Godclads

Chapter 28-8 Opening Arguments (IV)

Chapter 28-8 Opening Arguments (IV)

+Here we go. Into the belly of Scale, where peace or ruin may follow. Listen close and keep your friends and families closer, consangs. This might be the beginning of the end.+

-Cala Marlowe, The Fateless Thoughtcast

28-8

Opening Arguments (IV)

–[Abrel]–

Abrel’s return to Idheim was as quick as it was jarring. The Unwhere was effectively a place in constant transition. The Instrument existed within a beam that jumped from satellite to satellite, dancing across the void. For the week she spent there, she was conscious but somewhat divorced from having a body.

After the voiders had returned her, she was briefly examined by the Paladins and then placed in another constellation of satellites. And there she lingered. Until she was suddenly called back. A faint shifting sensation was what caught her attention at first, and that was all. Suddenly, she was spearing down through the atmosphere, a beam searing her material form back into reality.

Within the confines of Scale, her cog-feed loaded as the radiance faded from her person. Abrel found herself entombed within a silo made from tessellating bricks. Everything here was a sheen of black, and as they shifted, she felt herself descend as if within an elevator. A few moments thereafter, the walls before her parted, and she saw another figure standing across from her. Something about the look in their eyes told Abrel she was dealing with someone older, though they lacked any genuine wrinkles. The stranger was dressed in ornate finery, fitting the aesthetic of Clan D’Rongo of Ori-Thaum. A blue velvet cap on their head and a translucent curtain was veiled across their left eye, distorting their planned mark from sight.

As the space between them stood open, an awkward silence followed. Abrel stared at the Ori, and the Ori stared back.

"So, you're the elder," Adril said, trying to stay nonchalant. Usually, when an Instrument saw an Ori Elder, the situation fell under the category of “assassination” or “interrogation.” This time, however, they were both being tried in a neutral court — their sins paraded before all the Guilds to judge.

Bitter amusement welled up within Abrel. Truly, the Greatlings were breaking new grounds in the realm of dishonor once more.

“Indeed. I am Elder M’waba D’Rongo. And you are Abrel Greatling. It seems that fate has frowned on both of us."

Abrel kept her lips thin at that. "Wouldn’t quite call it fate."

An inscrutable look drifted across the elder’s face. “No. I wouldn’t quite call him that either.”

Now, Abrel understood. Which made her anxiety worse. Pawns. That was what they were. Pawns in pieces in the Great Game, with no ability to influence their own lives, no capacity to overcome the participating player. A genuine emptiness opened inside Abrel. What the fuck did being worthy matter when you had no power over anything. Anything at all?

+It matters because you choose. And things change.+ Avo murmured in the back of her mind. Abrel almost drew upon her Heaven.

+Jaus! Fuck! Don’t do that, you—+ She caught herself before she annoyed the nightmarish omnipresent mind-eater that now held sway over her fate. Her family’s fate as well. Her template was uploaded into their Metamind, and recent events struck Abrel like an artillery barrage. +Oh... oh, shit. The Speaker... he’s here too?+

+Very popular girl. Very unfortunate girl. Depends on perspective. But will see if I can keep you and your family alive through this.+

Abrel scoffed at that. It wasn’t a promise. But it sure as shit wasn’t a “no” either. She would take pretty much anything she could get at this point.

+She wasn’t referring to me. Do you know that?+

Another jolt of panic flared up inside Abrel. She searched through her new memories and understood. +The Famines?+

+Yes.+

+Right. Great. What a delightful clusterfuck I’m descending into.+

+Don’t worry. Won’t let you suffer pointless blame. It is time for truth. It is time we all be honest. You. New Vultun. Me. It is time for all of us to officially meet.+

Instrument Abrel Greatling closed her eyes. Maybe being judged guilty and banished by the Gatekeeper wouldn’t be so bad after all.

+It’s worse. Hungers are on the other side. Will see you mentally and metaphysically dissected.+

+Hey, Avo, stop making my existential crisis worse.+

+Can’t run. Can only face it. Stand and deliver, Abrel Greatling.+

Pure disbelief became Abrel. +I hate you. I hate you for saying that.+

***

***

–[Marlowe]–

Cala Marlowe dreamed up a lot of fantastical shit in her time. Part of that was all the drug use. But being invited to Scale, attending a trial that would probabl lead into the end times—well, beginning times, depending on who you asked—and being in cahoots with the mastermind of the whole ordeal...

That’s the kind of madness not even drugs can provide.

She was among the last people to enter Scale before the plane was formally sealed. Her group numbered five hundred, and they were listed as the unaffiliated. You know, citizens that didn't quite qualify for being a color anymore, but didn’t actually do anything bad enough to get booted down the Tiers. They were a loose bunch of bastards: children of Fallwalkers, neutral families left over from bygone eras, lottery winners who remained unsponsored. Detritus, basically. But ultimately, in a city like New Vultun, even detritus could be useful.

Of course, useful to who was the question.

She knew a few of those who went in, in the last group. Yat Gwan Sin: a member of the Lost Harvest Society, a member of a very anti-No-Dragon clade, who unfortunately caught the bleed over of the Dragon Curse due to being subjugated under the Sang during the Age of Pantheons. And then there was Thalen Moller, a former Highflame vicarity star turned ardent Paladin supporter after suffering a mishap while diving through an unedited Crucible experience. Now, he was basically the Paladins’ number one fan. No question why he was here.

Then there was Marlowe herself. She was, after all, invited by Chief Paladin Naeko on a whim, a thing closer to engineered fortune than outright qualification on her part. But that was fine. Kala Marlow knew her lot in life, and her lot, being born a color, meant that the coin was going to land in her favor more times than not. Being part of Avo Gestalt only magnified her position.

Stepping into the vast chamber, she felt the coldness of the court wash over her, heard the ringing of chains, stared upon that statue, twin hands clutching out from a scale, and took in the thousands upon thousands of Massists and Saintists glaring at each other from their respective podiums.

The space was at once colossal and too small to contain the naked animosity choking the atmosphere. Thoughtcasts were exchanged, staccatos of curses, muted insults, and intercepted men-cons. The Exorcists were doing their job quite well. A few Saintists and Massists were taken away by Paladins, constrained by cages of light as they protested their innocence.

+They wanted to start a little fight,+ Avo said, chuckling in the back of Marlowe's mind, +decided to show their plans to the Paladins. Remove trouble before making my own.+

+Right,+ Marlowe replied, +wouldn't want anyone to steal your thunder.+

A Ghostlink from a passing drone reached out to Marlowe, and she accepted the mem-data it was trying to transfer. Her seating arrangements were received. She was getting a shared compartment at the middle of the second level, row 600 B2. There'd be four others seated with her, all of them unaffiliated as well.

+Ori Sleepers,+ Avo helpfully informed. +They don't even know it. They think they've always been neutral. A few have memories of being Agnosi descendants.+

+Nice to know,+ Marlow replied, strolling the vast open center of the Court of Truth. +When are our guests going to arrive? I want to start the stream right when the stars splash down.+

+You have about two minutes,+ Avo said. +Recommend you get to your seating point. Will give you a good view.+

+Synced on that, consang,+ the thoughtcaster replied with a sing-song voice. +So when are you planning to crash the show, by the way?+

The Overheaven chuckled. +I'm going to give the Guilds some time. Let them deliberate. Let them argue among themselves. Maybe you should mingle. Talk to some of them.+

The thought almost made Marlowe throw up in her own mouth. +Do I really need to? Can't you just use your Synchronicity to peek into their minds anyway?+

+It’s for perspective. And might be interesting to interview them afterward. Show the Warrens just how unprepared their betters really are for what is to come.+

+You know what, Avo, you really have a gift of making a girl go from not wanting to do something to really wanting to do something.+

+Going to intrude on the scene when the opening arguments are done. Let the Gatekeeper impose its pressure on Abrel and the Elder. Seems like the best time.+

+Very media. Using the Gatekepeer and stealing its thunder, huh? Maybe you could’ve been a star in another life.+

+No other lives. Only this one. At least until someone wins.+

Right. The Ladder. The endpoint of this entire fucked up existence.

+Any recommendations for what I should say?+ Avo asked.

+When you introduce yourself?+ Marlowe asked. Grim inspiration ignited within her. She had a horrible, beautiful idea. +You shouldn't say anything at the start. Someone else should make their piece known. Someone everyone knows, everyone loves, and everyone respects. I think it's time for Idheim to hear Jaus voice once more.+

She could practically feel Avo’s excitement swell. +What a wonderful suggestion, Marlowe. Certain to hurt Veylis’ feelings.+

+Well, we gotta find a way to make politics entertaining somehow.+