“What the hell?” Isaac said aloud, staring at the quartet. After he’d quit Justice for Hire he hadn’t expected to see any of them again, let alone have them follow him to the center of the world. “What are they doing here?”

  “Yes that is a very much interesting thing we want to know also too!”

  Isaac almost jumped as Gratin seemed to appear out of nowhere, the little lizardman tapping an impatient rhythm against the sidewalk with his toeclaws. Rather than the usual silks of most Ikiski, Gratin still wore the neat almost-suit that reminded Isaac of a butler’s uniform more than anything. It bore a few scuffs and tears that hadn’t been there before, but that was almost expected. If anything, it was surprising his clothing wasn’t in worse shape given how rough the lizard-people were with each other.

  “We?” Sarah said, tapping imaginary ash off her long-stemmed cigarette as she tilted her head in Gratin’s direction.

  “I have family here yes!” Gratin tapped his snout with a foreclaw, in a gesture that was probably meant to show he was letting them in on a secret. “Important family, curious about what goes on up in the Outerworld. Very important changes matter down here much too.”

  “Like with Glorybeam,” Isaac guessed. Even in the Deep Kingdoms, sovereigns mattered. He was sure they had their own equivalent – everyone knew about the dangerous crystalline entities that sometimes worked their way up from the depths – but the number of people that powerful barely reached into the double digits. “And if they’re here, there might be something else going on in Star City.”

  “So, who are they?” Sarah asked, nudging him with an elbow.

  “The people I worked with in Justice for Hire, one of the meta-mercenary companies. The lunarian kind of knew who I was, but to the others I was just Ravdia.” Isaac shifted his burden, frowning. “So I have no idea how they followed me.”

  “If they followed you,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Could be following my brother, instead. I mean, no offense but he is kind of important.”

  “That would make more sense,” Isaac said, but he didn’t entirely buy it. Why that group in particular? There were certainly other members in Justice for Hire, but the Brute Squad were effectively the only nonhumans. That was the only aspect that made them stand out. “Guess we can ask, though,” he said, starting forward.

  Only a few months ago he probably wouldn’t have been so forward, but after all the time spent as different characters and the genuinely helpful training from Justice for Hire, he’d realized how useful direct action was. Whether it was with metas or regular people, the best way to get an answer was to ask a question. It wasn’t that people didn’t lie, it was that most people didn’t think to, especially when put on the spot, or at the very least weren’t good enough to get away with it when they were surprised.

  Sarah fell into step next to him, while Gratin’s much quicker and lighter footsteps pattered along behind. They weren’t that far away, so even without super-hearing Isaac could make out Lia’s argument with whoever was on the other side of the gate controls. Apparently the Brute Squad hadn’t been expected.

  “…isn’t sufficient identification,” the gate grille droned, crackling with the low-fidelity speaker used in the construction. Isaac vaguely recognized the voice as one of the mercenaries that had come along in the power-suits, presumably on duty to manage the embassy security. Isaac shifted the cloth in his arms so he could peer around it at the tiny pickup, leaning over in front of Lia.

  “They’re the Brute Squad from Justice for Hire,” he told the glassy bulb of the camera. “Not sure what they’re doing here, but that’s Lia, Savage, Bubs, and R— Stratum,” he finished, catching himself before he could call the elemental Rocky like Bubs did. He was pretty sure that was actually an insult.

  “Even if you’ve identified them, that’s not enough—”

  “Look, just get James, will you?” Isaac resisted rolling his eyes. It was the guy’s job to be a little paranoid, so he didn’t fault him too much, but if this went on much longer Isaac would have to call James directly, which wouldn’t look good for the gate guard. He still had the comm-pin on, after all. There was silence from the gate speaker, and Isaac turned to take in people he thought he’d never see again.

  “What brought you all down here?” He asked, taking in Lia’s startled expression. The other three didn’t have faces capable of conveying the proper emotion, but he liked to imagine they were just as shocked. Lia’s skin flashed with runes as she invoked her magic, making Gratin hiss in surprise.

  “You’re…” She started, clearly not certain who he was, before suddenly a buzz came from his pocket. Startled, he nearly dropped the cloth before reaching in to extract the card that Lia had given him when he’d quit Justice for Hire.

  “Ah, it is you,” Lia said, but the others clearly didn’t recognize him.

  “I used to be Ravdia. Here, I’m Bulwark for the moment, though if you want to you can call me Isaac.” His brush with being completely locked into Ravdia had very firmly cemented that he didn’t want to be too much any of his characters, not before he was certain he could get rid of the problems that came along with that much investment.

  “I see,” Lia said, so indifferently that Isaac was glad he hadn’t been hoping for a reaction. “The above isn’t safe for us at the moment—” Stratum rumbled, and Lia waved a hand. “Isn’t safe for three of us. Doctor Mechaniacal has returned from the moon, and set up a tower in Star City.”

  “What!” Sarah butted in before Isaac could say that exact thing, staring at Lia. “Is— did he conquer Star City or…?”

  “He came to some agreement with Star Central,” Lia said. “Apparently—”

  “Bulwark, what’s going on?” The voice came not from the tinny gate speaker, but from the pin on Isaac’s collar.

  “Some refugees from Star City,” Isaac reported, eyeing the quartet. “I happen to know them, too, so I think it’s fine if you let them in so we can hear what news they have. And we’re drawing a crowd, anyway,” he added, as more passing Ikiski slowed to watch the drama taking place around the embassy. They seemed especially interested in Savage, who was bristling with half a dozen different weapons as he swiveled his armored head around.

  “Very well,” James said. “Come on in.” The gate clicked and opened, Gratin taking the lead and Isaac bringing up the rear. The power-armored mercenaries were stationed about, guarding the entrance to the manor proper but fortunately without their weapons deployed. It was a fair enough precaution; four additional mercenary supers were a clear worry if they turned out to be hostile.

  The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense, though for Isaac the worry was more about what had happened back in Star City. It seemed that it was impossible to escape the shadow of Mechaniacal. Greg’s use of the old tinker’s technology was bad enough, but the accounts that had been dredged up by the papers – reprinted from years ago – made it clear the man himself was a menace.

  “Two days ago, Mechaniacal began building a tower over the lab that was revealed in the fight with Blacktime,” Lia began, using the tone she usually reserved for briefings. “Star Central and Mayor Ducatt announced that they will be working to restore Glorybeam and suppress Blacktime, but many people have doubts. Not that it matters; some of us actually can’t be around him.”

  “He’s an extradimensional,” Bubs said in his bubbling tone. “Not the only one in Star City, but he’s by far the worst. Actively painful for me to be within a hundred miles of him.”

  “The political situation for reestablishment lunarians is just not tenable with him around,” Lia said, runes flashing over her skin for a moment. “And Savage—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Savage’s synthesized voice said firmly, the cyber-raptor glaring at Lia.

  “So why come here?” James asked, looking skeptical. “There are other cities in the Five City Alliance, other nations on the surface.”

  “Travel’s restricted right now, with Blacktime and Mechaniacal both active,” Lia said. “But the diplomatic train bypasses all that, and it was already running. This was actually the easiest place to get to, since I have diplomatic credentials.”

  “Ah,” James sighed. “Bureaucracy.”

  Isaac relaxed slightly, since he found that explanation more likely than any one of a thousand coincidences. The route with the least paperwork was often the one people took, and while supers were often exempt from a lot of red tape, that didn’t mean they were exempt from all of it. And under the circumstances, people would probably be a lot jumpier about supers trying to cross borders without permission.

  “That is worrisome news yes,” Gratin said, breaking into the brief silence. “But coming here was perhaps not the best idea now no. Our kings are already very much restless now today, and more people mean they will be very suspicion full. More warriors is harder diplomacy yes.”

  “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about,” James muttered, then looked at Sarah. “Mom’s going to kill me,” he said wryly. “This was supposed to be safer than Star City.”

  “There is no such thing as safe,” Savage’s artificial voice said with harsh enunciation. “Just various degrees of quiet.”

  “Yes, thank you,” James said dryly before he waved a hand to dismiss the topic. “The point is, if you’re here, then we’re going to need you for security and escorts. If you’re part of our force, we need to be able to actually use you as such. Integrate with Captain Graydin’s people, we’ve got a function in two days that is going to be a lot harder now.”

  “Sarah, Bulwark,” he began, turning to Isaac.

  “Actually, I have a thought about how I can contribute if we’re going to be doing anything official,” Isaac said, tapping one of the bolts of cloth that he’d leaned against his chair. “I’ve noticed that nobody here is wearing Ikiski-styled robes, and that’s something I can fix. Got enough here for, well, maybe not everyone. But more than just two or three people.”

  “Huh,” James said. “Well, we did leave without half our support staff. Our fault for wanting to get ahead of events.” He nodded. “I won’t ask how you got it, but it might be worthwhile. Gratin?”

  “Not your suit-wearers,” Gratin decided, pointing at the power-armor using guards. “Clothing tools is inappropriate very yes. For the rest…” He scurried over to poke at the fabric. “I look much best in blue,” he proclaimed.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Isaac said, amused. The truth was, he was glad to be out of super-fight duty and have an excuse to do what he actually liked. Costuming was fun, and even better, it wasn’t something that relied on his powers. He’d never wanted his life to center around his ability to manipulate inertia, and if he’d let it take over that way, he’d still be hauling heavy loads rather than at the center of the Earth, sightseeing in the Deep Kingdoms. “Sarah, you want to help with this? I could use your photographs if nothing else.”

  “Yeah!” Sarah seemed all too eager to discard the potential implications of the Brute Squad’s arrival, though if it didn’t sound like there was any crisis back home to actually worry about. A closer look showed some flickers of smoke, where he had to imagine she was using her illusions to hide any worry in her expression. Not the best habit, but he couldn’t blame her for it, considering her former occupation.

  “All right, let’s go,” he said, not sure how to address the issue. It wasn’t like either of them could do anything about it. “Glad I brought my workstation.” He gave the Brute Squad a final wave before retreating to his second-floor suite with his cloth. Not that he was avoiding them as such, but he didn’t know what he’d even say to them. It wasn’t like he was Ravdia anymore, or even part of their group. Dealing with costuming was easier.

  He took the workbench out into one of the reception spaces, a large living room, unfolding it fully to expose all the tools, while Sarah fiddled with her camera. Rather than trying to develop all the pictures, she rolled the film into a Minnow-brand microfiche projector that she’d retrieved from her luggage, beaming the light through prismatic lenses onto the wall. She’d taken more photos than he’d expected, catching people both riding their dinosaur mounts and just walking around, giving him plenty to work from.

  The trickiest part of the design was making sure it wasn’t going to make someone look stupid. Like back home, there was a meaning to different styles, and nuances that could loudly proclaim that someone was a dimwit, or itching for a fight. Catching sight of the kids making fun of them had actually been incredibly valuable, because it gave him some idea of the styles to avoid. His notebook filled up with sketches, but before he actually started cutting and sewing he ran it past Gratin. Just to make there weren’t some nuances that would cause actual insult. Something which required a lot of tiny corrections, but he was glad enough to learn and be able to create something truly authentic.

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  It wasn’t quite as simple as just making robes, either. He needed to make sure that the clothing worked with people’s weapons and abilities. James needed his robes designed to accommodate a quickdraw holster – or actually, three distinct quickdraw holsters – for the nasty-looking energy pistols that he had. Isaac’s design had several loops for cord and ribbon, including a sash to cinch it closed, just in case he needed it.

  Lia’s had to be opened to keep a lot of skin exposed for the runes; not so much because it wouldn’t work but because activating them could burn through the cloth. Savage needed the most work, given how his cybernetic implants could shift, move, extend, or weaponize themselves. On the other hand, Bubs and Stratum were just weird, as neither of them had a solid body shape. At least Isaac could pin the robe material to Bubs’ bandoliers, but for Stratum he eventually settled on strips tied to smaller bits of rock. The overall effect was more like some kind of bizarre windchime than anything else, but he was pleased with something that worked for a conglomeration of floating rocks.

  For a while he was just a hobbyist working with costumes and happy to be that, though the knowledge that Star City was still in crisis lurked in the background. His success with fixing what had happened to Sarah – even if it hadn’t quite returned to normal – meant that he’d have to face Star Central and Glorybeam eventually. But at least for the moment, he could focus on something far less worrying. He wasn’t a diplomat, so the diplomatic function shouldn’t be too bad.

  ***

  Etakkir, First Claw of Great King Iy, crooned softly to the foci that controlled his abode. The fine crystals, a wonderful amethyst and an only slightly less wonderful lepidolite, hummed back, a mingled melody that swiftly and smoothly relayed his commands to the rest of the crystalline artifice within his dwelling. Sections of wall rendered themselves transparent from the inside, messages from other Claws painted themselves into the air, and the frosty pollucite of his cold-glass chimed as it filled itself with fire-wine from the stock in the basement.

  Additional warriors. How unstable is their position, truly?

  Tenth Claw has implied that one of their number was involved in the removal of the human sovereign.

  Tracked two of their number yesterday. Avoided two-facet traffic, but bartered with a five-facet. Bizarre.

  “Disappointing,” Etakkir muttered, glancing over the chatter from his fellows. He wasn’t sure how much of that he meant to apply to the humans, and how much to other Ikiski. As hard as it was to keep in mind, they should know that humans did things differently, and the general desultory tone of his people severely underestimated what they were capable of. At the same time, the concern was warranted.

  It was impossible to make deals with someone whose strength could not be understood. Ikiski stories were full of those monsters that pretended either weakness or strength, and the terrible fate that befell those who succumbed to either pretense. The outerworlders – or rather, the Five City Alliance, as Etakkir well understood that the Outerworld was no more unified than the Deep Kingdoms – seemed to be fairly strong. Acceptably so, even if their approaches and methods were unusual.

  But then, one of their sovereigns had been laid low. The reporting was confused, even with all the literature Tenth Claw had brought with him. But it sounded like one person had taken the work of an entirely different person and destroyed Glorybeam without even a fight. It was as if Tenth Claw had borrowed Etakkir’s blade and gone on to assassinate Great King Iy. Nonsense; an impossibility.

  The world didn’t work that way, and while Etakkir was willing to grant that humans were different, he wasn’t willing to accept that different. Either there was something hidden that the humans had not seen fit to reveal, or their strength was but a hollow fa?ade. It was hard to shake the feeling that they were monsters, an entire species of false faces. And if that were true, that would cut out every agreement that Great King Iy and his allies had made with the humans.

  He paced in front of his office controls, snagging the glass of chilled wine and pouring a measure into his muzzle. Etakkir still wasn’t sure how the humans managed to drink with such flat faces, with no jaw to cradle the liquid and taste it properly, but they seemed to make it work. Swallowing, he chirped a pentatonic scale at his foci and sections of proustite descended from the ceiling, stringing themselves between the amethyst and lepidolite. The burnished red gems flickered as they connected to their counterparts in other places, and lit with the images of four of the other Claws. The remaining gems remained blank, their owners off performing their own tasks.

  “We will be interlaced with the Claws of Great King Sy,” Etakkir said, after the usual greetings and obeisances. “It is vitally important that we use the convocation to both understand how the human strength works and gain a measure of who they have sent to us. Which means we have to be careful. Those differences mean that – aside from specific targets – even those of two or three facet size should be treated as no facets.” Children, essentially, who only competed among themselves.

  “These two seem to be a mated pair,” he continued, warbling a tune to display the humans that had ventured out beyond the embassy for a single purchase. Odd behavior, but it wasn’t his place to criticize. “So the smaller should not be challenged regardless, but the larger seems equivalent to four facets, even if it is only sized to two.”

  “Why don’t they just grow bigger?” Fifth Claw complained, though without any heat. It was more of a wistful exasperation that the humans seemed so insistent on obscuring who and what they were—apparently without even noticing they were doing it.

  “These two sets of four are apparently dedicated fighting caste,” Etakkir continued, shifting to a heptatonic scale to divide the displays and bring up the information on the distinctly different groups. “I am reliably informed that the one in the second group is not a mount.”

  “I don’t recognize the patterns I see under that armor,” Third Claw said, squinting at the cyber-raptor. “And my family has been breeding that species for over a thousand years. Where did it come from?”

  “If he turns out to be amenable to a six-facet challenge, you have my permission to ask,” Etakkir said dryly, though he doubted that would ever happen. “Their actual facet strengths are unknown. The four in the suits are equivalent to five facets. Or perhaps more, it has been some time since we truly tested them.” He clicked a quick staccato of sharp notes and dismissed the display, bringing up the primary diplomat and staff.

  “The one known as James is, personally, only a three facet at last check but in deference to human structures we have treated him as an extension of his guard. Which has made him a six facet by courtesy, but we must reappraise them now. Perhaps they know this, and that is why they brought additional force. Tenth Claw claims not, however.”

  It was a shame Tenth Claw simply had never been destined to move beyond first facet, but he was an incredible asset all on his own. A reminder of why there was a Tenth Claw, and how a lack of strength was not a lack of value. Many stories taught that lesson as well, but people were more likely to forget that particular aspect.

  “What other reason could there be?” Second Claw asked, not rhetorically. A little more blunt-minded than a Second Claw should be, perhaps, but Etakkir knew Second Claw was even more fanatically loyal to Great King Iy than he was himself, so it was more than forgivable. “The only other thing that would compel them to come this far from their home territory would be fleeing a greater force, and we know there are more warriors in their home than just those four.”

  Etakkir revised his opinion. Second Claw was not being blunt-minded, he had simply skipped a few steps in his line of thought without telling anyone. The reasoning was correct so far as it went, though according to Tenth Claw there was more nuance than that. Nuance Etakkir didn’t understand, but trusted Tenth Claw had the right of it.

  “I believe we should not treat it as an intentional adjustment of their strength projection,” Etakkir told the other Claws. “More like a subsidiary clan sending representatives. Test them as the others, but do not treat them as the same body.” Understanding the strength of groups was always more fraught than dealing with individuals, but nowadays things were more civilized. Wars were limited in scope, and those who just had to spend their lives in violence always had their fill from the ever-present threats of the crystalline entities and their mutated servants.

  “Above all, I want all of this recorded,” he concluded. “This convocation will be vital to understanding our Outerworlder allies. Especially with the latest growth of the Crystal Ones, which our allies should have been removing. It’ll be a risk to hold such a large conclave so far from the Great Kings, but there will be another First Claw.”

  He was looking forward to that. Aside from Great King Iy himself, there was nobody within his own faction who could stand up to him, and he in turn could do little against Great King Iy. Having a fellow First Claw to test would do much to settle his own mind, and testing the outsiders would settle everyone else’s.

  But only if everything went well.

  ***

  Order was devilishly hard to maintain.

  That was the thought that preoccupied Professor Mechaniacal, last survivor of his Earth, as he carefully filed the tooth of a small steel gear. It wasn’t a thought that just applied to the intricate clockwork he was assembling, gear by gear and spring by spring, but to the world as a whole. His presence in Star City was meant to offset the loss of Glorybeam and prevent everything from descending into orgiastic violence, and yet…

  Mechanical sighed as the audio feed from Director Ichabod’s office went silent – due to Ichabod leaving, rather than any failure or discovery – and shook his head. Keeping surveillance on both Star Central and Blacktime’s gang was not overly difficult, thanks to Mechaniacal’s distinct advantages in the realm of artifice. Now that he had a proper base, there were things he could do that were far more subtle than the little moon-rune postage stamp he had used to spy on Director Ichabod before. Wherever there was life, there was motion. Wherever there was motion, gears could turn.

  Unfortunately, what his surveillance told him was that both heroes and villains were making plans against him, reaching out to establish a web of tentative agreements. The world spun on for the moment, but it was only a temporary quietude. In this hush there was the preparation for a storm, for those who dreamed themselves either rulers or protectors to make a bid against the control he could exert.

  His very presence was causing the exact sort of patterns he was trying to avoid. The great clashes, the mustering of powers all aligned to break against each other like waves in a maelstrom, one that could tear apart far more than any individual could on their own. It reminded him, in some ways, of what things had been like before Teraton had broken his artifice and sent him off to the moon.

  Back then, he had been wrestling with all kinds of forces to bend the patterns of the world away from what he saw as impending disaster. He still thought he’d been right in what he saw, and that he’d been right to address it. Certainly many of his various plans had borne their intended fruit, heading off any number of problems, and yet the spiral of events had started to get out of hand. When he’d been removed from the board, some of that had come to a halt in defiance of his calculations. A reminder that he was as much a piece as a player. Everyone was, and that was something to keep in mind.

  Mechaniacal finished polishing the gear teeth and laid it into its proper place, one of many folded into the unprepossessing black cane he used. There was nothing unusual about the gear itself; it was completely mundane, lacking any esoterica in manufacture or material. But it was like a speck of ink in a story; by itself, nothing, meaningless. Only the greater whole rendered it meaningful, and the mechanisms built into the cane were meaningful indeed.

  Much of his machinery was built for a specific purpose—to constrain the parameters of anyone engaging them. They were weak in certain ways and strong in certain ways; encouraging a specific approach and specific tactics. Superhero and villain alike needed to take caution when fighting his creations, but however dangerous his drones and defenses seemed, they were always possible to defeat. They encouraged anyone who would oppose him to engage on Mechaniacal’s terms, rather than deciding it was too much, too dangerous, and simply using maximum force to eradicate everything from afar.

  It was a careful dance. So long as he presented the avenues he would prefer as easier, more straightforward, or less damaging than alternatives, then often people acted in accordance with his plan. Not always, of course—he was hardly infallible, and sometimes people were either more stubborn or held different values than Mechanical thought. But redirecting people’s opposition, whether on a grand scale of ideas or in specific tactics in individual fights, was far easier and less destructive than contesting them directly.

  Sometimes, though, something more direct was required, and that was what the cane was for. Within it were arrays of cogs and springs that most would shudder to even behold, arranged as they were to tap into the most fundamental forces of the universe. One mechanism shifted the target forward in time; seconds or years. An easy way to remove a recalcitrant individual from the field with a minimum of fuss, and it was a self-solving problem. Simply wait; such people were completely unharmed. Another one performed the same function but in an orthogonal direction, shunting someone – or something – sideways into shadow realities, stranding them in time and space.

  Such tangentially displaced people would find it nearly impossible to return, but they could still be retrieved. Time travel was generally like trying to land a canoe in a hurricane; fate and destiny, gods and demons, any number of guardians and esoteric forces made it nigh impossible to be specific, and only the most prepared could manage it at all. But shadow realities were mere echoes of the timeline, lacking anything substantial for the wary traveler to wreck themselves upon, and anything displaced there shone like a beacon.

  The truly lethal option he allowed himself channeled that which he had found in the utter collapse and destruction of his original world, his original timeline. A nothingness beyond even the void between dimensions, as few forces indeed could deny the end of all things. The end of every aspect of creation, a termination in the face of which all power became impotent. It was only the tiniest fraction, a merest whisper of the true thing, captured in a paradox, for even logic could not withstand the destructive forces it embodied.

  He closed the casing of his cane, spinning it in his hand and planting it on the floor of his laboratory. It whirred and clicked reassuringly under his palm, a hum of motion that only the most sensitive would notice. A comfort, in these trying times.

  A soft melody played from the control center of his laboratory, a less irksome version of the alarms most used, and he strolled over to answer it. His fingers played the keys like a piano, a rapid clicking as microminiature dots on spindly armatures arranged themselves into a display. It was the promised information on the super who had so intriguingly altered small bits and pieces of his laboratory. Including constraining the self-destruct to the central shaft, which had changed a simple annihilatory suffusion into a beam of energy of impressive magnitude.

  It was unfortunate that they had lost track of him, but at the same time, Mechaniacal couldn’t trust any of the people involved to handle someone like that properly. If he wasn’t part of either hero or villain forces yet, then it wasn’t likely he could be convinced. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t worth trying, of course. Provided he could be found.

  Mechanical began feeding the information – and the observations and data he had taken from public surveillance and other databases – into the great analytical engine under his feet. By preference, he would find the super, Isaac Hartson, before others did. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the varied talents available to either group, but he did have a few caches of technology scattered about the world.

  And under it.

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