At eight years old, Cael was permitted to leave the temple under supervision.
The authorization arrived during morning instruction.
Adept Doxa stood before the novices with her hands folded inside her sleeves.
“Cael Venn. Elian Rho. Tara Kasp.”
The three of them rose.
“You have been assigned to Practical Cohort Seven.”
Elian’s metal jaw clicked softly.
Tara touched the interface behind her ear.
Cael asked, “What does the cohort do?”
Doxa looked at him.
“Practical work.”
“What kind?”
“The kind explained after you cease interrupting.”
Cael lowered his head.
Doxa continued.
“You will accompany Enginseer Prime Halix-12 during routine inspections of the eastern industrial tier. You will observe sanctioned maintenance, record deviations and perform tasks appropriate to your grade.”
“Will we repair machines?” Cael asked.
Doxa paused.
“Yes.”
That single word made the remaining instructions difficult to hear.
They were issued protective robes, respirators, insulated gloves and novice tool rolls. Their grey clothing remained visible beneath the outer layers. No one mistook them for priests.
Cael fastened the tool roll around his waist.
It contained six drivers, two probes, a contact brush, a small magnifier, a calibrated hammer and a folding knife with a blunt tip.
He inspected every item.
Elian watched him.
“You look happy.”
“I am checking the tools.”
“You are checking them happily.”
Cael looked at him.
“Is that prohibited?”
“Probably.”
Tara pulled her respirator over her face.
Its lenses made her eyes appear large and black.
“Doxa can sense happiness through walls.”
“No,” Cael said.
Tara adjusted the filter.
“Then why does she always arrive when someone has it?”
Elian’s jaw emitted a metallic scraping noise.
Cael had learned that this was how he laughed.
Enginseer Prime Halix-12 met them at the temple gate.
He was broader than most Tech-Priests Cael had seen. Heavy mechanical braces enclosed his legs, and a generator pack rose from his back beneath a weathered red robe. Four mechadendrites rested over his shoulders.
Two ended in tools.
One carried a censor.
The fourth bore a compact cutting torch.
His face remained largely human, though the skin had been scarred by heat and one eye had been replaced with a cluster of rotating lenses.
He regarded the three novices.
“Names.”
“Elian Rho.”
“Tara Kasp.”
“Cael Venn.”
Halix-12 looked toward Cael.
“Kallix’s listener.”
Cael disliked the title immediately.
“My name is Cael.”
“I heard it.”
“Then why call me something else?”
Halix-12’s organic eye narrowed.
“Because names describe origin. Titles describe use.”
“Is that your title?”
“One of them.”
“What does Prime mean?”
“That I outrank those who do not possess it.”
“Why?”
Elian made a small choking sound.
Tara stared at the floor.
Halix-12 leaned toward Cael.
“Because I have survived long enough to earn the privilege of giving orders to children who ask unnecessary questions.”
He straightened.
“Move.”
They followed.
The outer doors of the Temple of Ordered Knowing opened onto a bridge suspended high above the industrial city.
Cael had crossed enclosed transit corridors before.
This bridge was open.
He stopped at the threshold.
Wind struck his face.
Not ventilation.
Not fan-driven air.
Wind.
It carried ash, chemical vapour and the bitter taste of hot metal. It pulled at his robe and moved across his skin without passing through a grille.
Above him was the sky.
Brown.
Kallix-9 had spoken accurately.
Layers of smoke rolled over one another beneath the distant upper towers. Electrical discharges flickered inside the clouds. Aircraft moved as dark shapes between columns of exhaust.
The sky was immense.
Cael looked up until his neck hurt.
There was no ceiling.
He understood that intellectually.
His body did not.
A sudden certainty seized him that he would fall upward.
He grasped the doorway.
Tara stopped beside him.
“Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“You’re holding the wall.”
“I am adjusting.”
“To the sky?”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“I imagined it differently.”
“So did I.”
“What colour did you think it would be?”
“Blue.”
Tara’s lenses turned toward him.
“Because of Nemi?”
“Yes.”
The wind shifted.
For a moment, a thinner region opened in the smoke.
Something pale appeared above it.
Not blue.
Not truly.
But lighter.
Then the clouds closed.
Halix-12’s voice came through their respirators.
“Novices. The bridge is structurally adequate. Your inspection of the atmosphere is not required.”
Cael stepped outside.
The bridge trembled beneath passing freight engines.
Far below, Alecto-Delta descended through layers of iron and fire.
Towers emerged from the smoke.
Pipelines crossed between them.
Furnace vents glowed like wounds.
Lines of workers moved along lower walkways, reduced by distance to grey streams.
Cael had known the forge world was large.
He had not known size could become terror.
“Where does the city end?” he asked.
Halix-12 continued walking.
“It does not end within your visual range.”
“What is beyond it?”
“More city.”
“And beyond that?”
“Industrial plains, extraction zones, waste oceans, reactor fields and polar manufactoria.”
“Is any part empty?”
“Define empty.”
“No people. No machines.”
“Some regions.”
“Why?”
“Because they are toxic, unstable, irradiated or economically useless.”
Cael looked down at the endless city.
“Could anything live there?”
“Many things live where they should not.”
Halix-12 crossed the bridge.
The novices followed.
Their first inspection site was a lubricant pumping station beneath Manufactorum Spire Helion.
The station’s overseer greeted Halix-12 with incense, bowed three times and presented a maintenance slate.
Halix ignored the ceremony until the overseer completed it.
Then he took the slate.
“Reported issue.”
“Pressure deviation in tertiary line four,” said the overseer. “The machine spirit rejects sustained load.”
“Duration?”
“Six shifts.”
“Why was intervention delayed?”
“Output remained within acceptable range.”
Halix looked at the overseer.
“Acceptable according to whose calculation?”
“Local projection.”
“Authored by?”
The overseer hesitated.
“Myself.”
Halix gave the slate to Tara.
“Record potential falsification.”
The overseer’s face lost colour.
“There was no falsification.”
“Then investigation will confirm your innocence.”
Halix entered the station.
Cael followed.
The chamber contained twelve pumping engines arranged around a central reservoir. Pistons rose and fell beneath iron housings. Prayer strips fluttered from the pipes.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
The sound pressed against Cael.
He felt it through his boots.
Eleven engines made one rhythm.
The twelfth dragged behind.
He turned toward it.
“Tertiary line four.”
Halix had not yet checked the identification plate.
“You heard it?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me the fault.”
Cael listened.
The engine struck.
Recovered.
Struck.
Recovered too slowly.
“Pressure return.”
“Cause?”
“I don’t know.”
Halix’s eye cluster rotated.
“A useful answer.”
Cael looked at him.
“You expected me to guess.”
“I expected you to resist guessing.”
Halix gestured to Elian.
“Read the pressure gauges.”
Elian approached the instrument panel.
“Primary chamber stable. Feed pressure elevated by three point eight per cent. Discharge fluctuating.”
“Tara. Query service record.”
She connected her interface to the local terminal.
Her body stiffened.
Information moved behind her eyes.
“Seal replacement seventy-nine shifts ago. Piston alignment one hundred and twelve shifts ago. No recent valve maintenance recorded.”
“Cael. External inspection.”
He approached the machine.
The housing was hot.
He moved his hand close without touching.
One side radiated more heat.
“Friction.”
“Location?”
“Lower drive assembly.”
Halix handed him a thermal probe.
Cael placed it against the casing.
The reading confirmed the imbalance.
“What does that suggest?” Halix asked.
“Bearing damage.”
“Possibly.”
“Or misalignment.”
“Also possible.”
“Should we open it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The pump remains active.”
“Then how do we inspect inside?”
“We stop it.”
Halix turned to the station overseer.
“Transfer load to secondary lines.”
The overseer swallowed.
“That will reduce output.”
“Yes.”
“Quota compliance—”
“Will be lower.”
“The factorum administration will issue penalties.”
Halix stepped closer.
“If this pump seizes, the line may rupture. Lubricant loss will halt four assembly halls. Which penalty do you prefer?”
The overseer lowered his head.
“Load transfer authorized.”
The shutdown rite began.
Incense was lit.
The overseer recited the Litany of Restful Gears.
A worker reduced the feed.
Another disengaged the drive.
The pump slowed.
Its rhythm broke apart.
At last it stopped.
The silence left behind felt larger than the sound had.
Halix opened the housing.
Inside, the lower bearing had worn almost completely through.
Fragments of metal filled the lubricant channel.
Elian stared.
“How was it still moving?”
“Habit,” Halix said.
Cael looked at him.
“Machines do not have habits.”
“Then what do you call repeated operation beyond sensible tolerance?”
“Damage.”
Halix’s scarred mouth moved slightly.
“Correct.”
The repair took four hours.
They drained the line, removed the bearing assembly and cleaned metal fragments from the housing. Halix performed the critical work.
The novices carried tools.
Held lamps.
Recorded dimensions.
Cleaned surfaces.
Cael watched everything.
The old bearing came free in two pieces.
He held one in his hands.
The inner surface had been polished thin by years of rotation.
“Why was it not replaced earlier?”
Tara read from the record.
“Inspection intervals were extended to meet production quotas.”
Halix turned toward the overseer.
“Record confirmed falsification.”
“I did not falsify the inspection record.”
“You classified a degraded component as serviceable without physical verification.”
“The quota—”
“Did not alter the metal.”
The overseer’s hands trembled.
“I had no replacement bearing.”
Halix became still.
The chamber quieted.
“When did you request one?”
“Eighty-three shifts ago.”
“Response?”
“Deferred.”
“Reason?”
“Priority allocation.”
Halix took the slate from Tara.
He searched.
The replacement request existed.
So did the denial.
The overseer had concealed the pressure deviation because reporting it again would have exposed that the pump remained active without authorized repair.
Cael looked from one man to the other.
“Who is responsible?”
Halix’s lenses moved across the record.
“The overseer operated compromised machinery.”
“Because the temple denied the part.”
“The requisition office denied the part.”
“Is that different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Different authority. Different failure.”
“But the same bearing.”
Halix looked at the broken component in Cael’s hand.
“Yes.”
“What happens to him?”
“Disciplinary review.”
“And the requisition officer?”
“Administrative review.”
“Are those the same?”
“No.”
“Which is worse?”
“For him, disciplinary.”
“Why?”
“Because he is physically present.”
The overseer closed his eyes.
Cael remembered Kallix-9.
Necessity is frequently used to conceal choices.
Halix turned to Tara.
“Record my intervention order. Emergency replacement from temple reserve.”
The overseer looked up.
“Temple reserve?”
“Yes.”
“You had the bearing?”
“I have access to one.”
“Then why—”
“You did not request assistance from my office.”
“I lacked rank authorization.”
“You could have submitted a fault escalation.”
“It would have exposed the concealment.”
“Yes.”
The overseer bowed his head again.
Halix looked at the broken bearing.
“The system failed before you did. Then you chose to hide the result. Both facts will be recorded.”
Cael watched him.
It was not mercy.
It was not cruelty.
It was accuracy sharpened into judgment.
He wondered whether that was justice.
They left the pumping station after the replacement engine completed three successful cycles.
Outside, the manufactorum shift had changed.
Thousands of workers crossed the transit decks.
Grey clothing.
Shaved heads.
Respirators.
Lunch canisters.
Tools.
They moved around the red-robed Enginseer and his novices without looking at them.
Cael searched every face.
Elian noticed.
“You won’t find her here.”
“You don’t know who I’m looking for.”
“Nemi.”
Cael kept walking.
“She could have been transferred.”
“To any one of ten thousand labour districts.”
“I know.”
“You don’t even know what she looks like now.”
“I would recognize her.”
“Would you?”
Cael stopped.
Workers divided around him.
Elian’s artificial jaw made a low sound.
“You remember a child,” he said. “She is older now.”
“So are we.”
“Yes.”
Tara turned back toward them.
“Halix is leaving.”
They hurried after the Enginseer.
Cael looked once more at the passing workers.
He had thought that leaving the creche would make it easier to return.
Instead, the world had expanded until one person could disappear inside it.
Practical Cohort Seven returned to the temple after thirty-one hours.
The novices were exhausted.
Halix was not.
He submitted his report while walking.
The pumping station overseer would retain his position pending review. The concealed fault would be entered into his record. The requisition office would receive a censure for inadequate priority assessment.
The bearing fragments were sealed for analysis.
Cael watched the container disappear into temple storage.
“Will anyone keep them?”
Halix looked down at him.
“They will be examined.”
“After that?”
“Recycled.”
“The damage could teach.”
“The report preserves the damage.”
“The object shows it.”
“The temple does not possess storage for every failed component.”
“It has storage for books.”
“Books occupy less space than broken industrial bearings.”
“That is not always true.”
Halix’s respirator grille produced a heavy exhalation.
“Why does this matter?”
Cael thought of the wooden horse.
“The report says what happened. The bearing shows how.”
Halix considered him.
Then he entered an amendment into the record.
PHYSICAL SPECIMEN RETAINED FOR NOVICE INSTRUCTION.
Cael looked at the container.
“Thank you.”
Halix turned away.
“Do not make me regret encouraging you.”
The cohort continued for four years.
At first, the novices were permitted only to observe.
Then to assist.
Then to perform repairs under supervision.
They entered water reclamation towers, data substations, furnace-control shrines and freight-engine depots.
Cael learned that every machine possessed three forms.
The machine as designed.
The machine as maintained.
The machine as actually used.
The three were rarely identical.
A lifting crane designed for twelve-hour operation had moved without full shutdown for sixty-three years.
A filtration system intended for mineral dust now processed human ash.
A line-control cogitator had been repaired so many times that none of its original internal components remained, though its outer casing and devotional name survived.
A heating system for a worker hab had been disconnected to provide additional power to a munitions line. The residents burned scraps inside metal drums.
A transport lift carried twice its approved load because three neighbouring lifts had failed and no replacement parts had been allocated.
Machines were sacred.
Machines were neglected.
Workers were necessary.
Workers were consumed.
The contradictions existed side by side.
No one seemed surprised except Cael.
Elian had been correct.
He remained surprised for longer than most.
At ten years old, Tara’s interface failed again.
This time, there was no warning.
She collapsed during a maintenance exercise inside a cogitator exchange.
Cael heard her fall behind him.
Her body struck the grated floor.
The cable linking her to the terminal tore free, pulling blood from the inflamed socket.
Elian shouted for the supervisor.
Cael knelt beside her.
Tara’s eyes were open.
She could not move.
“Can you hear me?”
Her fingers twitched.
“Once for yes.”
One twitch.
“Can you breathe?”
One.
“Can you speak?”
Nothing.
Her jaw trembled.
The interface had locked part of her motor function.
Cael disconnected the emergency power lead.
The terminal alarmed.
A warning rune appeared.
UNAUTHORIZED INTERRUPTION.
He ignored it.
He opened his tool roll.
Elian grabbed his wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“The anchor is still carrying residual current.”
“You’re not a biologis.”
“I don’t need to be.”
“You could kill her.”
“So could leaving it.”
Elian looked toward the corridor.
No supervisor had arrived.
The exchange walls blocked vox transmission.
Cael placed the voltage probe against Tara’s interface.
The reading was low but unstable.
“Her implant is discharging into the tissue.”
“How do you stop it?”
“Ground it.”
“With what?”
Cael removed the insulated covering from a maintenance lead.
He attached one end to the terminal casing.
The other he pressed against the outer rim of Tara’s implant.
The lead sparked.
Tara’s body convulsed once.
Then she inhaled sharply.
Her hand closed around Cael’s wrist.
“Stop,” she whispered.
“I have.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I won’t.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Not from pain alone.
“I forgot Seri.”
Cael froze.
“What?”
“My mother.”
“You know her name.”
“Now.”
“What happened?”
“When it failed, I couldn’t find her.”
Tara began shaking.
“The numbers were there. Pressure tables. Alloy grades. Liturgies. But not her.”
“She came back.”
“What if she doesn’t next time?”
Cael had no answer.
Adept Doxa and two medicae servitors entered the exchange.
Doxa saw the exposed lead.
The blood.
Tara on the floor.
Cael’s hands.
“What did you do?”
“I grounded the interface.”
“Without authorization?”
“Yes.”
“Without medical training?”
“Yes.”
Doxa knelt beside Tara.
Her diagnostic mechadendrite connected to the damaged socket.
Data passed.
“Residual discharge terminated,” she said.
Cael waited.
Doxa looked up.
“Your intervention was correct.”
Elian exhaled.
Cael did not.
“Then replace the implant.”
Doxa’s expression hardened.
“This is not the time.”
“It is exactly the time.”
“Cael.”
“You said the case was under observation.”
“It was.”
“You observed it fail.”
“Yes.”
“Twice.”
“Yes.”
“Replace it.”
Doxa’s lenses focused on him.
“Stand down.”
“No.”
Halix-12 entered behind the servitors.
He looked from Tara to Doxa.
“Report.”
Doxa transmitted the medical data in machine code.
Halix received it.
His eye cluster turned toward Tara’s interface.
“Standard anchor remains contraindicated.”
Doxa replied in binharic.
Halix answered.
Their exchange grew faster.
Cael understood only fragments.
Resource.
Precedent.
Allocation.
Projected rank.
Alternative alloy.
Unauthorized intervention.
Finally Halix turned to him.
“You are emotionally involved.”
“Yes.”
“That weakens judgment.”
“It also made me notice.”
“You would use temple reserve material?”
“Yes.”
“For one novice?”
“Yes.”
“Why her?”
“Because the standard one is hurting her.”
“That condition applies to others.”
“Then replace theirs too.”
“With finite reserves?”
“Make more.”
“The required alloy is imported.”
“Why?”
“Alecto-Delta lacks the necessary purification process.”
“Then learn it.”
Doxa’s voice sharpened.
“You speak as though ignorance disappears when challenged.”
“No. I speak as though it stays if no one does anything.”
Halix watched him.
“Would you surrender your own interface material for hers?”
Cael touched the socket behind his ear.
His body had accepted the alternate alloy.
The interface gave him access to the noosphere.
Without it, his instruction would stop.
Perhaps permanently.
“Yes.”
Elian looked at him.
Doxa did not react.
Halix asked, “Immediately?”
Cael imagined the surgical drill.
The blank absence where data now lived.
“Yes.”
Tara’s hand tightened around his sleeve.
“No.”
Cael looked down.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“It would work.”
“It is yours.”
“So?”
“So I said no.”
He stopped.
The words returned from years before.
She said no.
Her body.
Her knowledge from inside.
Cael closed his tool roll.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Tara swallowed.
“I want this one removed.”
“And then?”
“No replacement.”
Doxa said, “That would end advanced instruction.”
“I know.”
“You would return to non-interface study until reassignment.”
“I know.”
“Your projected aptitude—”
“Is mine.”
Doxa became very still.
Tara’s voice shook, but she continued.
“I don’t want the numbers in my head anymore.”
No one spoke.
The medicae servitors waited.
Halix looked at Doxa.
“The novice has reached elective age under temple statute.”
“She is ten.”
“Statute defines elective status by instructional grade, not biological age.”
Doxa’s eyes shifted toward Tara.
“You understand removal may cause permanent sensory damage?”
“Yes.”
“Memory loss?”
“Yes.”
“Chronic pain?”
“I already have that.”
“Loss of temple status?”
Tara looked at Cael.
Then Elian.
Then Doxa.
“Yes.”
The answer was barely audible.
Doxa stood.
“Prepare removal.”
The servitors lifted Tara onto a transport frame.
As they carried her away, Cael followed.
Tara reached for him.
He took her hand.
“Will you remember the litany?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll say it with you.”
They began.
“Tara Kasp.”
Her lips moved.
“Tara Kasp.”
“Daughter of Seri.”
“Daughter of Seri.”
“Carries numbers.”
Tara stopped.
“No.”
Cael looked at her.
She was crying.
“Change it,” she said.
He thought.
“Tara Kasp.”
“Daughter of Seri.”
“Survived the numbers.”
Her fingers closed around his.
“Hates the Memory House.”
Elian walked beside them.
“Still owns her own name.”
They repeated the revised litany until the medicae doors closed.
Tara survived the removal.
She lost partial hearing in her right ear.
The numbers stopped.
So did her noospheric instruction.
Three months later, she was reassigned.
Her final aptitude review identified strong manual coordination, high tolerance for repetitive precision work and insufficient compatibility with neural augmentation.
She was allocated to an instrument calibration hall within the temple.
Not a priest.
Not a servitor.
A lay technician.
Cael found her there before her first shift.
Rows of measurement devices covered the benches.
Tara wore a brown work robe.
The colour looked strange after years of grey.
“They gave you a window,” Cael said.
A narrow viewport had been built into the far wall.
It looked onto the interior of another tower.
No sky.
“Generous,” Tara said.
A pale scar crossed the place where her interface had been.
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you remember Seri?”
“Yes.”
“The litany?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
She looked at him.
“Tara Kasp. Daughter of Seri. Survived the numbers. Hates the Memory House. Still owns her own name.”
Cael nodded.
Tara picked up a calibration tool.
“They said I can remain here indefinitely if my work is acceptable.”
“Do you want that?”
“I want tomorrow to resemble today.”
Cael did not understand.
She saw it.
“You don’t.”
“No.”
“You want every door open.”
“Yes.”
“What will you do when there are too many?”
“Choose.”
“You think you will.”
Cael looked through the narrow viewport.
Workers moved in the opposite tower.
“Will I see you?”
“My rest interval is every ninth bell.”
“I will come.”
Tara smiled faintly.
“You say that like Nemi asked you to.”
Cael turned.
“How do you know?”
“You told me.”
“I don’t remember telling you.”
“I do.”
The words hurt more than accusation would have.
Tara touched the scar behind her ear.
“We keep different pieces.”
Cael left when her shift bell rang.
He returned at the ninth bell.
And again two days later.
Then after four days.
Then after nine.
Practical instruction expanded.
Lessons lengthened.
The eastern tier inspections became lower-level maintenance expeditions.
He missed one of Tara’s intervals.
Then another.
Each time, he intended to explain.
Each time, Tara said it did not matter.
Eventually, that began to sound true.
At twelve years old, Cael received his first red garment.
It was not a full robe.
Only a narrow mantle worn over one shoulder.
The cloth was dark crimson and edged with black.
Adept Doxa fastened it herself.
“You are elevated to lay initiate, first technical grade.”
Cael stood before the gathered novices.
Elian stood beside him.
Five others received the same distinction.
“Your access will expand,” Doxa said. “So will the consequences of misuse. You may now perform limited repairs without direct supervision, enter designated noospheric channels and instruct lower novices.”
Cael touched the mantle.
The fabric was heavier than it appeared.
“Does this make me a Tech-Priest?”
“No.”
“What am I?”
“Responsible.”
Elian’s mechanical jaw clicked.
Doxa looked at him.
“Do you find something amusing?”
“No, Adept.”
“You will learn to lie more effectively or not at all.”
“Yes, Adept.”
After the ceremony, Kallix-9 found Cael near the skull-and-cog mosaic.
The priest examined the mantle.
“It suits you.”
“It is cloth.”
“It is symbol.”
“Doxa said I am responsible.”
“She is correct.”
“For what?”
“More than yesterday. Less than tomorrow.”
Cael looked at the bone half of the mosaic.
“I thought reaching this would feel different.”
“How?”
“Like a door opening.”
“And?”
“It feels like standing in another corridor.”
Kallix-9’s organic eye softened.
“That is advancement.”
Cael adjusted the mantle.
“Did you feel proud when you received yours?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you proud of me?”
Kallix-9’s lenses shifted.
The question was childish.
Cael knew it as soon as he asked.
He almost withdrew it.
“Yes,” Kallix-9 said.
Cael looked down.
“Why?”
“Because you still ask questions that cost you something.”
“That sounds like criticism.”
“It is also praise.”
Kallix held out a small object.
The cracked bearing from their first pumping-station repair had been cut into a thin section and mounted inside a brass frame.
Cael took it.
The damaged inner surface remained visible.
“The specimen was approved for instructional use,” Kallix said. “Halix requested that you retain it.”
“Why?”
“He said you were irritating enough to make the lesson memorable.”
Cael held the broken bearing beside his red mantle.
Knowledge, given form.
Damage, preserved.
A failure that had continued turning because too many people needed it to work.
He placed it inside his robe.
“Where is Halix?”
“Preparing Practical Cohort Seven for reassignment.”
“To where?”
“The lower strata.”
Cael looked up.
“How low?”
“Below registered habitation.”
“What is there?”
“Older infrastructure. Abandoned manufactoria. Power conduits. Waste systems. Sealed regions.”
“Why are we going?”
“A machine has begun transmitting.”
“What machine?”
“Unknown.”
“What is it transmitting?”
Kallix-9’s iron jaw opened slightly.
“A maintenance request.”
“That is not unusual.”
“No.”
“How long has it been sending?”
“One thousand, four hundred and sixty-two years.”
Cael felt the bearing against his chest.
“Why answer now?”
“Because until three days ago, no one knew the signal existed.”
“Who found it?”
Kallix-9 looked at him.
“You did.”