Prey of the Scrap Eaters

Dustman

I watched Dustman through the window to his corner office. He flailed his arms, and I listened to his muffled yelling behind the door. His customer service process was unmistakable.

Kevin Dustman worked as the Senior Insurance Advisor. We both worked at the firm where I sold my labor to earn my daily bread: Patara, Naipul, and Quinn Insurance Brokers. He was known to most people by his last name. Dustman was a loud man who stood six foot five and weighed three hundred pounds and five. This was despite his insistence that he was two hundred and ten. I have never liked Dustman. I have never seen him treat anyone with dignity, who was not paying him in some fashion. The dollar bill was his only friend.

My name is Freeman Harbinger. If you have stumbled on this little record of my endeavors, please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste. Minus the wealth. And minus the taste. By day, I work in the insurance industry. By night, I am a wizard and a psychonaut*. (*A psychonaut is described as a person who explores his or her own psyche, commonly with the aid of psychedelic drugs. In the sense that Harbinger means the word no drugs are involved. Or at least no drugs are necessary. Some drugs may be involved.) And yes, I am serious. We will get to that later, but this tale starts in the offices of PNQ Insurance. And to be precise, this tale starts with Kevin Dustman and Aisha Grewal.

Aisha, our administrative assistant, was on maternity leave. Despite the impressive name, the brokerage employed a skeleton crew at the moment. Ravinder Patara was the only owner still active in the running of PNQ Insurance. He had told the five insurance advisors he employed that there was no money in the budget. He could not hire a replacement assistant while Aisha was on leave.

We four junior advisors had taken this seriously. And we were doing our own filing and answering both our own phone lines. We were also answering the main line that Aisha had answered. Dustman had come to other conclusions. I stared at Aisha’s desk, a pendulous pile of loose paper files swaying as the office door opened and air blew in. As I watched, Dustman walked past and dumped three files onto the top of paper mountain. One file failed to find traction and slid to the ground, spilling its papers from the desk to the front door. Dustman didn’t look back as he continued to his corner office and closed the door behind him.

I stood up and walked over. Bending down, I collected the papers and put them back in the folder. I walked over to the filing cabinets and found the file its home and put it away, shaking my head as I did.

This continued through the day. Dustman would retrieve a file, do something with it, and then dump it on Aisha’s desk. I watched and grimaced every time. Finally around closing time, I’d run out of patience. As Dustman deposited what felt like his thousandth file on the desk, I spoke up.

“You aren’t going to put anything away, are you?”

Dustman didn’t even turn to face me, “The secretary will get to it when she gets back.”

“Her name is Aisha,” I said, “And she’s an administrative assistant. And she’s on maternity leave. She’ll be gone for another seven weeks or so. Are you planning to leave this mess for two months?”

Dustman stopped walking and turned to face me, “The secretary can catch up when she stops wasting time with her diaper wearing free vacation.”

“She’s not on vacation! What is wrong with you?”

“She’s not working and she’s getting paid. Sounds like a vacation to me. And I suffer because she’s slacking off.”

“Do you have an ounce of respect or empathy for anybody?”

“No. Why would I?”

I shook my head as though he’d slapped me, “There’s no point in talking to you, is there? You don’t give a damn about anybody else. And you’re fine piling files up helter skelter on Aisha’s desk. You’re making more work for her when she gets back. You’re making more work for the rest of us if anyone calls whose file you’ve touched. You’re making life worse for everybody because you can’t muster an ounce of empathy for your coworker.”

“She’s not my coworker, she’s my subordinate. She’s the help.”

I stared at him in silence for nearly a full minute. He stood there with an arrogant grin bronzed on his face. Finally I shook my head.

“You are unbelievable. I give up.”

“You see. You’re weak. This is why I’m the Senior Advisor here. Because I can deal with disorder and still get things done. I’m the one who gets things done. You just run away. Now go on and run away so I can handle things.”

I knew at this point, if I kept going that I would do something I would regret. So I did, in fact, just walk away. Unfortunately, the conversation had taken place at my desk. I ended up walking back to the break room and stewing there as I made myself a cup of coffee. I don’t even like coffee.

The Celebration

I was still fuming when I got home. And, after considering my options, I decided that I needed to get away. I needed a break from this world with its insurance policies and assholes who think having empathy is a weakness. And so I sat myself down in my study and closed my eyes. As the Sleeper* (*The Sleeper is an eldritch entity, part of the so-called Living Four.) had taught me, I concentrated my consciousness into a point at the base of my skull. Using that point in my mind as an anchor, I reached out psychically into the darkness of my subconscious. I fished around into the darkness until my line hooked on something. I tested the connection to be sure the link was solid. Satisfied that the psychic link would hold, I sent my conscious mind deep into the Shadowlands* (*Harbinger is dramatically over simplifying here, presumably for narrative efficiency.).

The Shadowlands is the world of our minds and our stories. And if I’m being honest, we live in the Shadowlands all the time. The human mind filters reality for us, and so every waking moment we walk through the Shadowlands. But most of us splash about in the shallows. I was aiming for the depths of the Shadowlands. Psychonauts divide the depths into different realms. I aimed for the Realm of the Mirrored City* (*Also called the City of Glass), and homed in a Waypoint Shrine* (*Waypoint Shrines mark the Ley Lines that trace the stories which make up the structure and landscape of the Shadowlands. They also serve as anchors by which psychonauts, wizards, and witches travel to and across the Shadowlands.) on the frontier, outside the city itself. The Mirrored City covered most of this realm, spreading like industrial cancer outward. The village I was visiting was one of the Strongiron Villages. The villages were not named, at least not in any way that the Forgefire Tribe* (*The Forgefire Tribe is one of the surviving Freepath Tribes, one of the so-called Last Tribes, hold outs against the expansion of the Hungry Empire.) told to outsiders. The villages were only semi-permanent. Only the central settlement was permanent. And they had named it Strongiron Village. This arrangement confused outsiders no end, which the Forgefire tribe enjoyed.

In the ordinary world it was mid January. In the Shadowlands it was the New Winter Moon* (*In the calendar of the Crescent Sun, a luni-solar calendar used throughout the depths of the Shadowlands by the Freepath Tribes). And there was a holiday I planned to attend: the Celebration of the Hound.

The celebration was in full swing when I arrived. Tall cylindrical piñatas* (*The word piñata is not used in the original text, but seemed the best way to translate the description.) hung everywhere like paper lanterns. Children swung sticks with reckless abandon at the piñatas. The piñatas spilled either wooden toys or paper wrapped sweets when struck. The toys were either wooden soldiers of the Hungry Empire, or pale monsters with wild hair. The sweets were sugared fruits wrapped in waxed paper. Young men dressed in oversized wolf heads and fur pelts with long tails. And so costumed, they chased children through the streets. Young children fled before the costumed men. Older children stood their ground and faced down the make believe monsters.

I watched as one girl who looked about eight years old. She stepped between one man in a wolf suit and a little boy of about four. She hopped in front of the man and planted her feet and held one palm out flat to stop him. The girl intervened so suddenly that the man in the wolf suit slipped as he stopped and landed on his tailbone. I watched him gasp in pain and try to hide his agony as the children laughed and cheered.

Groups of adults were drinking an unaged corn liquor called hound’s blood. And thus fortified, the men howled at the sky. They did this ahead of the actual midnight howling to welcome the first full moon of the year. Here and there sober adults were telling the tale of the Flight from Glass Tower* (*Flight from Glass Tower is a central myth of the Freepath Tribes). And those children not running from the costumed men sat and listened.

As I relaxed, I noticed an old man watching me. He dressed like a beggar from the Mirrored City, with an oily beard and colorful rags. And he sat on the earth glaring at me from across the street. Now, the Shadowlands exist in your mind, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you. People can and do die when they engage in incursions like this into the depths as I was doing. I sized up the man with his beard and his rags. I struggled to determine if he was a harmless crazy person or if I should be already running for my life. Without my mentor to shield me, I was actually quite vulnerable. I know this village well, and generally felt safe. But no part of the depths is completely free from risk.

The man stared back, unblinking in a way that seemed very abnormal. I was about to move on, when the beggar burst to his feet and began to dance towards me. That was enough for me. I turned and slipped between two mud brick homes and kicked up to a run. Behind me, I heard a coughing wheezing laugh, and looked back to see the beggar chasing me.

I ran. Now when I say that I am a wizard, I mean to say that my mentor had told me that I have the potential to become such. And when I say that I am a psychonaut, I mean that I sent myself into the depths of the Shadowlands unaided, by accident* (*Other accounts, found in the Ars Holistica, dispute this interpretation of events.). The entity known as the Sleeper had found me and felt I was worth saving. They extracted me from the pickle I had ended up in, and decided to teach me. But such teaching had only begun. I knew how to enter the Shadowlands. I had attuned to the three Waypoint Shrines located in safer areas of the Greater Realms. I was an amateur.

And so, faced with an unknown threat and having no way to defend myself, I ran. I darted between buildings and turned left and right as I ran. But no matter how fast I ran, no matter how many times I changed direction, I continued to hear the wheezing laugh of the beggar behind me.

Then my memory of the village betrayed me. And I found myself down a narrow alley, facing a nine foot high wall of pruned thorn bushes. Turned back and saw the skeletal beggar blocking my path. I’m skilled as an unarmed combatant, having studied a variety of unarmed martial arts. But this is the Shadowlands. And there was a very real possibility that this beggar might be able to do more. They might draw upon powers and abilities to which I would have no defense. I took a fighting stance and braced myself for some supernatural attack I couldn’t counter.

“You run far too easily, apprentice,” The man said.

I looked the man in the eye, and saw something I recognized. I have no way of explaining how I knew. But I recognized my mentor in the man before me: the ancient entity known as the Sleeper*. (*Elders such as the Sleeper are a blend of physical form and abstract idea. They are only partly real in the way you would use the term. And as such they frequently craft or borrow short term physical forms for interactions with other beings. As such, Elders cannot truly be destroyed permanently short of forgetting them and ceasing to tell their stories.)

“Of course it’s you,” I said, “Was this form for my benefit?”

“I prefer receptacles associated with the touch of the otherworldly. Priests and prophets, madmen and martyrs, that sort of thing.”

“You could have used an itinerant flame speaker* (*A mystic who acts as a sacred intermediary between the Free Tribes and the eldritch beings known as the Others. The Sleeper is an Elder, one of the subcategories of the Others.) or similar. Why did you choose this stinking pile of sinew and grease?”

“You say that as though the categories are mutually exclusive.”

I shook my head and the Sleeper continued speaking through the beggar.

“One of my younger agents has found himself in a spot of trouble. A wizard and psychonaut named Bobby, Brewmaster Bobby Indra to be precise. He has found himself captured by agents of the Locust King. And I am sending you to liberate him.”

“Sending me where? I’m here to relax.”

“To the Ring. The Men of Black and White have their War Camp at the entrance to Void House there.”

“To the Ring,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“The Ring is the gateway to all the major realms,” I objected, “Nasty things from everywhere end up there. And plenty of nasty stuff actually lives there. And you want me to go there, not just go there, but go right to an Imperial War Camp. Into the lion’s den. Is that what you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

I assessed my situation. The Sleeper was my mentor. They were the only reason that I was able to do what I was now doing. And I had known when I accepted their mentorship that they would be giving me tasks. This was a two way relationship. I knew this from the outset. But the Ring is dangerous. A doorway to anywhere, the Ring is the hub upon which the rest of the Shadowlands turns. And dangerous and powerful things pass through it on a regular basis. And the Sleeper was sending me to a war camp, an outpost of the Hungry Empire. I said earlier that I am a wizard and a psychonaut. Psychonauts are a nuisance that the Hungry Empire would like to swat. Wizards are an enemy the Hungry Empire would like to exterminate. To say that the people like myself and the empire are at odds is an understatement.

“You are hesitating apprentice.” The Sleeper spoke, cutting through my thoughts.

“I don’t think I’m ready to actually infiltrate a war camp. You’re talking about the Men of Black and White. The Knights of Unity and Purity. I’m not ready. I’m not equipped. I’ll end up purified if I do something this crazy.”

“Are you more frightened of them, or your mentor?”

There wasn’t much I could say to that. It was an ultimatum.

“What if I can’t do it though?“

“If you cannot do this, then I see little use in retaining you as an apprentice. A psychonaut unwilling to perform incursions* (*An incursion is the term used to describe a psychic journey into the Depths of the Shadowlands) for reasons beyond tourism is useless to me. So choose. Would you rather have a comfortable hell, or a dangerous paradise?

I grimaced, “Well then obviously I’m doing it. But do I have to go empty handed? Can’t I get back up? Or tools? Could you provide an artifact or a reliquary?* (*Artifacts and Reliquaries are mystic items used by psychonauts, wizards, and witches to bolster their own abilities)”

“Such things would be unnecessary for such a straight forward task.”

“Straight forward for you. Straight forward for an experience Wizard or Psychonaut. I’m a rookie. I’m worse than a rookie, I’m a fresh draft pick! I haven’t even been through spring training.”

“You have so many excuses. Be glad that you show such promise despite your attitude.

The Sleeper paused and sniffed the air like a badger emerging from its den after a long winter. I looked around, unsure what they were noticing. The Sleeper continued to ignore me for a few minutes and then continued speaking.

“They do know that I am riding this body. They have been watching me. And now their stench is in the air. They are likely watching us both right now. They now know your disloyalty to the Empire.”

“I’m not part of the Empire!”

“As far as the Hungry Empire judges things, everything is part of the Empire. Eventually. All resistance is treason.”

“So I get nothing? I’m here with nothing and I get nothing from you.”

“You get my blessing and my faith in your potential, apprentice.” The Sleeper cocked its head. I actually saw an ear twitch.

“what?” I asked.

“And there it is now. As I said,” the Sleeper pointed to a rooftop in the distance. I looked and saw a figure in a military style Hussar jacket. He watched through a Victorian era telescope.

I froze, as I put together who and what was watching us.

The Sleeper continued, “By delaying and attempting to avoid the task, you have made things worse. The Black and White of the Mirrored City have marked you.”

I watched as the man closed the telescope, now aware we had spotted him and ducked down and out of view.

The Sleeper continued, “The Knights of Purity and Unity will likely recognize you here in the future. You can no longer use this town for gentle tourism.

“So now I do have no choice.

The Sleeper raised a hand in a way suggesting they had watched somebody else do it once, “The False King always offers a choice: feast with me and starve tomorrow or fight against me and die today.* (*This is a common phrase among the Free Tribes of the Shadowlands)”

“And what choice are you offering me?”

“You have made your choice, now prepare yourself.”

The ground shifted under me, and I felt my consciousness unlink from the realm. The world swam like mixing paint before my eyes. I felt my stomach lurch and put a hand to my mouth. I lost my balance and fell to my knees, landing on nothing floating in a kaleidoscope void. I held my lunch for as long as I could, and then became sick in the emptiness. When I thought I couldn’t handle things any more, the ground re-solidified under me. And the world hardened into recognizable shapes.

“Welcome to the Ring, apprentice.”

I looked up into the darkness of deep space. A long segmented shape the size of a locomotive swooped overhead and blocked out the stars as I looked. I flinched as the huge beast carved a path across the sky above us. The Sleeper, now wearing the form of a short black woman in a tweed dinner jacket, looked up to follow my gaze.

“A Cold Star Worm* (*Cold Star Worms are said to be omens of ill fortune.), they pose no threat to you.” The Sleeper paused, “How familiar are you with the Rign and the Hungry Empire at this point?”

I thought and then admitted, “Not very familiar. We’ve chatted about both. I’ve been through the Ring twice, not counting this incursion. My first accidental incursion, and my initiation with you. But we haven’t talked about it much. I know it’s the gate to the Greater Realms. I know that several of the Elders have homes here. I know that the Knights of Purity and the Knights of Unity set up frequent outposts here. But it’s all pretty surface level.”

“You are correct. The Ring is the gate to the other realms. The Realms of the Shadowlands do not organize themselves as spaces in your physical reality do. The Ring is both the top of the depths, a floating city above sunken Atlantis, and also the center of the wheel around which the other realms turn. You must become comfortable in the Ring. The Ring is dangerous, as you said. But as a psychonaut, the Ring is your office and your workplace. Some Elders, my kin, do indeed have homes here, as much as any of the Others can have homes at all. But they are rarely here in person. In general, the Ring is home to vermin that escapes from other realms, or which has no place elsewhere to hide. The denizens of the Ring are not dangerous individually, but only in large numbers.”

“Or to somebody with no means of defense, like me,” I interjected.

“You are far from helpless. Your problem is initiative and commitment, not a lack of skill. Now, how familiar are you with the Hungry Empire and their toy soldiers? For as you said, their Knights set up frequent outposts here, and I am sending you into one.”

“The Hungry Empire is the bad guy, not to be too flippant. The Locust King rules the Hungry Empire. He is the big bad. He has a bunch of lieutenants, about whom I don’t know much. His main troops are the Men of Black and White. The Empire divides the Black and White into the Knights of Purity and the Knights of Unity. The Knights of Purity are the extermination squads. The Knights of Unity are crusader missionaries. What else? The Men of Black and White can look like any authority figure, usually a mishmash of several at once. They fight with a sword and a gun, sometimes with a rifle and bayonet. They almost always have Men in Black style sunglasses and an earpiece, even when it wouldn’t make sense. What else? Regular folks in the empire are regular folks, they aren’t some evil race top to bottom. There’s more, but I can’t think of it at the moment.”

“That is an acceptable start. Yes, the Men of Black and White will look anachronistic. This is the Shadowlands. Dreams do not stay discreetly sorted. Things bleed together. Remember that any Men of Black and White here will likely not know who you are. This is your advantage here. But once they identify you as either a psychonaut or as a wizard, they will seek to capture you. They will seek to eliminate you if they cannot capture you. I do not know if the outpost here is staffed by Knights of Purity or Knights of Unity. If you encounter Knights of Purity, they will seek to eliminate first and investigate second. If you encounter Knights of Unity, they will seek to convert you to the cause or burn you as a heretic.”

“So I guess mediation is out of the question?” I asked.

The Sleeper raised an eyebrow, “Try it and see. You should head out. I believe Bobby Indra to still be alive, but that could change in an instant.”

“What do I need to know about him?” I asked.

“That he needs a rescue, and that I am tasking you with that rescue. Nothing more.”

“Seriously. Does he have any abilities that could help? Does he know any critical information they Black and White might be trying to extract? Is he carrying important artifacts or reliquaries that need to be protected, or which might help us?”

“You are stalling again, apprentice.”

“I’m not stalling. I’m preparing. I don’t want to die while doing this.”

In the distance, a gun shot rang out and echoed across the stone columns.

“Damn it,” I muttered to myself.

The Sleeper turned and looked towards the sound, “You have delayed far longer than is reasonable. Now it may be too late. Go, and see if you have defeated yourself in your fear.”

The Threshold

The Ring was a repository of scrap from all the other realms. And so, even more than the other realms, the Ring looked truly bizarre. The realm looked like somebody poured cyberpunk ephemera onto gothic architecture built. The builder had placed the whole monstrosity upon windswept roman ruins. And then the whole thing had then torn loose from the world and cast into deep space. Gargantuan flying centipedes swarmed overhead. Sounds echo through the Ring. I could hear things chewing and things fighting and howling and running. I could hear stones clattering and swords clashing, and wires sparking. The winds were alive with distant sounds, preludes of coming attractions.

At the center of the Ring was the great Lotus Maze. The Sleeper had told me the maze mapped to the Realm known as the Greenlands* (*Or sometimes Arcadia). They had warned me how easy it was to get lost in the Lotus Maze, and so I ventured around it. I followed the sounds of human voices and metal striking metal. After some time I saw the tell tale signs of the Hungry Empire. The camp sat outside the cathedral building known as the Void House. Temporary structures rose in the distance ahead of me. Roman style palisades surrounded Modern style military tents and other anachronistic flourishes. I slowed my approach as I closed upon the camp.

The bad news became plain, as I picked out the Men of Black and White walking through their camp. They wore military dress from a dozen historical eras. Most wore sunglasses. And most of them carried pistols and swords, though some carried rifles with bayonets. They looked bizarre, but threatening. There was no mistaking the danger any one of them posed to unarmed me.

The good news turned out to be that they weren’t expecting attacks, or they lacked the raw numbers to man the perimeter. I counted only two Black and White guarding the outer walls, and a total of maybe a dozen in the camp as a whole. I was starting to think I had a chance* (*Harbinger is almost certainly omitting details here. The idea that he just slipped into a Black and White war camp unopposed is ridiculous.) .

I was, as I have mentioned, very inexperienced as both a psychonaut and a wizard. But I was good at being sneaky. And the Black and White were more concerned at the sounds that echoed off in the distance. In fact, I startled myself with how easy it was to slip past the palisade. I spotted the comical makeshift prison. They’d built it from rusted cattle guards and barbed wire. A single man lay on a military style cot in the prison inside. He lay cuffed to the cot frame. The prisoner was a heavy set fellow with a luxurious black beard and long black hair tied back in a braid.

“Brewmaster Bobby Indra I presume, “ I whispered to myself as I assessed the challenges.

I noticed only one Black and White guarding the prison. But even one was too many for me to fight. So the question was how to get past said guard. As I sat mulling things over, I heard footsteps and scrambled into a steel barrel lying on its side. Another Black and White walked past my hiding spot, and I waited as the new arrival spoke with the guard. I listened. They mentioned feral Stillborn in the area. I recalled this was how the Hungry Empire referred to the monsters known as Hand Eaters. Hand Eaters are cannibal creatures that were once human. They also mentioned the local water bear infestation. In the Shallows water bears are another name for microscopic creatures called tardigrades. And the same is true in the Depths. But in the depths, the water bears are carnivorous and grow to the size of small dogs. They hunt in packs and can be quite dangerous to lone travelers.

“Well, if I do rescue this guy, then at least there will be two of us,” I whispered to myself as I listened to the guards discuss the water bears.

Eventually the old guard said goodbye and left. I guessed that the new arrival was his replacement on guard duty.

Lacking other options, I decided to try the classic throw rock distraction. I picked up a stone which fit in my palm and leaned out of the barrel to take aim. I noticed a pile of stray metal bits left over from building the prison.

“That will do,” I tossed the rock into the middle of it. The stones clattered and rattled in satisfying fashion down from the top of the pile down to the bottom. The guard looked in the direction of the sound, and drew his long sword.

“Identify yourself in the name of the King!”

When nothing responded, the guard shuffled to the pile. And after moment, he began searching through it.

“I can’t believe that worked!” I muttered as I slipped to the prison.

As I approached, I noticed that the man had bandages around his left shoulder. He lay with his eyes closed and didn’t respond to my approach.

“Bobby Indra? My name is Freeman Harbinger. The Sleeper sent me to free you.” I whispered.

Bobby opened his eyes and peered at me, “Just you?” He asked.

I grimaced, “Yes indeed. Just me, despite my request for crew and gear. So let’s get you out of here. Where’s the key to your cuffs?”

Bobby shook his head, “No idea, probably the camp commander. And good luck getting the keys off him.”

“Yeah, I’m not trying that. I have minimal combat skill and even less magical skill.”

“And the Sleeper sent you?” Bobby asked.

“This is training. My apologies for that.”

“Wonderful. Well what do we have to work with here?”

I looked around and spotted a spare cavalry saber, bits of scrap metal, a pile of rusted nails, and a heavy ball peen hammer. I pointed them out to Bobby Indra, “Think I could use the hammer to break the cuffs?” I asked.

“Maybe, but could you do it without crushing my hand?”

“Probably not,” I admitted, “The saber isn’t going to cut through the cuffs either. Maybe use it as a pry bar to force the cuffs open?”

“There isn’t much room, I don’t think it will fit in beside my wrist.”

As we spoke, I heard footsteps, “The guard is coming back!” I said.

Bobby paused and screwed up his face in concern for a moment, and then said, “Cut it off.”

“You think I can cut the cuffs?” I asked.

“No. Cut off my hand! It’s only my avatar* (*Psychonauts do not send their bodies into the Shadowlands. Rather, they send a mental image of the body, called an Avatar, which acts much like a character in a video game. The avatar is protected by the psychonaut’s force of will, referred to as their aura.) it’s not my real hand.”

“It will still feel real,” I objected, “It will still bleed like real. And if you die here, your consciousness could get stuck here. I wouldn’t want to haunt the Ring as an echonaut* (*An echonaut is functionally the ghost of a psychonaut, the mind of a psychonaut who can’t escape an incursion following the destruction of their avatar.). Would you?”

“I’m a wizard,” Bobby answered, “I have enough control over both my aura and my avatar that I should be able to stop the bleeding and seal the stump by force of will. Just do it!”

“It’s your hand,” I admitted and snatched up the saber. I opened the makeshift gate into the prison. I heard footsteps approaching. “Okay, present your wrist.”

Bobby pushed his hand forward to make targeting his wrist easier. I raised the saber and brought it down and an awkward arcing cut. The blade bit into the flesh and sheared left against the bone. But the hand did indeed part from the wrist and Bobby gasped in pain and gritted his teeth. The hand twitched in the dirt and I waited as Bobby closed his eyes and focused. I could hear the approaching footsteps, but there was nothing I could do but wait. After what seemed like far too long, the bleeding stopped. I watched as the wound healed over into a scarred stump I would have sworn was from a wound years prior.

“Okay,” I said, “That was brilliant, but let’s go before the Black and White does that to the rest of us!”

We ran.

We didn’t look back. We ran, crouching low and not stopping until we were past the palisade.

“Do you think we got away clean?” I asked.

“We left my hand behind,” Bobby pointed out, “So I doubt it.”

I felt my shoulders slump as the alarm sounded, “And now we run like scared rabbits.”

And so we ran. The thing with the Ring, at least the Inner Ring, was that everything assembled around a massive labyrinth known as the Lotus Maze. Now, I hadn’t spent any time in the Lotus Maze, and didn’t know my way around the maze. But given the option of staying near the Void House, where the Hungry Empire had set up their base, and entering the Lotus Maze, I aimed us for the Lotus Maze. As we charged across the Compass Bridge leading into the Lotus Maze, Bobby began to panic.

“Why are we going into the Maze?” He asked.

I pointed back at the Black and White who had slowed to a cautious walk at the start of the Maze.

“That’s why.”

“And why do you think they’re doing that?” Bobby asked.

“I’ll worry about that later,” I answered before yelling to the Black and White, “I guess I’ll see you guys in the sequel.”

We left the bridge behind us, and I led Bobby Indra through a series of random turns.

“I think we lost them,” I said as we paused to catch our breath.

“I’m pretty sure we lost ourselves,” Bobby answered.

I pointed at the massive series of floating stone rings. The ring formed a column rising into the abyss in the distance, “That’s the threshold. Obviously. So we just wander our way back. We keep pointing towards the Threshold and we’ll get there eventually.”

“The Lotus Maze isn’t empty you know.” Bobby said.

“It isn’t?” I asked, a little worried at his town.

“It’s hunting season,” Bobby said, “The Lotus Maze is currently infested with water bears. They have finished their breeding and have started hunting as new adults. And the scrap eaters are hunting the water bears, because they are finally big enough to make a proper meal.”

I considered this, “So, we have two predatory groups looking for food in the maze where we are currently lost?”

“Yup.” Bobby grimaced.

I snorted, “Why would the Sleeper make me do this? Clearly because I am oh so very good at it. Oh yes I am.”

“You are?” Bobby asked.

“At being sarcastic, I am.”

“Ah.”

“Alright,” I said, “What do we have to deal with then? I know the Scrap Eaters a little bit. Cannibal monsters, look human, used to be human, eat anything they can catch. What are the Water Bears like? Do we need to be worried?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Bobby said, pointed at a naked six legged creature coming around a corner. Thing has a scorpion like tail and a crocodile mouth on the front end and a second mouth upon the end of the tail.

“Them? That’s only one.” I said.

And then several more rounded the corner behind the first.

“And I guess we’re running again.” as I spoke, another dozen scrambled into view.

We fled, running frantically through the maze in whatever direction appeared most convenient at the time. The Water Bears were not fast, not with their short little legs. But they did manage to keep up with us as we wound through the maze.

And then we rounded a corner and I bumped into somebody. As I bounced off the figure, I noticed dusty chalky skin and a skeletal emaciated form.

“Scrap Eaters?” I asked Bobby as I picked myself up.

“Scrap Eaters.” Bobby confirmed.

“Run?” I asked.

“Run,” He answered.

We ran. Now slightly more desperate as we hurtled through stone corridors. We ran, tripping over cobblestones and stubbing toes upon granite outcroppings. Until we rounded a corner and found ourselves face to face with a second different group of water bears.

We stared for a moment before I spoke, “I might as well start playing yakety sax.”

Bobby Indra smiled, “That’s my theme song!”

And so it went. We ran back and forth, one way and then another. We ran from Water Bears and stumbled into the Scrap Eaters. We ran from the Scrap Eaters straight back to the Water Bears. It would have been hilarious if I’d been watching actors do it on a sitcom. It was less funny when failure meant becoming a part of something’s bowel movements. Of the two, the Scrap Eaters were the more persistent and more threatening of the two groups. Still, after much running and fleeing, we managed to lose both groups of pursuers and paused for a much needed break.

“What’s their deal? The Scrap Eaters, I mean.” I asked Bobby Indra as we paused to catch our breath.

“They’re Scrap Eaters,” He said, as though that explained everything. When he noticed I still look confused, he continued, “The weakest of the Hand Eaters. As in: bite the hand that feeds you.”

“I know their name. That doesn’t explain things.”

“Has your mentor told you about the False King’s choice?”

“Fight and die or feast and starve, yeah.”

“Right, the Hand Eaters are what happens when you choose to feast and can’t find a spot at the table.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Locust King and the Hungry Empire promise a feast, but they can’t deliver it for everyone. Only a minority make it to the table. The rest scrabble for scraps. And the unlucky ones get so little and become so desperate that their hunger transforms them into Hand Eaters. The Scrap Eaters are the first stage of the transformation, they’re still human-ish. Or at least they remember being human. They remember enough that the Hungry Empire occasionally manages to train them. The ones they train, they turn into cannon fodder shock troops. They’re not powerful, but they’re more than enough to tear us to pieces.”

“Question,” I said, raising a hand, “Why does everyone alternate between Locust King and False King?”

“The Locust King is the title he chose for himself. And it’s accurate enough that we use it. But he’s a False King, because all kings are false* (*The Free Tribes have a saying: all kings are false and all gods are tyrants.). The Hungry Empire hates when people call him that, so we do it whenever we think of it.”

I heard the snarls of the Scrap Eaters in the distance, “Break time is over.”

And so we continued our desperate plunge headlong into the heart of the Lotus Maze.

“We should be watching the Threshold in the distance,” I gasped between ragged intakes of air.

“I’m doing my best to keep us from avoiding the dead ends.” Bobby answered ahead of me.

“How well do you know the Maze?” I asked.

“The walls move, but there’s a logic to it,” He answered, “You get a feel for it the longer you spend in it. But we’re not doing this right. And it’s all I can do to keep us from ending up cornered in a dead end.”

As Bobby spoke, we turned a corner and burst into a clearing. In the center sat a startlingly futuristic little building.

“This is the control room!” Bobby cried, “The door locks behind us! Get in!”

“The control room of what?” I asked as I followed him inside.

“Nobody knows. It’s as though the control room is a vestige of some lost civilization*.” (*Strangely, the control room normally hosts a holographic AI guide that assists visitors in their actions. Harbinger doesn’t mention the Guide here, but it is unlikely that the Guide did not appear if they did indeed take refuge in the Control Room.) Bobby pressed keys on a control panel next to the door as I passed through the doorway. The door slid shut behind me as the Scrap Eaters snarled into the clearing where the control room sat.

“It’s like we’re in the wild west, trapped in a barn during a stampede,” I muttered.

“I’m pretty sure that only ever happens in movies.” Bobby answered.

“Then lucky us,” I said, “We’re going to die in show business.”

We paused a moment in uncomfortable silence. Bobby seemed to shiver in indecision, and after a moment of deep visible anxiety, he spoke.

“We need to get out of the computer room. We need an escape.!” Bobby said.

I shook my head, “There is nowhere outside that is safe. Where will we go?”

“We can’t stay here!” Bobby said.

“Well we can’t keep running!” I responded, “We’ve run out of places to run!”

“We can always keep running! That’s how I’m still alive. There’s no problem you can’t run away from!”

“Then why did I find you handcuffed in a Black and White war camp?”

Bobby looked at me and then turned away without a word. He walked to the control panel and began working the computer interface.

“I’m sure that won’t make things worse,” I said to his back and he continued working.

“At least I’m doing something,” He said without turning around.

As Bobby spoke, a holographic dolphin appeared on the monitor. It flickered into being in front of a Scrap Eater- who began clawing ineffectually at the image.

“Hah!” Bobby proclaimed, “I found a distraction. I’ll use this to lead them away!”

Bobby began fiddling with the controls. I watched the monitor as the Dolphin darted down a corridor. The Scrap Eaters watched it go, but did not follow.

“It’s not working,” I noted.

“Give it time. They’ll follow it.” Bobby answered.

We waited. The Scrap Eaters did not follow it, instead continuing to claw at the door and walls.

I cleared my throat.

“I’ll bring it back and try again,” Bobby said.

He fiddled with the controls again, and after a few minutes the dolphin swam through the air back into view. Behind the dolphin however, scrambled a mass of some twenty Water Bears.

I watched the arrival of the Water Bears and sighed in resignation, “Of course.”

The Scrap Eaters snarled at the new arrivals, and the Water Bears roared in response. I looked at Bobby, who cringed and smiled nervously. Outside our hidey hole things turned into a melee as the two groups began to fight.

The Jellyfish and the Dolphin

“Now will you listen?” I asked, as Bobby continued to panic.

Bobby did not respond. Instead he continued to scramble his fingers across the control panel. He seemed to be pressing buttons at random, and I intervened to try and stop him. As we struggled with the controls, a swarm of holographic jellyfish materialized on the battlefield.

“We did something!” Bobby exclaimed.

“What do those do?” I asked. And as I watched, one of the jellyfish extended a tendril to electrocute a nearby Scrap Eater. The Scrap Eater snarled and swung a claw at the Jellyfish. Unlike the dolphin, the jellyfish appeared to be somewhat solid. The claw met some resistance at the claw passed through it. The jellyfish glitched in response to the attack. In response the jellyfish shocked the attacking Scrap Eater once more.

“The jellyfish only make the melee more intense.” I noted, as the battle intensified on screen. I listened to the the sounds of creaking metal, “The exterior of the control room is starting to take damage.

“There goes a jellyfish!” Bobby said in surprise as a jellyfish glitched out of existence.

I looked at the control panel. A display indicated the Jellyfish had a power bar or a shield rating or similar. And as I watched, that rating was depleting. The Jellyfish were being destroyed. And their destruction drained the power reserves of the control room.

“We may need the Jellyfish for later,” I said, thinking out loud. “The jellyfish aren’t stopping either group. We should shut them down.”

“No!” Bobby barked, “They’re all we have!”

I reached to shut down the jellyfish program, but Bobby stopped my hand and I hit another button instead.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” I responded.

On the monitor, all the combatants turned to look at the door. I froze.

“Did we activate the loudspeaker?” I asked.

“I think we did,” Bobby answered. We scrambled to shut off the loudspeaker. But the argument had already caused both groups to refocus on the control room. They had discarded their differences and returned to attempting to break in and reach us.

“Well, we bollocksed that up.” Bobby noted.

As we stared at each other, I heard the creaking of metal fatigue and realized that the door was beginning to fail.

“That’s it,” Bobby announced, “We’re going to die if we stay in here. I’m looking for a Jefferies Tube* (*Jefferies Tube is the name of access tubes in Star Trek. The use of the term here is clearly anachronistic.) out of here.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s only a thing in Star Trek.”

“This is the Shadowlands, which means it’s a world built out of our stories. And it’s the Ring, and no part of the Shadowlands absorbs as much of our Science Fiction as the Ring does. There will be a Jefferies Tube.”

“Knock yourself out.” I said.

As Bobby scurried around at my feet, pulling at cords and switches, I sat and considered options. The Scrap Eaters were clawing at the door, and light was now visible as a hairline on the seam of the door frame. I shook my head.

“Well, at least I don’t have to deal with Dustman if my consciousness gets eaten by a Scrap Eater. They can’t make a brain dead body put away his paperwork.

I stopped. Something was there, a thought was forming. But I couldn’t quite extract the thought. Then a less hopeful thought hit me. The Men of Black and White were likely still looking for us as well. Even if we dealt with the Scrap Eaters and the Water Bears, there were still Knights in the service of the Hungry Empire to deal with after that. I shook my head.

“We were better off with the Black and White, I mean to them we’re just a job. To these guys we’re a meal. Wait, that’s it! To the Men of Black and White we are paperwork, an obligation. And they still have to get their work done!”

I looked at Bobby, and confirmed that he was distracted in his search for an escape route. I made a decision and deactivated the jellyfish defense system. I waited a moment, and then reactivated the dolphin system and sent it out into the maze itself.

I looked back at Bobby, who had noticed I was doing something.

“Wait! Wait. Wait. What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to call in the cavalry.” I answered.

Bobby showed a worried smile, “The Sleeper?”

“The Men of Black and White.”

Bobby’s smile vanished.

The melee outside continued. I listened to the screams of Scrap Eaters and the snarls and roars of water bears. I watched as a sliver of light began to open between the frame and the metal door that separated us from the chaos.

The door was beginning to shake with each hit. And I was beginning to worry, when a gun shot rang across the battlefield. I looked to the monitor screens. And as I watched, roughly a dozen men chased a digital dolphin into the arena. They bore nondescript Caucasian faces and anachronistic military attire

“Oh good the cavalry’s here.” I said.

“Let’s hope we survive them saving us,” Bobby said, looking up from his work attempting to find a Jefferies tube in the floor.”

The Black and White made short work of the Scrap Eaters and the Water bears, firearms and sabers are good for that. The knights opened with a volley of gun fire and then engaged with sword and bayonet. And I couldn’t resist adding color commentary.

“They’ve opened with a volley. That’s a sensible strategy for the early stages of the match,” I said imitating a sportscaster to keep myself calm, “Some of their team only has flintlocks and they’ll get the best bang for their buck by firing en masse. Now they appear to be engaging at close range. And let’s be honest, the home team is at a disadvantage here. Claws and fangs are good against unarmed opponents. But sword and bayonet beats claw and fang any day. And it looks like this match is going to be a blow out folks. The Black and White is going to take it in the first quarter and I don’t think the home team can turn this around.”

“Do you have to do that?” Bobby asked.

“We all cope in our own ways.” I answered.

“Well, how do you plan to cope with that?” Bobby said, pointing at the monitors.

The Men of Black and White had dispatched the last of their opponents. They positioned themselves in front of the damaged door, and appeared ready to break it down.

“Like this,” I said. I reached out and flipped a few switches on the control panel.

As the Black and White began forcing the doors, I reactivated the holographic Jellyfish. The Digital aquatic medusas flickered back to life and I smiled as the Black and White panicked in response. The jellyfish outnumbered the Black and White and were thus able to mob them, striking each Black and White with multiple tendrils at once. Bobby began to smile as well and offered a fist bump. The jellyfish had caught the Black and White off guard. And with the advantage of surprise the jellyfish shocked the men into unconsciousness.

We watched in silence, once the last of the Black and White had fallen, Bobby spoke.

“I found the Jefferies Tube.”

“Well look at that. You were right.”

The Jefferies Tube enabled us to sneak past the now unconscious Black and White and escape the Lotus Maze. Well, in fairness it wouldn’t have enabled me to escape the Lotus Maze. But Bobby knew his way around the maze and with him guiding we were able to escape to the Threshold. And as we arrived, I spotted the Sleeper, still waiting for us.

“Well done apprentice. You did appear to get over your fear of taking action eventually. I hope the next lesson will be less painful.”

“This was psychotherapy* (*The original text uses a word that should more literally be translated as mind healing.)?”

“If it were, I would have charged you for it.”

Ashes to Ashes

The Sleeper returned me to the Shallows. And the next day, I returned to the offices of PNQ Insurance. Buoyed by my recent success I decided to apply the same tactic that had served me in the Ring to my predicament here. I approached Aisha’s desk while Dustman was busy on the phone. I grabbed the bottom few files on Aisha’s desk and took them back to my desk.

I sat down and composed a few emails. In the emails, I advised the customers to call Dustman if they have questions. That finished, I noted phone numbers from those files with no email attached. And then I replaced the files at the bottom of the pile Dustman had created. And then I sat back and waited.

Fifteen minutes later I watched as Dustman left his office and went to the filing cabinet. After a few minutes I heard him begin to curse. I looked away and made myself studiously busy with a game of solitaire on my computer.

Dustman ran to my desk, “Where’s the Kimberly file Harbinger?”

I put on my best confused face, “Moira and Cassie? Isn’t it in the cabinet? I haven’t touched that file since October at least, and you know I always return files when I’m done handling them.”

Dustman turned and looked at the pile of loose files on Aisha’s desk. And I watched on his face as he did the math and didn’t like the sum he was getting. He walked away without speaking and I suppressed a grin.

I watched Dustman return to Aisha’ s desk and begin digging through the pile he had left there earlier.

With the emails finished, I dialed the first phone number on my list, “Yes, Mr. Carlyle. I’m calling to let you know that our senior advisor Kevin Dustman will be handling your case. No, he’s on another call at the moment, I’m just letting you know. Yes, I know it’s a bit of a mess right now, but he can deal with disorder and still get things done. Absolutely sir. He’s the one who gets things done.”