Dark Convergence - By Dave Gross Page 0,13

his timepiece. “You have just enough time to grab a quick breakfast.”

Nemo waited a few seconds before entering the map tent precisely on time. He was satisfied to see Sergeant Jernigan, Storm Chaser Finch, and Major Blackburn awaiting him. They stood between the partially disassembled body of an enemy warjack and a dismantled clockwork soldier. Beside each of them stood a glassy cylinder, the larger one dark, the smaller glowing a steady blue-white.

“Go,” he said without preamble.

Mags held a meaty hand over the soldier. “First off, there’s no power core. No firebox, no storm chamber, no nothing that I can identify, anyway.”

“But how—?” began Finch.

“Finch,” said Nemo. “Listen first. Ask questions later.”

“You always pick the feisty ones, don’t you?” said Mags.

“Continue, Sergeant.”

“Here,” said Mags, peeling away the back plate of a clockwork soldier. “This is definitely a power junction. No, before you ask, it isn’t a generator.”

“Where is the power source?” said Nemo.

“This.” Mags touched the blue-white cylinder she had removed from the soldier’s chest. It glowed as brightly as it had when Nemo had first seen the clockwork soldiers. “The big ones we pulled out of the warjacks have already faded. I’m guessing they keep the soldiers ticking way longer than the big units.”

“How long?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that without a proper workshop, more samples, and more time. For the warjacks, I’d wager we’re talking hours, not days. Definitely not more than a day or so. These guys? Like I said, there’s no way of telling in this field workshop.”

“How did these warjacks capture Calbeck if they can operate for only a few hours?”

“I don’t got that figured out just yet. Their power junctions look like they’re receiving power from more than just this unit.”

“Receiving? That suggests—”

“Yeah, the main power source is independent of their bodies.”

“Transmitted from the tower?”

“Seems the most obvious possibility. Anyway, there’s other interesting stuff.”

From a small crate, Mags lifted a clockwork soldier’s head and connected it to a brass-and-chromium module she had removed from the chest. She picked up the glowing cylinder. One cap glowed beneath an etched Face of Cyriss, which Nemo took for the front. On the back, he spied a contact plate that matched one on the box.

Nemo took the cylinder from Mags. “The power source?”

“It’s more than that,” said Mags. She gestured to the matching contacts on the box and cylinder. “Give it a try.”

Nemo fitted the cylinder to the box. As they made contact, he heard a faint hum from within the chest module. The ocular lenses on the soldier’s head remained dim and blank.

Nemo set aside the cylinder and fetched a pair of narrow pliers from Mags’ worktable. He removed the head from what he was beginning to think of as a spinal axis and began clearing lightning-twisted metal from the aperture.

Finch picked up the cylinder and hefted it. “Could this be a sort of cortex?”

Mags and Blackburn shrugged. Nemo offered only a noncommittal grunt as he continued to work on the head. He cleared the blackened conduits that seemed least integral to the connection and reassembled the head, spinal axis, and power exchange. At last he retrieved the cylinder from Finch.

When he fit the cylinder to the power exchange, a voice box in the helm squawked. The ocular lens flickered with blue-white light.

A choppy sequence of sounds burst out of the voice box.

“What did it say?” said Blackburn.

Nemo shook his head. He hadn’t caught the words either, but he was certain they were words. He inserted a finger into the neck, feeling for a dull black membrane he had spied earlier. It trembled as the voice spoke again.

“Spare me,” it said. “I submit to lawful capture.”

“You can hear me?” said Nemo.

“Yes,” replied the voice.

Nemo gestured for the rag on Mags’ shoulder. When she passed it to him, he draped it over the soldier’s glowing eye. Despite the unusual circumstances, there was no sense allowing him to see his captors or the contents of the workshop. “Who are you?”

“Platon, reductor of the 7th Priority Task Force of the Convergence of Cyriss.”

Convergence, thought Nemo. So that is what they call themselves. More astonishing was the notion of an artificial creation capable of coherent speech. Nemo suspected there had to be more to it, but he asked, “You are a mechanikal construct?”

“My body is, yes. But I am a person, not just a servitor or vector. Please, inform the Numen of my capture. It doesn’t matter if my body is destroyed. Just keep my essence chamber intact.”

“Servitors