“We’ll need help,” King Hum answered. “We lost so much in the raid — we can’t possibly defeat them without allies.”
“Sounds familiar,” Tera said. “Hopefully they won’t turn us down when we come asking for help.”
Hum ignored the sour inflection. “The People’s Union, maybe. But not Opes. Not if we play our cards right.”
“Then I suppose you have a plan?”
“Yes,” the young monarch said, tossing the meat cube in his mechanical mouth and chewing. His expression grew annoyed as he realized there was no flavor to it. “We can think about our next move later — this time is for the dead.”
Envoys
King Hum’s guards let Ethan and Tera into the throne room without so much as a word. They were summoned first thing in the morning, but it seemed that the I.I. monarch was up some time even before then.
The throne room looked much more like a study than it had before. It was like some blind librarian took over the chamber, leaving things about on tables he brought in and abandoning them forever. Books were open with bits of paper scattered over them. King Hum stood behind his desk where his throne customarily was. He was frowning down at a map and a handful of letters stacked beside it. He didn’t look up when the two foreigners entered the room.
King Hum had holed himself up in the palace ever since the feast ended the day before. Though he gave the eulogy in public, he still felt inclined to hide from his subjects. He wanted as few Opesians as possible to be aware of his…defect. The linen wrappings served their purpose when he was in public, but he had to restrict his movement to keep up the charade.
Most of the citizens thought their king was wounded — badly burned — as they assumed by his bandages. They dared not pry about the circumstance of his mysterious injury, but all assumed the Council was behind it. The tragic loss of the raid and the apparent wounds on their king sent them in a fury. Almost every adult capable of fighting was ready to march on Shell City. Still, they waited for the order from their king, sharpening their blades and practicing their skills in the meantime. The young king did nothing to dispel the rumors surrounding his appearance. In fact, it benefited him to let them think whatever they wanted to.
Gauge sat across the desk from King Hum, sandwiched between it and another table. He was writing something in a journal, stopping every now and then to look up and think.
Adviser Orram entered behind Tera and Ethan while they were still waiting for someone to take notice of them. He pushed them aside gently as he strode to the King. Hum looked up finally as Orram whispered something in his ears. He nodded, then made eye contact with the new pair.
“You’re here,” he said. “Good. Then we can begin.”
There were a pair of chairs in the corner of the room that Hum gestured to. Tera grabbed two of them and they both took their seats at the desk.
King Hum waved his open palm over the map as if showing off a game-winning hand of cards. Everyone took note of the dotted lines and the geographic features of the map, in the middle of which was a large star labeled OPES.
“This is the country that surrounds the kingdom,” he started, looking at each attendant as he spoke. He pointed down at the dotted lines that separated the region like cuts on a butcher’s diagram. “These are the territories of our closest neighbors. It’s these neighbors that we’ve got to win over and recruit to our side. In the west, we have the Battalion and the Republic of Orange. To the south, a tribe of installed intelligences who call themselves the Ghosts. In the north, we have Truck’s Raiders to appeal to, and to the east is the Gearhead Guild. Each of us will be tasked with recruiting one of these factions.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the plots of land depicted on the map. Gauge nodded as he listened.
King Hum turned to his adviser, who stood just to the side of the desk. “Orram, my most trusted adviser,” he said. “You will be visiting the Republic of Orange. You’re familiar with their traders, so you’re our best representative. Remember, they are a corporate government. Capitalism is their god. Appeal to their greed and it should be a matter of numbers before they join us.”
“As you command, your grace,” Orram replied, bowing.
The king’s glowing eyes locked onto Gauge’s, who stopped his scribbling to pay attention. “We’ll be sending you to the Ghosts,” he explained. “They may be sympathetic to your cause. Like you, they are I.I.s who loathe the Council, but instead of mounting a resistance, they fled. They can be found living in a large cavern to the south, in the badlands. They aren’t too fond of humans, so you’re the best fit, Gauge.”
“Speaking of humans,” Hum continued, his gaze shifting to Ethan, “I want to send you to the Gearhead Guild.”
“The Gearhead Guild?” Ethan repeated. The words felt ridiculous leaving his lips.
“That’s right,” King Hum replied. “They’re not a nation or tribe like our other neighbors. They are a network composed of hundreds of independent landowners — most of them farmers and ranchers. Don’t let that throw you off, though — they drive battle-ready armor mechs instead of tractors. They keep to themselves, but that doesn’t mean they won’t put up a unified fight in the face of a common enemy. They’ve got a bit of a phobia of I.I.s, however — otherwise, I might go myself.”
King Hum turned to Tera, who waited for her turn patiently. “Ms. Alvarez, I will be sending you to negotiate with Truck’s Raiders to the north.”
Tera recoiled a little at the name. She looked across the desk at the young monarch with resistant eyes. Images of Abenayo
