people, we have weapons, and I will build a strategy that will stand against any attack! Give me more, and I will plan a conquest for us!"
Vuals' body was the size of a childs', but his head, with its' great, domed cranium, was larger than an adults. He spoke in a high, piping voice. "Elder Brother, it might be that among the rituals I can find some that will allow us to store mana, or even draw it from other Realms."
"Then do so." Mardanax commanded. "But exercise care! We cannot risk losing a member of this Council, or any too great damage to Zaar. We remain vulnerable, Brothers! If we are discovered, we would be hard put to defend ourselves, even with Maldruths' battlecraft!
"You also, Adamancus, must be cautious. If you are in peril, retreat! There are other ways to achieve what we must."
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"Tranmere Lodge, in Somerset." The Commando said. "One of our wizards got talkative – must be something I said – and spilled the actual name, rather than calling it 'The Lodge' as the others did."
"So, some spooky old house in the middle of nowhere?" Spitfire asked.
"Middle of nowhere? Pretty much." The Commando allowed. "Smack in the middle of the Mendip Hills. Old and spooky, not so much. The Lodge was built in the 1970s, as a base for people going caving and pot-holing in the area – the Hills are riddled with natural caves and old mines. But between the reduction in paid leave and the travel restrictions under Norsefire, it went bust. Got bought up about eight months ago by a group of private investors, who did the place up. They tell everyone it's a 'private retreat' for members of their 'religious group'.
"Above ground, everything's' what you'd expect: bedrooms, restaurant, pool, gym, meditation spaces, yoga studios, conference rooms and a lecture hall. But there's one massive cave right under the Lodge, which is where the big rituals happen, and a network of tunnels leading to smaller caves, some of which open to the surface. It's a maze down there! Fortunately, our geophys satellites are able to map it for us.
"It seems that Saturday nights are when the big Summonings are held, and Adamancus is always there."
"Well, it's only Wednesday." The Cat pointed out. "For once, we've got time to make a plan!"
"A cunning plan?" Spitfire asked.
"Cunning enough to make a weasel weep!" He told her.
"Pull up the map." Jack said. It appeared on the table. Jack studied it awhile, then pointed. "There, there and there." He said. They got down to it.
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"Saturday night's alright for fightin', get a bit of action in!" The Cat sang softly.
"Beginning with the cold-blooded murder of an innocent tune?" The Commando asked.
"Suddenly you're a music critic?" The Cat responded. "Never heard you sing!"
"I never tried." The Commando pointed out. "I can play music via my speaker, if I want to."
"Shut up, both of you!" Spitfire ordered. "We're supposed to be being stealthy!"
Nevertheless, some minutes later, it was she who broke the silence. "Can you smell that?" She murmured. "God, it's rank!"
The source of the stench came from a small cave ahead. It was lit by a single dim but steady lamp. In the centre of the space stood a crude wooden gibbet, from which hung a naked body. Male, tall, powerfully-built and quite dead, with tanned skin and short-cropped black hair. There was a pool of dried blood on the ground underneath him.
Spitfire and the Cat looked to the Commando, who shook his head. "Nobody within earshot," he said quietly, "but we should keep our voices down."
They moved closer.
"He's not human." Spitfire said. "Look at his head!"
The head was longer and narrower than a humans'. The Commando reached out and raised the face. Narrow jaw, the chin almost pointed; pointed ears, straight nose, wide, sensual, full-lipped mouth and long, almond-shaped eyes, open but fixed in death, the irises cloudy, but once black. A single word – Lecher – had been branded into his forehead.
"Some kind of Fae?" The Cat asked.
"No." Spitfire said. "Some of the Winter Fae have dark hair, but none of them have dark eyes like that. Blue, green, grey, golden, yellow, but never black or brown. Also, they don't tan, even the Summer Fae are always pale-skinned."
"He didn't die from hanging." The Cat noted. "No swelling or blackening, his tongue's still in his mouth and there's no petechial haemorrhaging. Neck doesn't look broken, either."
The Commando released the face, took the body by one shoulder and turned it round. Spitfire choked, the Cat swore softly. The bodys' ribs had been cut away at either side of the spine and pushed outwards to the sides. The lungs had been pulled out and hung, flaccid, down the back.
"The Bloody Eagle." The Commando said. "A much-storied, but supposedly never actually practised, form of military punishment from the Dark Ages. It seems that whoever this gentleman worked for did not approve of his sexual indulgences, deeming them a capital crime."
"That's not right!" The Cat declared. "Sex is a misdemeanour…"
"De more you miss, de meaner you get!" Spitfire finished.
They have begun to finish each others' sentences. The Commando thought. It was inevitable, I suppose.
Aloud, he said: "I'm sending details to the other teams. Let's move on."
Several twists and turns later, the Commando raised a hand. "Hostiles ahead."
As they advanced slowly, a light sprang up ahead. Three figures silhouetted against it. There was a thrumming sound. Something bounced off the Commando, the Cat moved his head just enough to let a projectile whistle past it, Spitfire caught a third a foot from her chest and examined it. "Crossbows." She told the others. Then all three drew and fired at once.
The sound of two Heckler & Koch USP Tactical pistols was drowned out by the massive roar of the weapon the Commando fired. Two of the three figures in front of them fell. The third's head was vapourised in a shower of red and the body, pumping blood from the neck, staggered backwards before dropping to its' knees and pitching forward.
"Fucking Hell!" The Cat said.
"New toy, Rusty?" Spitfire asked.
"Armoury just issued it to me." The Commando said, showing them the huge revolver.
"Makes a .44 Magnum look like a pocket pistol!" The Cat said in awe. "I don't reckon I could lift that, let alone fire it!"
"Custom made." The Commando said. "Reinforced X-Frame, specially-designed barrel, chambered for the .600 Nitro Express rifle cartridge. Didn't expect it to be quite that lethal, though!"
"Just don't let them make you a rifle!" The Cat begged. "You'd end up with something that could flatten a house!"
"Let's go and see what we're up against." Spitfire suggested.
The tall figures were dressed in full armour, in a style reminiscent of the 16th Century, but the metal was dark green. Each had carried a heavy crossbow or arbalest, with stirrups for quicker loading. Two of them wore longswords, while the third had a battleaxe, each also carried a long poniard or misericord.
Spitfire lifted ones' visor, to find an unhuman face clearly belonging to the same race as the executed man they'd seen earlier.
"Summoned, clearly." The Commando said. "Perhaps someone in our eclectic little group will know of them?"
"All I'm interested in knowing is how many of them are here!" The Cat said.
"Three less than there were a few minutes ago." Spitfire told him. "Let's go!"
XXXXX
Jack ducked under a head-cut and came in from the side. His combat knife, a twelve-inch titanium steel blade with vibranium edges, sliced through one of the leather straps that held his opponents' cuirass in place, slid through the gap and into the chest. Then Jack was out and away fast.
The armoured man dropped to his knees, murmured "Bravo!", then fell on his side and died. Jack swung round to see that the Red and Black Knights had also dispatched their opponents.
"The Green Knights." Gawain said. "I have had dealings with such before. They are Free Lances, mercenary knights who will undertake any mission they deem honourable."
"Where do they come from?" Jack asked.
"A Realm in which they were once soldiers of a mighty empire." Gawain said. "The empire fell, save for its capital, Imrryr, which was and remains unassailable. Now the Green Knights fight on this or that party in the wars among the younger kingdoms of that Realm. But the Lords of Imrryr are magicians of note, and offer the services of the Knights across other Realms.
"They are fierce but honourable fighters."
"Well, so are we!" Jack said. "Come on!"
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The Unborn stamped his foot. The tunnel floor rose in a six-foot wave that crushed one of their opponents against the ceiling and tossed the others about. The Hooded Man shot one down, while a green javelin from Samaras' ring transfixed the third.
"How did you do that?" Samaras asked.
The Unborn shrugged. "My main abilities are gifts of the Dragons. I can manipulate Earth, Air, Water, Fire and Lightning as long as the Dragons are awake. I've also got access to the Internet from anywhere in the world, and since I'm made of crystals from Myrddins' cave, I can access his lore. But using spells drains magic, which is still in short supply, so I don't do it much.
"Just so you know, these Green Knights tend to come in groups of fifty or a hundred. With what Jack and the Commando told us, they're at least ten down and there just isn't enough magic to summon the full hundred, so we've probably got about forty to deal with."
"That is no easy task." The Hooded Man mused. "These knights are grim and fell-handed, neither giving nor expecting quarter."
"That's the job, though, isn't it?" The Unborn replied.
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The central cave was large and high-ceilinged. In the centre of the floor a Summoning Circle had been painted, as well as a protective triangle for the Karcist or Controller of the Rite. Adamancus himself stood in the triangle, surrounded by his acolytes. The Green Knights held a circle around them, in pairs, one arbalester and one armed for close combat. Jack saw swords, axes, maces and chain-flails. The four entrances to the cave were evenly-spaced round the walls and from each a slope led down to the main floor.
The members of the Excalibur team appeared simultaneously at three of the entrances. One of the Knights sounded a horn, and the members of the Children of Thamungazoth, as one, fled for the fourth entrance. According to the maps, that lead to the surface building, already occupied by troops from the Unit.
Adamancus remained where he was, cursing his acolytes for cowards before returning to the ritual he had been chanting.
Their elevated position gave Excalibur a momentary advantage which those carrying sidearms immediately made use of, disposing of the crossbowmen in short order. But by then the Knights were charging, and it was hand-to-hand. Samara took to the air and swooped toward Adamancus, where she tried to penetrate the protective field of his triangle. She could feel it slowly weakening under her attacks. So could Adamancus, but he stood his ground and continued chanting.
Quite suddenly, something that looked like a tunnel entrance opened in the circle, and twenty or so creatures charged through. At first, they ran on all fours, but as they reached the edge of the circle they stood upright. They were jet-black, with long torsos, the arms and legs of more or less equal length, their necks were long and flexible. The heads were shaped like humans, but hairless and with high-set, pointed ears. The faces had neither eyes nor eye-sockets and instead of a nose a pair of wide, gaping nostrils were set directly into the face. The mouths were mere slits. Each of them wore a belt from which hung a sheathed knife, except for the tallest, who had a short black-iron rod thrust through his.
It was this one who spoke to Adamancus in a barking, yelping language. The mage replied in the same tongue. Then the creatures left the circle. Forming a tight wedge with the tallest at the apex, they began to advance, yelping in unison.
"Ur-Viles!" The Unborn bellowed. "Take out the Loremaster!"
Then Adamancus' shield gave way. He staggered, cursed, then turned on the spot and vanished with a crack of imploding air.
The Steel Commando planted himself in front of the ur-Vile wedge and cocked his spear. The Loremaster raised his rod and cast a gut of thick, black liquid at the mech, striking him in the chest. The Commando hurled the Gaebolga, transfixing his opponent. The wedge broke apart, each ur-Vile drawing a glowing red dagger.
The Commando dropped to his knees. His uniform was already ash, and the black liquid had eaten through his outer shell. Puffs of smoke and showers of sparks indicated that his inner workings were also being damaged.
Then another horn-call sounded. As one, the remaining Green Knights broke off ad turned on the ur-Viles, systematically slaughtering them.
The team gathered around the Commando.
"Rusty!" There were tears running down Spitfires' face. "Tell me you'll be OK!"
"That remains to be seen, Jenny." The Commando replied. "Is this pain I'm feeling? It's very unpleasant."
The Unborn knelt beside him and peered into the chest.
"The Black Vitriol loses its potency after a few minutes." He said. "Unfortunately, it lasted long enough to damage your Arc Reactor, which is shutting down. Is your AI and memory battery-backed?"
"Good for seventy-two hours." The Commando told him. "Also I upload to the cloud every twenty-four hours."
"There you go, love!" The Cat said. "We can rebuild him, we have the technology!"
"I know." She replied. "But will he be the same old Rusty we all love?"
The Commando looked up at her. "I'll be back!" He promised. Then his eyes went dark.
A tall figure loomed over them. A Green Knight, marked out by a silver star on his breastplate.
"Your pardon." He said. "The loss of such a stalwart companion is hard to bear, but we must speak. Who has command, here?"
"That would be me." Jack got to his feet. "Michael Moran. You are?"
"I hight Dyvim Slorm. Marshal among the Green Knights of Melnibone." Was the reply. "We have not faced so dour-handed a group of foes in many a year! But that is no surprise, when you number among you Sir Gawain and Sir Pellinore, as well as the Son of Herne and a Green Lantern."
"Seems you know more about us than we do about you!" Mike said. "Like, why did you suddenly change sides?"
"We were betrayed by our Patron." Dyvim Slorm told him. "The laws of our Order specify that there are certain beings which are our eternal foes and beside whom we will not fight. These ur-Viles are one such. We took service with their ruler, Lord Foul, and were betrayed by him and them. This Adamancus either failed to study our Laws before engaging us, or ignored them. In either case, our compact was broken, and we will no longer take service with Adamancus or any of Zaar.
"But this is not germane. We must know if any among you has the knowledge to reactivate yon Circle so that we may return to Melnibone?"
"I can do that." The Unborn said. "There's just about enough magic left in the Circle."
Dyvim Slorm bowed. "Then we shall depart. Farewell."
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"So you just let them go?" Kate Stewart asked. "You didn't think to talk to me, first?"
Mike shrugged. "As you keep telling me, you're not my CO! It was a field decision, my authority and what would be the point of locking them up?"
"I suppose you're right, you usually are!" She allowed. "But what about these Uruks? You let them stay!"
"That's a bit different." Mike said. "In the first instance, they've got no more idea than we have about how to send them back to Esharra. I'm told that even Myrddin doesn't know how to reach there, though Adamancus apparently does. But then it seems the Nine of Zaar were around long before Myrddin was born. Secondly, they don't want to go back. Apparently one of the people guarding them told Sergeant Muzgash about claiming asylum and that's what they want to do. We can probably find them somewhere to live, remote enough so they won't be bothered, and since they don't have one of their 'Mothers' with them, they can't multiply!"
"So what about the Earl?" Kate wanted to know. "That was where this all started."
"Poor silly bugger was being taken for a ride by everybody!" Mike noted. "Not that I've much sympathy for him, he was a fascist and a nonce! But he'd got the right books, the remote place and the wealthy contacts to unravel the formulae for making those Essential Salts. He could reduce bodies to powder, then use a spell to reanimate the person.
"The cults – the Children of Thamungazoth was the biggest and the only one with much real magic – wanted the formulae. The Earl wanted the Norsefire bigwigs back to life and working for him. Sir Thomas Riddle wanted to interrogate the Norsefire lot. Riddle was the only one who got what he wanted!"
"Yes, we've looked into Sir Thomas." Kate noted. "His ambitions are cultural, not political. He approves of constitutional monarchy and parliamentary democracy, but he thinks people are getting lazy, soft and self-indulgent. He just wants people to buck their ideas up a bit. Can't say I completely disagree! But then you and I are both from military families, aren't we?"
"True." Mike agreed. "Speaking of which, what's happening about Rusty? Can you fix him?"
"The Mark II Artificially Intelligent Combat Mech is beyond repair." Kate said. "Or rather, there's no point repairing it because the Mark III is almost ready for activation. They're finishing the final programming on the brain. It'll be ready to join you in two weeks after smoke-testing."
"That won't do." Mike said. "We want Rusty back! Put his brain into the Mark III – should be easier and quicker anyway."
"The Mark III brain is more powerful." Kate said. "The new mech should perform better."
"Maybe, but it wouldn't be our Rusty!" Mike growled. "He's a friend, a team-mate, and we want him back! We like him, we trust him and we owe him. Also, he's the only one who can use the Gaebolga, which is one of the few magical weapons we've got!
"Look, you keep saying 'my team, my rules', so I'm sticking to that, Kate! I – we – want Rusty back even if it is in a new body! I won't accept this Mark III onto the team without Rustys' brain, OK?"
Kate threw up her hands. "All right, all right!" She said. "Either you're a bloody sentimentalist or a Hell of a leader. Probably both! We'll fit the old brain, run through the new bodys' abilities with it and get it back to you in a week! It'll look a bit different, but it'll be the same brain and memories!"
"Thank you!" Mike said. "And it's 'him', not 'it'!"
Kate sat at her desk after Mike left, frowning. The Mark III had been a long and cherished project, one which she had hoped would eventually end the need to send humans into harms' way. The new brain, particularly, had been a masterwork. All gone to waste because the team had become fond of a machine!
She hadn't noticed the door to her private room open, and only realised he was there when his shadow loomed over her.
"Told you so." He said. "AIs – real Artificial Intelligences – are real people, and people get fond of people! What were you going to do with the Mark IIs' brain?"
"Upload it to the cloud and keep it for study." She said.
"What sort of life would that have been for him?" He asked. "What would have happened when you decided to delete him? That would've been murder, you know!"
She looked up at him. This version was tall and gangly, a young face but with ancient eyes. He was wearing a fez again.
"It's alright for you!" She complained. "I've got a brain that cost millions to build and program, sitting there with no body!"
"You've got that human-looking one." He pointed out. "You were going to start building a brain for that, but why not just reprogram the one you have?"
"Steelman?" She said. "Brain's too big for its' head!"
"Humans!" He said. "Why does the brain have to be in the head?"
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"Hidalgo." MODOC said. "Of course, Savage would take them there. He knows the territory, and he will have defences. This will be risky."
"Not necessarily." Mr Stabs told him. "If I accompany the troops, I can hide them from the defences. If we are swift, we can take the young ones before the older and more skilled can react."
"Excellent!" MODOC said. "I will plan, you take care to accumulate enough energy for the task.
"The combination of Mutant genes, cybernetics and Qys biotechnology will finally allow me to create a race of superhumans, of which I, Emil Gargunza, shall be the first!"