12 Miles Below

Book 7. Chapter 12: Aggressive negotiations

The Odin ahead of me were speechless.

Well, specifically Rashant was. The poor translator just stared at me gobsmacked. Then there was some croaking from Septimus, likely asking what the delay was. The entire setup was a little comical if I stopped to think about it.

Three birds - which I’d been convinced for half my life didn’t exist, and who were equally convinced I didn’t exist - were sitting on a perch with a small hand-sized screen slate balancing on the side with a fourth bird through the screen.

The general of the Odin, or at least some kind of authority figure that organized things.

He certainly looked the part. A few white feathers, quite a lot of silken looking threads of multiple colors all interwoven into the wings, and what looked to be a silly looking black and gold mask on the bird’s head that fit both eyes and part of his beak. Rounding out the look was long needle-like spikes going upwards affixed on his tail making it look like there was a small stylized sun behind him.

Rashant looked far more down to earth like Kres did, with a flak vest of some kind that held pockets, and other hooks for gear to attach, though none of the gear Kres himself had carried. And the two escorts next to him looked more like soldiers with some kind of metal rod strapped on their wingtips, along with long twin feathers at their tails. Which were probably cosmetic of some kind given the vibrant red.

Like the stoic soldiers to the side, Septimus himself also didn’t make any open movements when he finally heard the news.

“Explain.” Septimus asked, and oddly enough, I had a feeling the poor translator was absolutely appalled at having to take this kind of tone. The little crow looked genuinely terrified to be perched where it was.

“Its name is Bob. And while I was traveling through the deadlands, I found a way to speak to it.” I said, hand tapping my heart absentmindedly, realizing the birds probably wouldn’t understand that surface dweller lingo.

“Bob?” Rashant asked, not yet translating back to Septimus. “Apologies, esteemed human, I merely ask to be certain my translation is correct.”

“It doesn’t have a name for itself, so it asked me to name it. Human humor you could say. Bob doesn’t really have the same sense of humor, but it appreciates short names.”

The bird’s beak locked on me, then turned to the tiny portable screen where the Odin general waited. It almost seemed like the translator was psyching himself up before he delivered the lines back.

“And you claim this Bob could be interested in a cease-fire?” Septimus asked, Bob’s name being a non-issue to the general.

“I do.” Now that I’d officially put myself as indispensable to the Odin, it was time to start being a little bit Winterscar. “I can explain more, however, I’d like some support in exchange.”

“Supporting you means opposing your shadow. A dangerous idea for the Odin at large.”

Ah yes, the long shadow I cast behind me. That’s the real rub to all this: Somehow, the machines had managed to get a message to the Odin early, and now the Víkingr knew machines could be talked to, had goals, and were organized, which put them on the map as a faction. A very dangerous faction.

“I do believe what I have to offer is the better option.” And I meant that.

My logic was simple: Given the Icon of Stars had a golden age AI hiding inside, there was a non-zero chance the machines would eventually decide to kick a fuss and the Odin knew it deep down. So I was willing to bet the Odin had some preparations for handling machines.

Bob however… not much could be done about Bob. The Odin had been at war with Bob for years and they all knew they were going to lose, even with Bob itself trying not to win.

Septimus said nothing, but he could certainly read between the lines. This wasn’t something to be said out loud over comms. “Very well,” He said, “Assuming that assumption is correct, what is it you want?”

Assumption huh. A very political way of agreeing without agreeing.

I was more short and to the point: “Food, water, and a few power cells before I assist further.”

The translator flinched at the mention of power cells, and then the two escorts equally flinched when the message was delivered. Only Septimus remained stoic about it.

“Power cells are not easy to source.” He began. “The Odin have already claimed all spare power cells that could be found in the wilds decades ago. The ones we have are already being used to power the Icon and other critical infrastructure.”

“You did have a few extras to hand my way for free not even half an hour ago.”

I knew that wasn’t a fair argument from the moment I said it, but they did try to kill me, and I was petty enough to hold a slight grudge about that.

“Security against the infestation is paramount. And that carried over to any machine that might carry the infestation unknowingly into our lands.” Septimus said.

“What a coincidence, if you’re looking for security from Bob, I think I’m worth the price.”

Septimus said nothing, staring through the screen as if his glower could get through to me. “I see my earlier orders to deploy the full barrier against you is still on your mind. You are placing the entire Odin in peril for only my actions. Either we assist you, and incur the wrath of the machines, or we assist the machines and lose any hope against the infestation.”

“Appeals to emotion would have worked, if you hadn’t tried bombing me earlier.” I said.

The Odin general stayed quiet for a moment, probably internally debating what would be the best way to thread this particular junction. “A compromise then. We can give you the coordinates to known mite power fountains that can replenish the power cells you might already have. Or take some of your spent cells and refill them ourselves.”

“That seems like a step in the right direction. And my shadow? How are you going to handle the machines?”

“I cannot confirm or deny what negotiations, and offers, must happen to maintain neutrality with the machines.” Septimus said. Which meant he was still going to try to thread the needle for neutrality, and that probably meant acting as their spy.

“I’ll leave that to you. Just know that if I die, so too does any chance of talking with Bob about a ceasefire.”

“I am well aware of this.” Septimus said. “We will first have to verify you can speak to the infestation. This ‘Bob’... why does it wish for a ceasefire?”

Fishing for information now. I see your plan, little bird-general. “Like I said before, Bob’s not dumb.” I took a breath and contemplated how much of a Winterscar I wanted to be.

Although the Odin’s earlier argument about dooming an entire species for their military just doing their jobs, especially with machines breathing down their feathers, still stuck with me.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I was abusing Bob here to get a little extra hand in, against a terrified group of birds just trying to navigate how to not get squashed between machines and humans. And it didn’t make me feel great about myself.

“Level with me here, Septimus. Is it enough for the machines to simply know where I am and what I’m doing? Or are they demanding more from your people?”

Septimus seemed to understand the offer of peace I was giving him. “We cannot know for certain, however giving them information on your whereabouts and keeping friendly contact with you otherwise would likely be enough for the machines to look over our involvement with you, in my estimation. Asking us to kill you again after you’ve already survived our best attempts would be unreasonable, and a waste of resources.”

That revealed a number of things to me without directly mentioning it. He had a high opinion of their intelligence so far, so he probably hadn’t met most Feathers. Who absolutely wouldn’t care for nuances like ‘strategy’ or ‘reasonable use of resources.’

To’Avalis was very pragmatic. Back in the temple, the very first contact with that bastard hadn’t been one of hostility. Instead, he’d immediately offered terms for a quick resolution, and they weren’t empty terms either. They were quite compelling even. I had no doubts if To’Avalis got in contact with the Odin, he probably started with that.

On the other hand, To’Aacar would execute these birds for having the audacity to tell him they failed to kill me.

“What else can you tell me about their contact with you?” My turn to fish for information. I showed you my cards, show me yours.

“We have not yet had further contact with the machines. They ordered that you be killed, and failing that, to inform you that your companion is held hostage at their location. I can argue that with you past the barrier line, we have little chance of actually eliminating you at all now. Cooperation would give more options in the future.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” I sighed. I’m dozens of stratas away from home, and somehow this reminded me completely of my old home. The Odin would be telling To’Avalis backstabbing me has a higher chance of getting their goals complete. Although Winterscars were far more petty. Septimus at least seemed to only do what he had to, out of pragmatic reasons.

“Did the machine give you their name?” I asked, mostly to confirm it was To’Avalis I was dealing with here.

“They did not. They had little questions for us, and spoke in terse words. Overall contact was under a minute.”

Wait. Under a minute?

That… doesn’t sound like To’Avalis. He was a schemer, and good schemes couldn’t be hashed out in under a minute. Either the Odin were lying to me about the full details or… the Feather that contacted them was To’Orda.

Then was To’Avalis keeping his hands clean of this? Or waiting to see my response before butting in?

In the end, I was a warlock, a knight, and had enough weapons and skills to keep myself well alive even if the entire Odin were forced to turn against me. I was in a good position, they weren’t.

Deep down I knew what I needed to do here. I can’t cosign an entire race to slow death by Bob just to stack the deck a little bit more on my end. “All right. Fine. So here’s the situation: Bob is well aware that if it continues eating everything, it’ll end up starving to death once there’s nothing left to eat. It has no real reason to target the Odin over any other food source, I’d guess you all taste the same. Fighting your species has next to no benefits to Bob if you’re not actively trying to end its existence. So there’s some room for negotiation and figuring out how to cohabitate. But there are some biological issues holding it back: It can’t control some of it’s natural functions, like floating spores.”

Rashant and his escorts didn’t seem to understand just how important that information was, they looked more curious about it and in awe that the infestation was intelligent at all.

But the silence from Septimus was all the hint I needed to know that he’d recognized the action for what it was. In that one small breath of information, I’d just solved everything for the Odin when it came to Bob.

Even if I died right now - the knowledge that Bob wasn’t hostile, could be talked to, what its actual intentions were, and why it was still encroaching forward - all that would be enough to work around. The Odin might not be able to talk to Bob, but there were other ways of communicating. Large scale actions could be done, and Bob wasn’t dumb. It would see the opportunity given and go with it.

It would certainly be easier with me alive to speak to it, but my existence was no longer absolutely necessary.

Finally, the Víkingr spoke. “We had noticed the drop in hostility and aggression against the Odin, and how it had spread out to unclaimed lands above our own territories. Those are tactical maneuvers that only an intelligent force could respond with. Our best theory as to the reduced aggression had been an internal civil war. Your news is far more welcome, and actionable.”

What was he angling for now with that little snippet of info? “Interesting theory. Why a civil war?”

“It was possible the infestation mutated different strains, and some could no longer be compatible with each other. We cannot be certain the entire infestation is one being, multiple beings, or an entire civilization within itself.”

Ah. I see. He was going through the Odin’s prior theories to get details confirmed or discarded. Was Bob just Bob, or did they have to deal with some governing system? That answer would change how they attempted to communicate.

These were all giant surprises to the Odin gathered before me, even without the subtext. The translator was constantly fighting his own stunned thoughts, while the other two stoic guards on the perch next to him were equally flipping their beaks from the screen to me, with each word we’d say.

I gave the Odin a shrug. “As far as I understand from Bob, it is one singular entity, and when it gets cut off from different zones, those revert to their feral uncontrolled states. Until it physically rejoins the swarm.”

That would be the last piece of information the Odin needed to know how Bob functions and how to make peace with the infestation. They would have figured that part out themselves over time, but having the theory proved immediately was a shortcut.

Septimus seemed pleased, or at least as pleased as a bird could look. “Intelligent, aware of its impact on the ecology, and claims to have no reason to target the Odin over other uncontested lands. This was as perfect of a hand as the Odin could have hoped for.”

“And?” I asked.

“And if you are capable of being a translator for us, we would pay dearly for such service. I will confer with my colleagues on what we can do, and negotiate with all sides. For now, I will ask if you could stay with the deadlands outpost. I will be flying myself to speak in person.”

In person? Good sign there. Hard to be spied on when what’s being said isn’t over comms channels. Which meant he was planning on cutting some direct deals with me that he couldn’t say over comms.

There was some more discussion between the Víkingr and his translator, before the screenwinked out, and the translator turned to me. “Víkingr Septimus has given the order to accommodate you in any way you wish, food and water wise. Protection from the machines has been given as well.”

No mention of power cells.

I gave the translator a deep smile, a shame the helmet got in the way of it. “You don’t mind if I keep all my weapons and gear passing through, right?”

The translator looked at me. Then back at the black screen. Then croaked what was probably a swear word of some kind if I had a guess, before finally turning back to me. “I would assume not? One moment, I must contact my superiors about this.” The bird gave a panicked look around him, and even with the species difference I could tell when a Logi was being interrogated about things above their pay grade. The screen turned back on and a different colored Odin answered back. This one had outright red feathers all decorating the head, though it looked painted.

Whatever was being said seemed to give the translator some breath back in his frantic little hops.

“Hersir Yill has ordered that you carry all gear and items you wish, there will be no security measures imposed. He has received confirmation from Septimus that it is up to his discretion now, as this is his outpost.”

The gates behind the Odin groaned and began to open up, being pulled by some electric motors in the back. The three Odin took flight from their little perch, one grabbing the tiny slate screen and flying off after the others, leaving the perch stuck in the ground right in front of me.

“Well, that went pretty well, all things considered.” I said to myself, slapping the dust from my hands.

“Get your head back in the game.” Cathida sighed, “You’re not safe here. These birds are working for the enemy.”

“A problem that can be solved by my tried and true methods.” I patted my trusty equipment after slapping the ash off my cloak, happy everything was still functioning even after the encounter with To’Orda’s weasel transportation service. “At least this Septimus had the decency to warn me. The ‘I will always do what is best for the Odin over any other feelings I may have’ is the most polite heads-up I’d seen so far about upcoming backstabbing. In Winterscar standards, it’s outright insulting.”

“I’m almost hesitant to ask, but how in the gold gates above would that be an insult?”

“You’re basically telling the other that you think their threat to your political power is so insignificant, you don’t even need to hide your plans from them.” Last bit of cleaning was to brush the ash from my legplates and then I started walking up to the metal walls beyond.

“I see. Your family has enough squireshit to last me a couple lives.”

“Least it’s trained me on how to navigate my way around alien intelligent birds, just as they intended all this time.”

With one last step across the ash and I was finally back within civilization.

I'm going to have to navigate this one carefully, the Feathers after me are going to pull some convoluted scheme or another with the Odin as their shiv in the night.