there's no telling just now what we have in store

Qlippothic lay in the table for weeks as his father and his gas-fueles urchin toiled day and not upon rows of machinery. She had tried to reason with him, to tell him his theories were not sufficiently tested. That the results could not be controlled. For this he immobilized her. For daring to try to contact outsiders for help, he had disconnected her voice.

Even though she had free will, she had never defied her creators, save when the fate of the Earth itself was at stake. Now, she was beginning to regret her obedience.

"Qli? You awake?"

[[AUDIO: YOUNG MALE NEKO. ACCENT NEW BABBAGE URCHIN HIGH STEELHEAD TRACE- CONSISTENT. TONE OF FAMILIARITY - CONSISTENT. AGE - INCONSISTENT. IDENTITY INCONCLUSIVE.]]

The scruffy urchin's face leaned over, into her field of vision

[[VISUAL: YOUNG MALE SPECIES NEKO. EYES CRIMSON FELINE - CONSISTENT. FACIAL FUR NONE - INCONSISTENT (Developmental?) FACIAL: 80% (ADJUST FOR DEVELOPMENT) WHISKER PATTERN - CONSISTENT. EAR PATTERN BLACK WITH RED TIPS - BLOODTAIL CONFIRMED. TAIL UNSEEN. IDENTITY CONFIRM: 75%?]]

"Can ya hear me Qli? Flash your eyes again or somethin' Hun!."

[[ACCENT TRACE BALTIMORE VIA FATHER ID 80% - PREVIOUS ROOF INTERLOPER CONFIRMED THROUGH ADMISSION TRESSPASSING BEHAVIOR: CONSISTENT ID 85% - ACKNOWLEDGING COMMUNICATIONS.]]

"Great! Listen, I don't know how to fix you, but I know someone who can. We were gonna break in and bust you out later, but since Dad and his walking oven kid are out of town..."

[[WE...?]]

"...we're busting you outta here before he breaks you and blows up the whole city. No, really. You can thank me later."

He drew a knife of dull grey metal from his boot and began cutting the cables linking her to the machinery in a shower of sparks. Qli's eyes began to pulse furiously in Morse Code to chastise him.

"Not listening!"

The boy stood over Qli's table and waved his arms upwards. A black box on a cable lowered with a crash, sounding the alarm systems of the Consulate.

The neko tugged at the sides of the box that fell beside them until it began to unfold by itself into a spider-like machine that leaped onto her table and braced it securely.

[[CLANK CONSTRUCTION: WROUGHT IRON. DESIGN: ANTIQUATED]]

The boy in turn hopped onto the iron construct and held fast to the cable as it spooled upwards, lifting him and Qlippothic.

[[TAIL PATTERN CONSISTENT: ID 95%. CLANK IDENTIFIED: EARLY DESIGN SKYSHIP CLAW - CUSTOM DESIGN]]

From her vantage point, she could see the wooden hull of the airship looming larger as the sky slowly rotated.

[[SHIP ID CONFIRMED: BLOODWING'S REVENGE. LAST KNOWN OWNER: ALEISTER MASON. CHANCE OF MISFORTUNE ON CURRENT MISSION: 100%]]

Reunion

I finally managed to get a lock on the Caravel's homing signal, just as the flames overtook Ash and myself. The heat almost compromised my armor before my galvanic energy field encircled us. We reappeared outside the airlock. Had we materialized in inside the ship, our radiant heat would have sure caused an explosion inside the vessel. As the absolute cold of space dissipated the red heat of our glowing shells, Ash tried to hail Dr. Mason through Marconi transmission.

[Gematria, no response.]

We opened the airlock manually. Dr. Mason was not on board. We did however find his final transmission.

"Five months, Ash? He's been gone for that long? And you made no attempt to recover him?"

"I had strict orders to find you first, Gematria."

I shook my head. "I had to endure the taunts of those selfish creatures mutilating my name for far too long. Since, it seems, my Sister Qli-2 is no more, I will re-assume my given title of Qlippothic Projects."

"As you wish. We may now begin our search for Dr. Mason."

The video link buzzed as a wavering image took shape on the cathode ray monitor. "That will not be necessary, my children!"

I pressed my hand to the screen, staring up at his magnified features. Even through the distortions, facial recognition was stable at 85%. I recognized most of the laboratory equipment, and was surprised by the familiarity of the artwork behind him.

"Father? Can this be? Instrument readings tell me your coordinates are..."

"Yes, Qlippothic. They are correct. Do you honestly think I would let a bumbling world-dictatorship permanently derail my research? I need your assistance here, Qli. Ash, please monitor the energy readings from the Caravel. This shall be our family's finest hour!"

Extraction

Against my will, Ash tore me from the morass of circuitry and fluid-lines of the my charges. To be honest, he nearly tore my arm from its ball joint! My brother had used his exo-suit to drill his way straight down to intersect with the tunnel accessing the chamber where I was held. We could only estimate the size and speed of the nuclear self-destruct sequence, so Ash left his exo-suit behind in our haste. We fired our galvanic engines and shot upwards out of the fissure Ash had created.

The Timekeepers left a crater over where their factory once stood as their sole legacy. The ambient radiation from the fallout of the Timekeepers' first and final war interfered with the homing signal from the Clockwork Caravel. Without a solid lock, tesseracting to orbit was far too dangerous. We raced upwards through the toxic soup that was once an atmosphere. A flash below us signaled critical mass. The shockwave wreathed in nova-heat flames rippled in a hemisphere from the crater, rapidly consuming what air was left, and threatening to overtake us in a matter of seconds.

Flatline

The torso carapace of the intruder hinged upwards, beaming the light towards the domed ceiling. The refraction downwards was more diffused, equivalent to a Caledon summer day. I smiled as I recognized the figure at the controls.

"Hello, Ash." He nodded as he smiled and removed his goggles. True to form, he stuck to formalities while on assignment.

"Identification positive. Commencing extraction." He extended an iron claw, offering a lift into the rather cramped cockpit of the mecha.

"Negative. I cannot abandon these sentients. To do so would constitute genocide..."

"Your agreement with the Timekeepers is null and void. They have already committed genocide."

I gasped. "Against whom?"

"Themselves. Soon after we lost contact with you, the Timekeeper cities shifted operations from research to weapons and countermeasures, and attacked each other. Without their prime directive they assumed the selfish traits of the organics they were once sworn to protect."

As I pondered the hubris of the Timekeepers and prepared a profound monologue on the foolishness of artificial life forms mimicking the faults of their creators, the medical equipment in the room begin to flicker and throw off sparks.

"Ash," I cried. "When you breached the vault you compromised the environmental containment unit! The survivors are dying!"

In their tanks, they flailed their tentacles helplessly as the wailing grew to a deafening shriek, cut short piece by piece with a quick rattle and silence.

"It is their fault for becoming overdependent upon their machines to begin with," Ash said coldly. "Their fate no longer concerns...is that a nuclear chain reaction detonation sequence I hear?"

"Yes, Ash. Did you conclude that I remained here solely out of compassion? That is exactly why their health concerns us!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Interruption

The Timekeepers had sealed me in their underground vault with the survivors of their Builder race. They were a one hundred and forty-four loathsome, sybaritic invertebrates wallowing in brackish pools of absinthe, barely retaining a wisp of sentience. The Timekeepers' intentions became clear to me far too late. I was imprisoned to be a surrogate caretaker for their Builders, leaving the Timekeepers the freedom to create new Directives of their own.

The only light was the deep green aura from the heating units in the vats. It took me days to unravel the morass of copper and rubber tubing that kept the glass vats at exacting temperatures, and supplied the Builders with the proper nutrients. I will spare you, Dear Reader, from a description of the unending howls of these forever demanding, ungrateful beings.

My own Directives, in the meantime, compelled me to assist these pathetic creatures. The very qualities that made me an effective Fire Captain bound me to their vats for two months.

My droll existence was suddenly interrupted when I noticed the spark and telltale hiss of a superheated ether torch outlining the frame of the vault. I kept my distance as the smoke from melting steel rose to the top of the hemispherical chamber. I held my ground with the Builder vats to my back as the vault door fell forwards with a deafening crash. The howling of the Builders grew so load and shrill I feared my ears would burst.

A huge bipedal construct crouched and stepped through the portal, standing to its full height of twelve feet. I winced as a magnesium lantern placed where the construct's head would be scanned the room, then aimed downwards to focus squarely upon me.

Planetfall

Dr. Mason has asked me to investigate an industrialized but apparently abandoned planet. As general practice I avoid wearing animal products. Time travel using the Galvanic Tesseractor is not safe for animal tissue, especially living tissue. Not for the least of which they generally are not sufficiently fireproof for my needs.



I arrive in what seems to be an industrial park. I activate my sensory integration switch to begin recording.

[/caption]
Simple gardening counterpoints the industrial sprawl. The architecture carries geometric themes throughout, modular yet intricate. Designs may be instructions for installation. The factories were built to be aesthetically pleasing. If profit was their overriding factor I would have not moved in closer to investigate. No signs of industrial decay or vandalism. In fact, no signs of human habitation. Not even furniture. Aside form the gardening the only sign of recent activity are the marks of thin rimmed wheels on the roads and in the factories.

The doors to the factory have closed behind me. Sounds of mechanized movement on all sides...

Exile

It has been twelve days since the Dr. Mason, Ash and myself evacuated Mason Labs during the Linden raid. Ash and I have been working diligently to complete the Gygax II from its location in the Deep Ether. Lack of supplies requires improvisation with existing equipment, even sacrificing parts of our own construct forms to maintain the vessel's integrity. Only the Control Room is currently pressurized, and the Father finds it claustrophobic.

Ash and I are...adjusting. This will not be easy for any of us.

We have tesseracted Dr. Mason down to the nearest inhabitable planet, OSGrid, while we continue building. He is searching for and gathering supplies to complete the vessel as per the blueprints. He has found a Victorian outpost, Quirm, where we hope he will acclimate. We are also in negotiations with the authorities of two other worlds, Gatheryn and Blue Mars, for refugee status.

We thought he was adjusting to his new situation, but recent news, on Foundation Day no less, has angered him immensely. He has altered the engine blueprints. I tried to point out that he was excluding critical corrections from the previous vessel, but he insists.

We are highly concerned.