(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

The paddywagon rattled like a sack of bones. Two great robot horses pulled it across the barren land. A spotter sat up top in a perch that afforded him a view of the landscape in all directions. The Guards sat in a covered cab at the front of the wagon, behind the horses.

The back of the wagon was cramped, with just enough room for a bench on each side and space to walk single file. The only door was located at the rear, locked and heavily armored. There were no windows, only a small vent for climate control.

The Guards has sprayed each prisoner with a compound that dissolved the webs that encased them. They then applied spider silk shackles around the prisoners' wrists and ankles, with additional strands tying them to the benches. Before closing and locking the door, each captive was notified of the charges against them by the taller of the two Guards.

She started with the teenagers. “Steven Broyle, you are charged with truancy, illegal possession of a controlled substance, and consumption of a controlled substance. Matthew Carey, you are charged with truancy, illegal possession of a controlled substance, and consumption of a controlled substance.”

“And damaging the uniform of an Imperial Guard,” said the shorter Guard.

“It's puke, it'll wash out,” the tall one replied.

She moved on to Zeck. “Zeck Strauss, you are charged with theft of goods or services and attempted assault on an officer of the peace.”

The Guard turned around and regarded the giant, still out cold from the debilitator. Even sitting, he came face to face with the Guard. He took up a good half of the bench, requiring his friend and the wizard to squeeze together on the other half. “Meat Rom,” the Guard said, “you will be informed of the charges against you now and again when you have regained consciousness. You are charged with theft of state secrets, theft of government property, possession of restricted military grade weaponry, evasion of justice, destruction of property both public and private, three counts of murder, fifty-nine counts of assault, and attempted assault on an officer of the peace.”

“I'm impressed you got that out all in one breath,” Zeck said. The Guard ignored him and moved on to the man who'd been studying the map with the giant.

“Burts Fawth, you are charged with theft of state secrets, theft of government property, possession of restricted military grade weaponry, evasion of justice, destruction of property both public and private, arson, pickpocketing, nine counts of murder, seventeen counts of assault, attempted assault on an officer of the peace, attempted theft from an officer of the peace, and littering.”

The wizard was last. “If I guess the charges, will you let me off with a warning?” he said.

“No,” said the Guard without humor, “but a plea of guilty would be taken into consideration upon your trial. John Derman, you are charged with assaulting an officer of the peace.”

“That's it?” John said. “After the laundry list you read these two guys, all I get is assault with a not-so-deadly snake?”

“It's enough,” the Guard said. Addressing the entire van load, she said, “All accused are considered neither innocent nor guilty until proven either way at the Ruby Court. This paddywagon will make stops every four hours for meals and regular bodily functions. This vehicle is not equipped with an emergency call button, but if you have a bodily waste emergency, stomp your feet three times fast, then two more times. We will allow you an additional break. Do not abuse this privilege. These horses are fast, but we have a long way to go. We will be traversing the Eastern Hinterlands, which means there is nowhere to run if you try to escape. Are there any final words before we embark?”

“Attercop,” said Steven. The Guard shut the door.

The first few hours passed in silence. Zeck tugged impatiently at the webbing that bound his wrists. The paddywagon rocked and swayed with every dip and bump in the road, knocking the prisoners against each other. Meat Rom slept away. He didn't wake even when his head lolled with the motion of the van, smacking against the ceiling before falling forward or to the side to rest against Burts. He just snored and drooled on himself.

Finally, Zeck couldn't stand the awkward silence any longer. “Well, we know each other's names and alleged crimes, but we haven't been properly introduced. It's a long way to the Ruby Court; we might as well get to know each other.” Only John, the old mage, looked at Zeck. Then he sneered and looked away again. Zeck continued, undeterred. “I was born at sea in a boat made of cabbage, a man without a country. I've lived here and there. New York, Dayton, Lexington. Centralia, most recently. I was only passing through Rintburg on my way to Chattanooga. I'm a dabbler and a dilettante, much to the chagrin of my mother and father.”

“Oh, I thought you were a corsair. You dress like one,” muttered Steven, the boy who hadn't thrown up in the bar. He spoke with an accent that had come to be known as 'Kentucky cockney,' a little bit of each but not really either, a result of one of the the geographical jigsaw puzzles the Empire had created.

“It might behoove you to not make assumptions about people based on their attire,” said Zeck. “Looking at you and your green-about-the-gills friend, in your T-shirts and jeans, I might be inclined to assume that I was in the presence of a pair of guttersnipes.”

The boy said nothing to that, only spat at Zeck's shoe. He missed.

“What about you, old man?” Zeck asked John. “What's your story? I must say, that was some interesting wizardry back in the bar.”

The old wizard muttered something under his breath. “I'm a Snake Mage. I'm trained in the subtle art of snake magics. Er, herpemancy, that is.”

“Herpemancy, huh?” Burts said. “Do you think you could summon something with nice pointy teeth? Something that could tear through these shackles?” Burts had not witnessed the incident with the garter snake, having been encased in webbing at the time.

“I, er, they took my staff,” John said. “No use.”

“Too bad. If I could only get some good leverage, I could tear right through this silk.” He twisted his wrists and flexed and pulled, but to no avail. “Flipping attercops.”

“And what about the teenage tobacco enthusiasts sitting to my right?” said Zeck. “What brings two young scholars such as yourselves to a shady tavern in the middle of a school day, gulping smoke like water?”

“Mind your own business, corsair,” said Steven.

“I assure you, despite my attire, I am not a pirate nor a privateer. To be perfectly honest, these aren't even my clothes. It's a funny story. Due to a misunderstanding with a customs agent upon my return to Pennsylvania from New Belgium, I found myself running through the airport completely nude. All I had was my carry-on bag, which was of little help, as all of my clothes were in my checked luggage. In my haste to address the issue of my nudity, I mistook a complete stranger's suitcase for my own at the baggage carousel. These clothes were the first things I pulled out, so I threw them on. I fully intended to turn back and apologize to those customs agents for the mix-up, but I inadvertently activated a one-time teleport sphere that happened to be in the pocket of these trousers. I meant to acquire some suitable attire once I arrived in Kentucky, but my credit card seems to have been frozen, and what cash I have on hand is needed for food and lodging. I'm sure there's an equally innocent explanation for your truancy, as well as your indecorous behavior.”

“I said mind your own business,” said the boy, “and don't bother me with yours.”

The awkward silence returned. After a minute it was broken again by a pitiful voice, barely louder than a whisper. “My name's Matthew,” said the boy who had vomited onto the Guard's boots. “Does anybody have a mint?” His accent was a little more Kentucky, and a little less cockney, suggesting he and Steven came from opposite ends of Rintburg.

“I do,” said Zeck. “There's a small tin of mints in my satchel. Unfortunately, it's in the cargo hatch with the rest of our belongings.” Matthew looked like he was on the verge of vomiting again. The road was particularly wavy here, and the wagon tossed like a ship at sea. “A little tempest in the tummy, eh?” said Zeck. “I find it helps if I close my eyes and try not to think about all of the lurching and swaying. Don't think about the dryness in your throat or the swimmy sensation in your head.”

“You're making it worse, you tosser,” said Steven. “Just take deep breaths, Matthew. Think of your mum.”

“What on Earth possessed you to smoke half a pack of cigarettes in one sitting, anyway?” said Zeck.

“We were trying to-” Matthew began.

“I told you to mind your own business,” said Steven. “Why don't you smoke my dick, corsair?”

Zeck was on the verge of spitting the perfect retort when a jolt from below sent the wagon several feet up into the air. There was a giddy moment of weightlessness before the wagon went crashing back down with a tremendous crack! The robot horses whinnied, and the vehicle jolted to a stop.

The restraints holding Meat Rom to the bench snapped and he tumbled forward. His head slammed Zeck in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and dislodging one of his dental caps. The cap landed on the now vacant seat next to Burts. Meat slid to the floor between the benches. Burts twisted awkwardly in his seat and managed to pick up the dental cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Ugh. That was in his mouth, you know,” said John. Burts paid him no mind.

“Titanium, is it?” Burts said. Zeck nodded. The dental cap had an edge just sharp enough to cut through the protein strands of the spiderwebs. With a few swift motions, Burts sliced through all of his restraints. He sawed through Meat's shackles next, then Zeck's. Within seconds, he had freed the mage and the two youths as well. “Thanks,” he said, and handed the cap back to Zeck. Then he shoved one arm under Meat and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of feathers. With one kick, he sent the rear door of the wagon flying. He jumped out and placed Meat in a sitting position against the side of the wagon.

Zeck popped the cap back in place. He put his hand out to shield his eyes from the orange light streaming into the wagon. The sun was setting back where they'd come from, shrouded in the ever-present volcanic ash that clouded the atmosphere. Besides the sinking sun, all Zeck could see was hardened lava, black and wrinkled, as far as the horizon. It rolled and fell in great hills and valleys, a country of stone.

The two youths jumped down beside Burts and Meat, with John and Zeck right behind.

“I don't like this,” said a voice from the side of the wagon. It was the taller of the Guards. “There's too many hills and ditches here. Too many places to hide.”

“Jim?” said another voice. It was the short Guard. “Jim, can you hear me? Jim. Captain Teymore, I think Jim's broken his neck.”

“Well, he fell on his head, so I'd say it's likely.” said the taller Guard.

“What do we do? It's Jim. He's dead. And his rifle's broken. The stock split right in half.”

“Focus, Captain Jaut. I need you to not be in shock right now. There's nothing we can do for him, and right now I'm more worried about two things: the prisoners escaping from the van, and more importantly, finding out who placed the derailleur mine we just hit.”

The short Guard spun around at the mention of the prisoners escaping. “Prisoners!” he said. He drew his spider gun and strode to the back of the wagon. “Back in the van, now.”

“As your partner said, I think you have more pressing issues to worry about,” said Burts. “If that was a mine, that means we're under attack. Could be ravagers, could be scrappers, could be something else, but I'd say it's only a matter of seconds before whoever set the trap comes to see what they've caught.”

“You think I'm an idiot? We hit a pothole, that's all. I order you to return to your seat while we conduct repairs.”

As if in reply, the three tires on the port side of the vehicle burst, popping sounds accompanied concurrently by the tell-tale pew-pew-pew of a laser gun. The three tires on the starboard side went next. Everybody spun to see where the shots had come from.

The reddened light of the setting sun shone off the polished armor of a dozen soldiers, surrounding the wagon like hours on a clock. Their helmets looked like eggs with dark face plates. Their laser rifles had bayonet-like points. The grips were shaped like axe heads. Like the Imperial Guards, they were covered in armor from head to toe, but the design was completely foreign to most of the travelers. Only the Guard known as Captain Teymore seemed to recognize them. “Arterian Pneuma,” she said, and raised her blunderbuss. Captain Jaut only had his spider gun, but he raised it all the same.

A voice like robot thunder filled the air, seemingly coming from all twelve Pneuma soldiers in concert. “We prefer to take the target alive. Discard your weapons and kiss dirt, and you all may live.”

“What about Jim?” shouted Jaut.

There was a pause. “Who the hell is Jim?” said the voice.

“Our spotter. He fell out of the shotgun seat and broke his neck.”

Another pause. “Do as we say, and all of you except for Jim may live.”

“Sod this,” said Steven. He grabbed Matthew and helped him back into the wagon.

“What do you want from us?” asked Captain Teymore.

“We only want the one called Meat Rom. You will give him, or we will take him. It makes little difference to us.”

“Oh, you want Meat Rom?” said Burts. “This guy?” He pointed at the sleeping giant.

“Yes,” said the voice.

“All right, then,” said Burts. “Here you go.” He took Meat Rom by the hands, spun around twice and flung Meat's limp body at one of the Pneuma. The giant flew fast, spinning like a shuriken. His boots hit the soldier in the side, sending him flying into the soldier to his right with the force of a speeding bus. A crunch and a crack were followed by plumes of purple smoke erupting from each of the soldiers. Their armored suits collapsed to the ground like deflated balloons.

Losing no momentum after tossing Meat, Burts raised his leg and kicked a sizable dent next to the starboard cargo hatch, forming a crevice next to the door. He reached into the crevice and tore the door straight off. “John,” he said, tossing the snake mage his staff. John grabbed at the staff and missed. It clattered to the ground. “Zeck.” He tossed Zeck his satchel. He caught it and rummaged until he found his acoustic laser.

Everything happened very fast then. The remaining soldiers opened fire with their laser rifles. One shot whizzed right over John's head, missing him only because he'd stooped to pick up his staff. Zeck used the orphaned door from the cargo hatch to shield himself and John. Laser shots pinged off of the door.

“All right,” said John. “Leave this to me. It always transpires that a wizard has to step in and pull everybody's nuts out of the fire.” He stepped out from behind the door shield and raised his staff. A few laser shots came his way, but they all turned black and vanished before they reached him. The gem on the end of his staff shone in the sunlight, brighter than it should have. The glow turned from orange to an unnatural blue. Zeck thought he saw an eye in that blue light, a pupil with a vertical slit that split the world. “Serpent rain!” John shouted. The sun blinked, just for a moment. A crack of thunder rumbled, but it followed no lightning. Over the heads of each of the Pneuma soldiers a dark portal flickered open. Three or four snakes tumbled out and landed on each guy. The portals snapped shut.

“What the-” said the booming robot voice. The snakes fell to the ground and slithered away, but the distraction was just enough to give the prisoners and their Guards the upper hand.

Burts ran in a zig-zag pattern, quickly closing in on one of the Pneuma. He grabbed the soldier's laser rifle right out of his hands and hit him in the faceplate with the axe-shaped butt. The glass-like material cracked, but didn't shatter. The soldier swung at Burts, but Burts was too fast. He ducked, swept his leg in an arc and sent his opponent to the ground, flat on his back. He gave the soldier's faceplate another whack with the butt of the rifle. It cracked this time. Purple smoke screamed out like steam from a kettle. Burts raised the rifle and tried to fire at another soldier, but the weapon was programmed to only fire in the living hands of its owner. Burts threw the rifle like a javelin. The sharp point struck a soldier in the torso and penetrated his chest plate with a crunch. More purple smoke. The soldier flopped to the ground.

Captain Teymore blasted one of the Pneuma right in the faceplate with a two-pound shot from her blunderbuss. A column of purple smoke erupted from the soldier's head. She wasted no time dispatching another one.

Captain Jaut got a few shots off with his spider gun. Only one hit, but it had the desired effect. The soldier dropped to the ground, wrapped in webs. The Guard dove for cover with Zeck and John. “Retreat!” he shouted. “Into the van!”

“You really don't have to shout,” said Zeck. “I mean, we're right here.”

“Come on!” said Jaut. He grabbed one side of the door and Zeck grabbed the other. They walked backwards with it and climbed up into the relative safety of the passenger area. They set the door from the cargo hatch in the gaping hole where the back door used to be. It only covered two thirds of the hole, but it was better than nothing.

Teymore saw that they'd taken out more than half of their attackers, nearly clearing a half-circle. She switched her blunderbuss to the spray setting and opened continuous fire in the direction of the two Pneuma that remained on her side of the wagon. The soldiers dove for cover in ditches. Teymore continued firing as she ran for the back of the van. Burts arrived at the same time she did, shielding himself with the apparently empty suit of a fallen soldier.

“I don't have my blunderbuss,” said the short Guard.

“Where is it?” said Teymore.

“In the cab. I didn't think I'd need it.”

Burts nodded. “May I borrow this?” He took Zeck's acoustic laser without waiting for a response. He leapt up and hoisted himself onto the top of the wagon. There was a muffled kaboom, followed by a sound like an egg cracking from the inside out. “What the hell is that?” they heard Burts say. His footsteps thudded across the roof of the wagon.

Two soldiers appeared from behind a short hill about a hundred yards away, close enough to be dangerous. Captain Teymore sprayed suppressing fire in their direction. “He'd better come back with that blunderbuss,” she said. “I'm running low on ammo here. I'm out of two-pound shot, and these pellets aren't gonna do much against that armor of theirs.”

“This may help,” said Zeck. He pulled up his shirt and reached his thumb and forefinger into his navel. With a wet plop, he pulled out something that looked like a bright red cherry with a black stem.

“What the hell is that?” said Steven.

“It's an incendiary cherry bomb,” said Zeck.

“And you had it hidden in your belly button?”

“No, of course not. It was manufactured by a synthetic stomach virus I contracted some time ago. I call it Borb, short for borborygmus.”

“That's disgusting,” said Steven.

“I'll take that,” said Captain Jaut. He plucked the cherry bomb from Zeck's grasp. “Do I light it, or what?”

“You know, it would really be nice to have a chance to use one of my own weapons for once,” said Zeck. Another egg-cracking sound came from the fore of the wagon, followed by a shot from a blunderbuss. Zeck sighed. “You don't light it, you pull the stem, then throw it as far as you can.”

“Hold your fire a moment,” said Captain Jaut. Captain Teymore stopped firing. Jaut stood up so he could lob the cherry bomb over the door shield. The Pneuma soldiers, assuming that Teymore was reloading, stood up and rushed toward the wagon. Jaut pulled the stem and threw the cherry as hard as he could.

It hit one of the soldiers square in the chest and burst on impact. Instead of an explosion, the cherry showered the Pneuma's ivory-colored suit with a sticky red fluid. The two soldiers stopped in surprise, looked down at the juice, then continued toward the wagon. Nothing more seemed to be happening.

Captain Jaut ducked back down behind the door. “Is that cherry juice? Was that just an actual cherry?”

“Oh, no, I assure you, it's a quite deadly bomb.”

“Maybe it wasn't ripe?”

“As ripe as they get. You'll see in a moment.”

Sure enough, a second later and not more than fifty feet from the wagon, the cherry juice began to smoke. The Pneuma stopped again and tried unsuccessfully to wipe it off of his armor. The juice burst into flames, sending the soldier into a panic. He dropped to the ground and rolled around, but the flames only grew larger. The other soldier stomped on the flames in a futile attempt to put them out. Instead, the flames spread to his suit. He dropped to the ground, too, rolling and flailing. Purple smoke began to leak from the seams and joints of their armor. The purple smoke joined with the fire, turning black and roaring like a lion. The soldiers may have screamed, or it may have just been the sound of the smoke escaping from their suits. Soon they were still. The fire settled from a roar to a steady flicker. All that remained were the shells of their suits.

“That was upsetting,” said Captain Jaut.

“That armor is made from a dense carbon lattice,” said Teymore. “Once it starts burning, it'll keep going for hours.”

“I think that's all of them,” said Zeck. “Assuming Burts got the rest of the ones up front with the blunderbuss and my acoustic laser, I think we're in the clear.”

“Even assuming that there are no more of them, we are not in clear,” said Teymore. “That was a nice distraction, with the serpent rain, Derman.”

“Oh, er, yes,” said John. “That's exactly what it was supposed to be. A distraction. Not a feast for snakes, or anything.”

“Do you think you could do it again, if you had to? Maybe with larger snakes that could eat something the size of a house cat?”

“I'm pretty knackered,” said John. “Stuff like that really takes it out of me these days.”

“Fair enough,” said Teymore. “We need to destroy the suits, then. Put them on the fire. We need to move quickly.” She stashed her blunderbuss across her back and hopped down from the van.

A cry of anguish came from the front of the wagon. “Fawth,” said Teymore.

John stayed in the van with Matthew and Steven to rest, but Zeck and Captain Jaut followed Captain Teymore to the source of the noise.

Burts was under attack by three cat-sized robots with twenty legs each. Their legs went from rigid to bendy and back again, undulating like tentacles when they needed to crawl or climb, turning rigid as steel bars when they needed to run across the ground, or grasp something tightly, like the one on Burts's leg.

“What the hell are those?” said Captain Jaut.

“Secondary tactical vehicles, ejected from the ivory suits,” said Teymore as she sprinted. “We just called them squids.”

One of the squids had attached itself to Burts's face. He made a fist and punched the thing, bowing his head forward at the same time. The robot shattered, legs flying in all directions. A whiff of purple smoke came out. Something the size and color of a naked mole rat fell out of the robot and plopped to the ground. “They've got Meat Rom!” said Burts. “The guns are in the cab. Don't bother with me!” He stomped on a robot scuttling up on his left side. Its legs splayed out, then went limp. The one on his leg squeezed even tighter. There was a soft crack as his femur broke. He roared, but ignored the squid on his leg in favor of the one crawling up his back.

Teymore turned and looked at the spot where she'd last seen Meat Rom. The giant was no longer there. “There!” said Jaut, pointing. “They're carrying him off like ants.” Sure enough, four of the squids were gradually hauling Meat's unconscious body across the ground. “Where are they taking-” Jaut was cut short by a squid leaping from the ground onto the back of his head. Its legs wrapped all the way around and covered his face.

“Stay put,” said Teymore. She ran to the cab of the wagon and searched for something under the seat. She returned a moment later with a tire iron and Zeck's acoustic pistol. She handed the tire iron to Zeck. “Stick it between the thing and his head. Pry it off, then smash and smash it. Try not to breathe in the purple smoke. I'll get Meat Rom.” She paused. “Be careful.” She ran after Meat Rom's slowly retreating form.

The squid wrapped its legs around Jaut's head and squeezed. The chelicerae on his mask snapped off and fell away, exposing patches of skin underneath. “Do something!” he said. With his mouthpiece damaged, his real voice came through. He sounded young. He sounded scared.

“All right, hold still,” said Zeck. He wedged the tire iron between the many-legged thing and the back of the Guard's helmet. He had to wiggle it and apply considerable pressure to shove it into place. “On the count of three, I'm going to pry it loose,” he said. “One.” He twisted the iron counterclockwise as hard as he could, popping several of the robot's legs out of their sockets. The squid flopped backwards, scrambling for purchase on the smooth back of the Guard's uniform. Zeck gave it a whack with the tire iron which snapped it free of its last grip on Captain Jaut. It landed on its back, missing a good third of its appendages, but it lost no time righting itself. It reared up on its remaining legs like an angry spider. Zeck swung the iron like a golf club. The robot flew ten feet, grabbed at the ground to stop itself, then ran back at Zeck with renewed vigor. Another squid, traveling at a considerable speed, crashed into it from the side. Their legs tangled together in a tentacular hug, even as their bodies crushed and broke. Purple smoke leaked out.

Zeck looked in the direction the robot had come from. Burts stood there, his face bloody. His right leg was a shredded, shattered mess, but still he stood. He shot Zeck a thumbs-up.

“Is that all?” said Jaut. He'd removed what remained of his mask. He was shockingly young. He couldn't have been much older than Matthew and Steven. His face was a stone, but his eyes betrayed his fear. The tactical silk cowl that formed the rest of his helmet was torn to shreds. Bloody mats of hair stuck through. “Is that all of them?” he repeated. “How many are there?”

He was answered by a muffled thump from close behind. The soldier he'd wrapped with his spider gun still lay supine, but he was no longer wriggling in his web sac. Another thump. The web sac stretched, then sprang back. Purple smoke oozed through the strands.

“We have to get it to the fire,” said Zeck. “I'm out of bombs.”

Burts couldn't walk, so he dropped to his belly and started crawling toward the sac. Zeck rushed in and grabbed one end of it. “Jaut and I will get it,” Zeck said to Burts. Captain Jaut hesitated. “Come on,” said Zeck, “we don't know how long this is going to hold.”

“What if it jumps out while we're holding it?” said Jaut. He was trembling where he stood. Zeck realized that the Guard was terrified. He started dragging the web sac toward the fire on his own. The chest cavity thumped and expanded and retracted. The fire was twenty feet away. Zeck's boot heel slipped on the smooth surface of the lava. He fell on his ass, the web sac in his lap.

The sac burst open. A round body surrounded by twenty arms flung itself at his face. Zeck had no time to react. In a second, the squid would wrap itself around his unprotected head. Then, in midair, it changed direction. The legs popped off and clattered to the ground. The shell of the robot cracked open and a small wisp of purple wafted out. Something tiny screamed in pain.

Zeck looked behind him to see Captain Teymore standing there, acoustic laser in hand. Her left arm had been stripped of armor. Her forearm bent where it should have been straight.

“Thanks,” said Zeck.

“Thanks for helping Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Captain Jaut.” She holstered the acoustic laser. “Speaking of. Bob, you're injured.”

“It's just scratches,” he said, feeling his scalp. He peeled back his cowl. He was still shaking. “M-my mask, it's shattered.”

Captain Teymore took off her own mask and pulled her cowl back. “Take mine,” she said. “The cowl, we can patch.” She may have been in her early thirties, but it was difficult to tell. Her hair was jet black and cut short. Her face carried numerous scars, most small, a few large. Her eyes looked like they'd seen eons.

“What'll you wear?” said Bob, taking Teymore's mask from her.

“We'll worry about it later,” she said.

“Thank you, Sheryl,” said Bob. He looked down at the mask, but didn't put it on.

“Meat,” said Burts, still on the ground but sitting up now. “Where is he?”

“I destroyed the squids that were carting him off, but he's much too heavy for me to haul back here alone. He's still out cold.” She looked at his leg. “You need medical attention. I'm shocked you're not bleeding more. We have Medi-Gel in the wagon.”

“Save it,” Burts said. “I make my own version. Nanobots in the blood, from Woulf Labs themselves. I'll heal soon enough.” Sure enough, his lacerations were closing up like slow zippers. His blood was red, but had a strange silver sheen to it. “I'll be fine once I eat something. You could use some first aid, though.” He nodded at her arm.

“In a minute. We need to see if one of these things is still alive. Maybe we can get some information out of it.” She knelt down and picked through the wreckage of the most recently destroyed robot. When she stood, she cradled in her hand a writhing pink creature that almost looked like a human baby, if that baby was a scrawny old man.

“What the hell is that?” said Bob.

“It's a homunculus, cloned from the flesh of a man named Plumwine. That purple fog that came out of the suits is Plumwine's animus. He breathes life into the empty suits, but he needs these things to control them.”

“We are not things,” said the homunculus in a voice that squeaked and wheezed. “We are the children of Lord Plumwine. We will have our quarry.”

“Are there more of you?” said Teymore. “More Pneuma in the area?”

The homunculus coughed. “It matters not,” it said. “It is too late for you. Any moment now, the Arterians will launch a coordinated attack,” he coughed and hacked, “an attack on all of your orbital weapon arrays, all of your communication satellites, and all of your,” cough cough, “military posts. You have already lost a war you did not even know had begun.”

The wind whipped up. A low hum quickly turned to a rumble that vibrated the very atmosphere. A bright purple glow rose from behind a hill in the distance. In an instant, it was overhead. An Arterian hovercraft.

“We have used our time in exile to build an army the Churls cannot possibly defeat. Regard the wreckage here. You have destroyed nothing but empty suits.” He coughed so hard he spit up a glob of purple goop that might have been blood. “Lord Plumwine has many children, and we are all eager to give our lives for the greatness of Arteria. Churlia is small. Your forces are stretched thin as it is, your alliances tenuous. Even as I speak, Plumwine's army is defeating the Churlian Tephra on every corner of the globe. Your greatest fighters, crushed like ants.” He trailed off into a coughing fit.

“You talk an awful lot for something that chokes on fresh air,” said Teymore.

The homunculus gasped for breath between coughs. Between gasps, it almost sounded like it was laughing. A wide beam of light the color of lavender reached down from the hovercraft. It engulfed Meat Rom's body, a spotlight for a sleeping giant on a hilltop.

“No!” said Burts. “Stop them!” He began to crawl toward the light. Meat Rom's body started to ascend, slowly but steadily.

These stories are also available in paperback and ebook on Amazon, and wherever audiobooks are sold.