One of the spurs, just beside the pit, started to open, the sides folding outward. Inside the cavity thus revealed was a metal chair, set in a complex web of silver wire and gleaming crystal. Naumoriel came to a halt beside it.
“For all its power, the Core Analytica cannot control Leviathan alone,” Naumoriel said. “Only a living mind can do that. That is what I have lived for, since I learned the truth of what my father had created. I will shed this flimsy body and become a god, a titan of steel and its attendant swarm. And I have you to thank, Kitsraea. I would never have found all the pieces without you.”
Naumoriel’s claw twitched, casting Kit aside as a man might flick a bit of grit from his collar. She hit a nearby spur with bone-cracking force and slid down it in a long streak of blood, lying limp and motionless at the bottom. The war-construct knelt, and the canopy swung open, limbs turning inward to lift the old ghoul out of his seat.
Gyre slipped out from behind his spur as soon as the ghoul turned the other way. The bomb had rolled across the deck, and he snatched it up. Turning the cylinder over, he found where Naumoriel had cut the fuse. It was easy enough to reconnect, and he tossed it over the heads of the little constructs and down the hole. The primary motivators sound important. Let’s hope. Moving as quietly as he could, he skirted Naumoriel and slipped to Kit’s side.
She lay slumped against the metal spur, one arm obviously broken, glistening bits of torn gut visible through the huge rent in her stomach. Her chin was coated in blood, but her eyes were open, and as he knelt beside her, she stirred enough to look at him. Her lips curled in a smile.
“Can’t … keep … you down, eh?” Her words were the barest whisper.
“Try to hold on,” he said, grabbing the remote trigger from her limp hand.
Kit laughed, a horrible sound that brought another gout of blood from her lips. “Fuck. You.” She leaned her head back against the metal. “Just … kill me. For … old times’ … sake.” Her hands moved against her stomach, squishing wetly. “This … really fucking hurts.”
The war-construct shifted with a whirr, tentacles holding Naumoriel halfway to the arcana-shrouded chair. The old ghoul was looking right at them, and Gyre slowly straightened up.
“Fine,” Kit said, her voice fading. “Have it. Your way. Slow and painful … it is.”
“Boy,” Naumoriel said. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Putting a stop to this,” Gyre said.
“Too late for that,” the old ghoul said, ears quivering. “Besides, I’m only going to grant you what you wanted. The destruction of the Order and the Republic.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Gyre said. “It’s no good if everything else is destroyed as well.”
Naumoriel’s lips split in a grin, showing pointed teeth. “In that case,” he said, “you should have bargained more carefully, human.”
“I’d like to renegotiate,” Gyre said. He flipped the grille up and pressed his thumb to the crystal switch.
The ghoul barked a laugh, ears twitching. “You ignorant wretch. Apparently you haven’t been paying atten—”
There was a low rumble, a buzz through the metal into the soles of Gyre’s feet. Moments later a pillar of smoke erupted from the hole in the deck, followed by a tongue of flame that blasted a dozen of the small constructs into the air. Another explosion followed, and then another, marching backward through Leviathan’s vast bulk. The deck shifted underneath them, canting as the entire enormous construct lurched drunkenly to one side. With a crash like a mountain coming to pieces, it hit the far wall, sliding down it in a scream of tortured metal until it finally stuck.
Gyre lost his footing, rolling across the deck. Across from him, Naumoriel’s war-construct staggered for balance on its multiple legs, the ghoul swinging wildly from the tentacle-limbs. It slammed its still-open canopy against the nearby spur, and the smooth black stuff shattered, shards cascading down over Naumoriel and the deck.
“You … pestilent … human!” the ghoul screamed, as Leviathan finally rumbled to a halt. The deck remained tilted, and the small constructs skittered wildly across it, like a mound of ants after their hill has been kicked over. The arms of Naumoriel’s construct lifted him back into his seat, under the shattered remains of the canopy. Fragments of it had cut the old ghoul, and crimson stains matted his fur. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Not precisely,” Gyre said, tossing the trigger away. “But I think I have a general idea.”
“You think you’ve won. You pathetic little worm. I fixed Leviathan once, and I can do it again, after my mind is transferred into the Core Analytica.” The war-construct stepped forward, claw-limbs extending. “But first I am going to take great pleasure in ripping you to shreds.”
Gyre let out a breath and concentrated. In the back of his skull, something went click.
I don’t have long. If he burned too much energy this time, there would be no getting back up. So let’s make this quick. He pushed off, moving in long, floating leaps, running for the construct.
Naumoriel reached for him. The tentacle-arms were faster, splitting at the ends to truss him up like a vulpi for slaughter, but his silver eye projected shadow-lines ahead of them, and Gyre watched where they converged. He stepped around the spot, swinging his blade up, and it slashed through the thin metal skin and into the dark muscle beneath. A length of tentacle flopped to the deck, the severed ends gushing black blood.
The thing’s two larger arms barred his path, claws open. Gyre pulled up short, judging his moment. Then, as Naumoriel reached forward, he jumped.
The claw-arm passed beneath him, preceded by its wave of shadows. Gyre pulled in his legs and landed, with perfect precision, just behind the leading claw, balancing on the limb as it shifted underneath him. The second claw swung around, trying to knock him off like a man swatting a fly, and Gyre jumped again. This time he made it as far as the ovoid central body, grabbing the rim where the canopy had once fit and yanking himself up.
Naumoriel straightened in his seat, snarling with bloodstained fangs. His eyes narrowed as Gyre unsheathed his silver sword.
“I should have known,” he muttered. “Should have known better than to give a morsel of power to your kind. You have always been our enemy, just as much as the sun-lovers.” He grinned, shifting his hands against the controls, and the claw-arms rose behind Gyre. “You have no idea what’s coming for you.”
The claws twisted, reaching for him. Gyre extended his sword, a single neat thrust that took the ghoul through the heart. Naumoriel clawed at the blade for a moment, spitting defiance, then sagged. The war-construct shuddered to a halt, claws open and extended a half meter from Gyre’s back.
Gyre slipped under them and jumped to the deck, stumbling slightly on the unexpected slope. He let the shadow-world fade with a click and checked the energy bottle at his side. It still had a healthy glow—not much fighting time, but enough to keep him moving for a while. Sheathing his sword, he ran to where Kit lay against the spur. She’d slid sideways when Leviathan shifted, smearing blood in her wake.
“Kit,” Gyre said, kneeling beside her. “Kit!”