Autonomous Divinity: A Cog in the Machine

Pence scanned the names on the wall, divided into four groups, and found his name after a bit of effort. Avalon used the same standard script as anyone, but their letters had a weird insistence on always having sharp angles that made them look weird. His Armature was on this aurochs, in bay 8A. Well, that saved him the trouble of having to find his way to transport. But who else was staying here?

His eyes found Bran's name first: he was only two bays over, on the same aurochs. But Lynn's wasn't, and she was being instructed towards the 'prow' for passage over to the one carrying her Armature.

"Well, looks like I'll be leaving you two boys on your own for now," Lynn said, standing only a few steps away. "'S fair enough. I'm going to have my hands full figuring out how to start my damn machine, never mind Piloting it. Wouldn't be able to look after you two and keep an eye out."

"What do you mean?" Bran asked. He quirked an ear towards her, eyes still scanning over the other names. "It's just going to be a walk through some forests and hills."

Lynn scoffed. "An overnight walk in half-tamed wildlands. If everyone gets through this without even scuffing their paint, I'll be surprised." She titled her head and gave Pence and Bran a lopsided smile. "Still, you two seem alright types. Just keep an eye out for each other, and stay out of harm, yeah?"

"Sure," Pence said. "Maybe we'll see you tomorrow afternoon, after everyone's made their way to the settlement."

"Maybe," Lynn said, and left with an easy gait.

Pence bit back a smile. Lynn's words should have been insulting, or at the least he felt like his pride should have been pricked. She had a way of taking the condescension out of her words, though. A type of easy comradery he wasn't familiar with. It put him in mind of Roger, or maybe Miranda. Those two had been unofficial leaders of Rustmoor, two of the village's many little hearts that kept things spinning. He hoped they were alright.

Pence pushed the worry for his home out of his mind and started walking. There were signs hanging from the hallway ceilings with directions towards the Armature bays. "Come on, Bran. You can teach me what I need to know about being a Pilot while we wait,"

"Teach?" Bran all but squeaked. He stood frozen for a few moments before he started moving, stumbling over his legs almost as much as he did his words. "I-I mean, sure, but I'm not really qualified to be called a teacher of any sort. I'll do my best to help however I can."

Pence glanced at the curly, red haired boy, one head-wing quirked in confusion. "You studied to be a Pilot. That's above and beyond anything I got. Closest was a few dead spirits and broken machines I've been able to take apart."

Bran blinked. "Wait, you've, you've worked with machines?" He said between breaths. "I thought- I thought you were, new to this."

Pence nodded. "I am, and that's why I asked you to teach me. But that's being a Pilot, not working with machines or the like."

Bran didn't say anything to that. After a minute passed, Pence realized with a guilty start that was because the cat-kin was trying to keep pace with him. Regardless of whatever Bran's age was only a little bit shorter than Pence. That wouldn't mean much normally, but with how much Pence was hurrying, it made a difference for the bookish boy. Actually, why was he going so fast?

Pence realized there was a tension in his chest, a fear of the unknown that he recognized after only a moment's thought. He was being sent out in an Armature, with no training or experience. He wanted to learn as much as he could in the two hours -he glanced at a clock hanging by a corner- one hour and fifty-five minutes he had before that. But what good would it do him to make Bran try to talk to him between panting gasps of air?

He forced himself to slow, measuring his steps and moving at an easier pace, just as they reached a stairway. It was a long, vertical box with white polished walls, bright fluorescent lights, and metal steps that clanged loudly, the echoes traveling up and down the open space to double-back on themselves. Dozens of people tromped up and down the steps. Some of them Pilots, most of them with goals and destinations that Pence couldn't guess at.

He was glad he didn't have sensitive hearing like Bran. The way he flinched at every noise, his ears pressed flat against his head, made it clear how painful the sound was for him.

Thankfully they were only two levels up, and they soon emerged into the large but cramped Armature bay that hung beneath the aurochs they rode on. The door let out onto a platform close to the ceiling, with only two meters of clearance that would have made them duck if they were taller. Catwalks led away from the platform, hugging the walls as they squeezed between metal gantries and heavy cables. There were dozens, hundreds of bright yellow lights, but shadows danced around them, the chaotic mess of equipment and machinery of the bay making him feel like he stood beneath a thick forest canopy, leaves and branches blocking out the sun. The far end was a pair of blast-shield doors.

Pence blinked when he saw the Armatures. Bipedal giants with a structural resemblance to humans, they knelt in their own alcoves long the walls, two rows facing each other, held in place by clamps and cabling. Their right hands rested on their upraised knee, while their left hands were placed on the ground, creating a three-point balance that kept them stable. They were dark and still, glass faces dead to the world even as they stared into the narrow path between them. Plates of metal stat atop complicated layers of machinery and electronics, barely visible in the shadows cast by their looming figures.

He fought back a shiver of excitement. He'd seen Armatures before, but always at a distance. Rustmoor had been- it was deep in Avalon's territory, so the most he'd seen were patrols or caravan guards passing in the distance. These were weapons, things that fought spirits of every sort, tools gifted to mankind by the gods in ages past.

And one of them was his.

He forced himself to look away, turning to face the Bran as he tried to catch his breath. "I'm in bay 8A, and yours is in…7A, right?"

"Yes," Bran said and pointed down one of the catwalks. "Which means we should be next to each other, down by the end."

They started down the walkway, feet rattling the metal net with every step. Bran quirked his head to the side in thought. "You said you have some experience with machines. That might save me on some explanations. What do you know about the eight elements and three binaries?"

"Not much?" Pence said, unable to keep the questioning lilt out of his voice. Eight elements? Wasn't it five? Fire, rain, air, metal, and mana. "A lot of what I learned was by taking apart old wrecks or sifting through junk."

"Oh, you're from an archaeology outpost?" Bran asked. A smile stretched across his face, bright with excitement. "Oh that must have been fascinating, growing up surrounded by dead machines and ancient ruins. You must have seen so many interesting things."

"Sure," Pence said. The junkpile hadn't been much of a ruin, more like a graveyard where a whole bunch of spirits had once gone to die, but that wasn't important. "But, the elemental binary thing you mentioned?"

"Right, right. Well, all mana is made up of three binary qualities, so that means mana can come in eight different natures, or elements. Metal, Water, Oil, Earth, Fire, Ice, Steam, and Wind." Bran glanced to the wall as they passed by a big, angular '6A' painted on the wall. "Here, I can show you with my Armature."

He broke into a trot, and as they reached bay 7A, he turned left and made his way onto the narrow plank that stretched out alongside his Armature. It's torso was a large, bulky thing, all hard edged with straight lines and sharp corners. Plates rose up around the neck, shoulders, and waist areas, covering joints in a way that impeded movement but ensured they were protected. The head was little more than a block of visored metal, camera systems visible behind narrow glass eyes. It made the thing look bulky, like someone wearing full safety gear and armor just before heading into a hazardous tunnel. It was all painted in shades of green and white, with a few bits of gold painting along the rims.

The torso was open, the ribcage panels pulled apart to show the interior, and Bran hoped into the control seat without any visible sign of discomfort. It was a tight space, with several cables hanging down and over a dozen screens, buttons, levers, and surfaces sticking out at odd angles. He navigated them with ease as he sat down. Synthetic rubber creaked as he sat down, and metal clacked and shifted as he pressed several buttons in a specific sequence.

"The three binaries are temperature, inertia, and humidity." A screen lit up, and Bran turned it to show Pence as he knelt down into the open torso. It showed a column graph with eight spaces, but only four columns, one particularly small, and each with a number next to them. "My mana has a naturally Still nature to it, so I mostly use Metal -which is hot, still, and dry- Earth, -cold, still, and dry- and Steam -hot, still, and wet. I also use a little Fire as well, to take advantage of how much Hot mana I'm already using. So you'll want to figure out the nature of your mana and take advantage of it. For this mission, since it's your first, just let it flow through your Armature and move it on its own."

Pence blinked once, trying to process all the information, even as questions bubbled inside his mind. Why was Steam 'still?' He's seen plenty of vents of steam moving on their own. Instead of asking that, he looked away from the screen to meet Bran's excited smile.

"Ok, how do I move my mana in the Armature?" Pence said.

Bran's head titled, one ear quirked to the side. He gestured to a group of cables that ended in strange, clamp-like things that reminded Pence of a pipe wrench. "By…pushing it through the siphons?" He phrased it like a question, and Pence had to stop himself from groaning in frustration.

"I have no idea how to do that," Pence said. "I've never used my mana before."

Bran stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. His ears stood straight, tufts of red barely illuminated by the glow of his screen. "But- but you said you've worked with machines!"

"I have," Pence said, speaking slowly to not let the frustration leak into his words. Bran was helping him, and lacked and kind of maliciousness in his words. "Show me a cooling system, a piston, or a crankshaft and I know what to do with them. Give me a circuit board and some sodder, and I can rig some primitive electronic. But that's got nothing to do with Piloting or using mana. I know nothing about that."

Bran looked like Pence had just said the sun was green. "I…okay." He took a slow, deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his seat. When he spoke, it was with the air of someone repeating an old lesson they had memorized.

"A person's mana is the core of their being, the engine which feeds all their natural processes. Eating, breathing, movement- at the most base level, that is your mana being used to keep you alive. Some people have more mana then others, and are able to push it through their body and out into the world and still keep function. Just as mana is the power which drives the human body, so too can it be used to power an Armature. In that way, a Pilot is an engine and fuel source all in one, the driving motility that animates the holy structure of an Armature. This means, a Pilot's most fundamental skill is to push their mana out, through their body, and into their Armature.

"You must meditate to do this. Through meditating, regulating your breathing, monitoring you movements, you become aware of your body and its functions. In doing so, you will come to sense your mana, and in time be able to push it out into your machine."

Pence rocked back on his heels, trying to understand what Bran was saying. He knew mana; everyone did. It was a fundamental aspect of the world, like wind and sunlight. The way it was being described, it was more fundamental than that, more central. But how, in all the rusted waters of the mountains, was he supposed to sense it through meditation?

"How long does it take before I can sense my mana?" Pence asked.

"Six months on average," a new voice, soft but firm like a foam-wrapped pipe, said. "But that is not an option for you, as it is not for other new recruits."

Pence glanced back at the catwalk, and found himself staring into the long, lean face of a stag-kin woman roughly his age. She was tall, made more so by her thin, willowy limbs that seemed to be little more than bone and corded muscle. She wore a sleeveless jacket of blue and copper silk, exposing her sharp collarbones and strong arms, folded behind her back. Baggy bottomed pants hung loose around her legs, pulled tight by a leather belt clipped on the last hole. Her thick curled, short-cropped hair hung close to her face, framing a face of dark, umber-brown skin. It was a stark contrast to the two antlers that rose from her scalp.

Pure white, they rose up from her hair into a branching crown of fourteen prongs. Lines had been carved into them, swirling patterns that formed shapes and characters that Pence didn't recognize. They were well cared for, polished and decorated with bits of jewelry, and were a clear sign of wealth. But they were damaged. Small kicks and dents from accidental collisions, splinters along the edges of the carvings, they would have been unnoticeable if it weren't for the nearby lamp highlighting every bit of damage and mistake in their decoration.

That did nothing to make the gray eyed stare of the woman less intimidating, however. He realized this was the woman he had made eye contact with during the meeting.

"Oh, um…hello?" Bran said, poking his head up just enough to see out over the edge of the torso. He was little more than eyes, tousled hair, and a pair of fluffy ears. "I…I didn't see you there, miss…?"

"Of course you didn't," the woman said. "You were busy providing the new recruit information that is useless to him."

Pence bit back the instinct to bristle. The woman's tone was steady, not mocking or trying to insult. She was just stating facts, as she saw it.

Bran had less control over his reaction.

"T-this is basic mana theory. The foundation for all Piloting and engineering sciences. It's not useless!" His voice cracked at the end, his indignation obvious.

"Yes, but he is newly risen to his position among Pilots, and thus has not even ground on to which to place this foundation." The woman raised a finger as she spoke and pointed at Pence. "You have no experience, but will be expected to pilot your Armature all the same. You should not waste your time examining another's."

"Well, thank you for the advice," Pence said. "But I'm not really in the habit of taking advice from people whose names I don't even know."

The woman paused. "A fair point, I apologize for my rudeness. I am Isolde Morgan, daughter and scion of Clan Morgan, anointed by Arawn and blessed Pilot of Avalon. I came to introduce myself, and tell you that I will accompany you on our deployment for this training mission."

Bran made a choking sound at Isolde's name, eyes going wide like saucers as he stared at her. Okay, so she was important in some way. Probably someone he didn't want to piss off.

"That's nice of you to offer." Pence folded his arms in front of his chest. "But I'm not sure I want to accept."

Isolde shook her head. "It is neither an offer nor something you have the power to refuse or accept. It is fact. When a child of the vault and a child of the wind are deployed together within the same Banner, they find success by working together and failure in going their separate ways. I have no intention to fail a mission as simple as an overnight march, so we will be accompanying each other."

Pence tried to process what Isolde had said, even though he couldn't make heads or tails of it. Banner? Children? She said it the same way some Avalonics talked about their gods, all reverent and worshipful. So, some kind of prophecy or something. Or she just liked to spout off nonsense and pretend it made sense.

"Well, since you're saying I won't be able to even move my Armature, I think there's a good chance you'll fail if you stick with me," he said.

"No, you will be able to move," Isolde said. She stepped forwards, her thin, boot clad feet clanking against the metal catwalk. It only took her three long strides to reach them, stopping just short of the lip of the open torso. "You have no skill at manipulating your mana, but if you can sense it, then the siphons will be able to draw it out and power your Armature."

She reached out with one hand, and before Pence could even think to flinch away, grabbed one of his wrists in her long, twig-fingered hands. She pressed her thumb to wrist and after a moment, he felt something like water spread out from that point. It was cold, a steam of snow-melt that raced down his fingers and up his arm, running through his veins faster than he could realize. His teeth were chattering and his toes felt frozen by the time he reacted.

"Fucking rust!" He tore his hand out of Isolde's grip and stumbled back, only to tumble against a safety-rail that stopped him from falling out into open space.

"What was that?" Pence ground between shaking gasps. His breath misted in front of him, and he was treated to the bizarre sensation of feeling colder than the air around him.

"I injected a bit of my mana into you," Isolde said. "While it is uncomfortable, you will be able to feel it inside your mana channels, as it is foreign. The sensation will last no more than five hours, but by then you will have already grown well acquainted with the process of cycling it through your Armature. Now, if you will both excuse me, I am going to go provide my aid to the other new recruits within our Banner. I will see you both once we are deployed."

Her right hand came up and placed itself over her heart, the thumb folded against the palm. She gave shallow a bow, and then left.

Pence stared after her, leaning against the railing and struggling to stop the shivers racing up and down his body. His head-wings flapped in agitation, the currents they sent through the warm air of the Armature bay doing little to fight the freezing in his limbs.

"Are you ok?" Bran said. He clambered out of his Armature's torso and rushed over, but stopped just before touching Pence. "I mean, of course you're not ok, but are you alri- alright doesn't work either, nothing's alright about having foreign mana forced into your limbs like that. Fine? No wait, fine's what you say when you aren't fine, and asking someone 'are you fine' just sounds insulting but-"

"I've been better," Pence cut him off. He forced himself to grin, but it probably looked a little rictus with the way Bran flinched at it.

"Sorry I didn't say anything or, or stop her I guess," Bran said. "It's just, she's a high noble. I didn't think she'd do anything bad."

"'Sall forgiven," Pence said. "Besides, she seemed a bit crazy. Don't know what you could have done to stop her from doing what she'd set her mind to."

Bran gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah. That's how it is with the Nine Families. They do what they want and you just got to get out of the way."

"Nine Families?" Pence repeated. "They important?"

"No, well yes, but not for right now," Bran said. "She's right that you shouldn't be wasting time. Come on, lets go get you into your Armature, so that you can be ready when we deploy." He reached out and, after a moment's hesitation, placed on hand behind Pence's shoulder-blade and awkwardly helped him to his feet. While part of him rebelled at the idea of needing help, Pence's legs shivered violently from the cold racing through them, and it was a struggle to move. At least it wasn't a long walk to bay 8A.

The Armature there was markedly different from Bran's. For one it was shorter, at least a full meter so, and had much less metal plating. Where Bran's looked like someone decked out in hazard gear ready for a dangerous dive, Pence's resembled an engineer getting ready to break down a spirit's corpse for spare parts. There was no paint, just plain gray metal. The arms were thin and bare relative to their large size, the joints exposed to allow for a wider range of movement. A metal 'vest' made up most of the torso, with green and white sheets of cloth and leather hanging over the waist and down to the hips, looking almost like a leather apron writ large. The head was a lightly armored helmet of metal with a wide piece of tinted glass taking up most of the 'face.' As Pence got ready to lower himself into the opened torso, he saw an array of cameras and sensors just on the other side of that glass.

It was almost like they were staring at him.

The interior of his Armature was much the same as Bran's. Synthetic rubber seat, screens, buttons levers, and glass surfaces that could probably display all sorts of information. Then there were the cables, the siphons, that he was supposed to channel his mana through. Pence grimaced as Bran walked him through the process of sticking them to the surface of his skin. Two wrapped around his wrists, and the rest were simply placed over his heart, collarbone, temples, and sides. They stayed in place when he took his hands off them. Some kind of glue, maybe?

"Ok," Bran said from his position above to Pence, his head taking up most of the open space leading out of the Armature's torso. "I don't see any obvious weapon systems out here, so it's likely this is a model 79 Squire. Bit weird to give it a someone new, but that just means your systems are all electronic and spirit based. First thing we'll want to do is turn your Armature on."

Pence looked at the array of switches and buttons in front of him, then back up at Bran. He didn't say anything, just stared at the cat-kin for a long moment.

"Oh, right." Bran reached down and flipped a series of switches on the right side. The overhead interior light turned on, and several surfaces lit up, displaying words and data that Pence could not read, despite the characters being familiar and legible.


"I…" Pence stopped off and shook his head. Another shiver went through him as the ice inside him -his mana- pulsed. His throat felt a bit sore, like he'd spent too long out in a snow storm. He forced himself to clear his throat and ignore the need to blow against numb fingers. "I don't get this."

Bran nodded. "We should pull up diagnostics first, just to get a feel for your Armature and how it works."

Under his guidance, Pence maneuvered through a series of menus and screens. He was rewarded with a wire-frame schema of the Armature he sat in, there were several blank spots, obviously meant for systems and equipment that were not part of the core superstructure. Along the top were the characters 'AFGC-86b Squire - Serial Number 31C9 2-11JE'

"What." Bran's voice was just blank confusion. His head pulled out of the torso - cockpit, he'd called it - then reappeared a moment later. He reached down with one hand, grabbed the display, and craned his neck to try to see better. "A model 86? But, but there's none of the weapons, not even the Carnwennan!"

"I take it that's a mistake?" Pence said. He wasn't too surprised, so much of life in Rustmoore had been patching up mistakes that shouldn't have happened. Threshing machines weren't cleaned after use? Give them rush maintenance the day before harvest. Rust leaking into the resevoirs? Emergency purge and purification in the middle of the night while yelling at the kid who threw a cog in the water.

"Yes, it is!" Bran said. "What's the point of sending out a Squire 86 without even any of the weapon systems it's supposed to have!" His breath caught in his throat, and before Pence could realize what was happening, the cat-kin had pulled himself bodily into the cockpit, tail puffed out in agitation and legs twisted at an awkward angle. He didn't seem to notice, too busy scrolling through screen after screen of information too fast to follow. The way he clicked through the menus was startling, his expression focused without any of the awkwardness or uncertainty of before.

"What kind of Factory Error is this?!" Bran threw a hand out, almost smacking Pence in the face. "There aren't any peripheral systems! No spiritual defenses, no anti-hacking measures, no external speakers! It's like someone just grabbed this thing out of the Foundry and shipped it out!"


"Bran?" Pence said. "I get you're upset, but…could you maybe move back a bit?"

And suddenly the awkwardness was back. Bran took one look at his position splayed out in Pence's lap, his feet hooked over the lip of his cockpit to leave his legs dangling in the air, and leaped out with a full body flinch.

"Sorry, sorry!" Bran said. "I just- I needed to make sure. No priest I know would have ever signed off on rush-work like this. I had to check and I just forgot you were there and now I've completely embarrassed myself haven't I?"

"It's ok," Pence couldn't help but chuckle. "It's ok. Let's just focus on what this means for the deployment. You're saying I only have an armature, with no weapons or external software of any kind?"

Bran peaked back over the edge of the cockpit and gave a sullen nod. "Yeah. Which could be a problem if you get into combat. Spirits aren't really the sort to let you talk things out, you know?"

Pence nodded in understanding. "And I doubt this convoy has any weapons I could just grab?"

"Well, there's probably some in storage," Bran said. "This is a resupply convoy for Northlight. But those'll need time to prep and make ready. You'd be better off borrowing from someone else. I could lend you one of mine? It would take what time we have left, but it shouldn't be too hard to hook my Thumper Canon into your system. It just…it'll probably a bit awkward for a new Pilot to use."

Pence leaned back in his seat and suppressed the wince as his feathers were pinned between his head and the synthetic rubber. Despite the coldness running through him, he had yet to loose any sensation in his extremities. It was disconcerting, although it probably meant frostbite wasn't a worry.

He shook the thought off and focused on his current circumstances. They were about to go out into the wild, and all he had was his Armature. He could take Bran up on his offer and try to use one of his weapons, but that would take time away from getting familiar with his machine. What good was a weapon he had no idea how to use? Then there was Isolde. His one interaction with the woman hadn't been pleasant, but she hadn't seemed bad. Just..imposing. Then again, he knew nothing about her.

Vote for one option
[] Focus on cycling mana. He will at least be able to move well once deployed. Although, if combat happens, he will have to resort to using his Armature's fists if he wants to help.
[] Accept Bran's offer. The 'Thumper Canon' is a heavy artillery piece, so if combat breaks out Pence can participate without getting in close.
[] Try to track down Isolde. Maybe she'll have some solution to this problem. Or maybe Pence will just waste his time and deploy without a weapon and without any familiarity with his Armature's systems.