Xeno Core

"I don't need your platitudes, just do what I'm paying you for."  My voice comes out as a throaty, painful wheeze, irritating me further.

This visit is costing me more than I care to think about.  I was supposed to be interviewing a new cleaning service today, but losing control over my lower body requires immediate attention.  Bruen can keep doing the cleaning along with his other duties for another day, he'll survive.

"Mos Denn, please calm yourself.  Be assured that I've found for you the best available thaumatist," my servant Bruen hurries to apease me.  "If anything can be done, it quickly will be."

The hulking, slimeless fool does try his best.  It's too bad he's one of the casteless.  He would have made a wonderful officer.

The same cannot be said for my guest.  One dust eater is little different from another, in my experience.  The color of their robes may change but they're all grasping, greedy bastards underneath.  Too expensive to keep one on payroll, but neccessary to maintain the array of enchantments and implants embedded in my frail form.  Not many can afford their services even once, let alone to the extent to which I have employed them.

"The runework is failing, Mos.  Resonant interferance, feedback on several frequencies, it simply isn't sustainable."  Damn dust eater sounds smug.  "Even the artifice is beginning to corrode.  You're dying."  The aurascope he had been examining me with is returned to its pouch on the thaumatist's tooled leather bandolier.

"We're all hatched dying.  The more pressing point is what you intend to do about it."  I can afford to be rude, I'm dying.

He walks away from the well padded divan upon which I recline, not bothering to answer my taunting.  He stops at the large package he brought to the consultation, left at the entrance to this sitting room, and peels back the outer membrane.  When he returns to my side there is a large irregularly shaped crystal carried in his upper tendrils.  The light in the room seems drawn into this orange crystal.  If this rock isn't carrying a strong aura my mind must already be far gone.

"You know what this is, I hope?"  If anything he's even more smug as he holds the slightly oblong mineral towards me.  Four bits long with smooth nodules sprouting from its surface.  My peripheral eyes detect a bit of warmth being generated in the center of the crystalline growth.

An unrefined core.  "Dross, til it's cut," I rasp dismissively.  Can't let this dust eater think he'll get one over me!  "So that's your game, is it?  Hook that shiny googaw up and let it power my body's upkeep?"  My outburst is interrupted by a coughing fit, causing Bruen to dab fretfully at my face, wiping bright blue blood and mucus froth from the thin and flaking carapace.  Another fine zelsilk kerchief forever stained.

"I grow weary, Bruen.  Carry me to the brine pool.  This air is much too dry for me."

As Bruen begins carefully wrapping his strong lower tendrils around me, the thaumatist tenses up.  He doesn't want to miss his chance to drain my coffers.

"Just a few moments more, Mos," he says hurriedly.  "Surely, in your long career you've commanded battle-shells, yes?  You must, if not, have fought against them, at least."

It feels good not to bear my own weight.  "Ah, Bruen, wait, but don't set me back down yet.  What would I need a battle-shell for, those things are morons.  They need more tenders than even this old fool."  Waving Bruen forward, I spit blood to the side, another mess for my great brute to see to later.  "And anyway, that shiny rock would be wasted on a mere automota, Somner..."

The dusty eater coughs slightly.  "Jurer.  Jurer Nuhst.  I agree with your assessment," hurrying to keep up with Bruen he's forced to gasp his words out.  Walking and talking is painful, even for a healthy person.  "That's why I want to offer.. hu.. you something more.  Not just upkeep, or a new nurse, but a new.. hu.. body."

He nearly tangles up one of my favorite grelld in his haste to keep up with us.  It lets known its displeasure without hesitation, a sharp tang filling the air as the small beast releases a chemical spray at the lower third of Jurer Nuhst.

Silence is the best response.  The cool water calls to me, but my relieving bath will have to wait.  "Not yet, Bruen, that hurts.  Som-uh, Jurer, is that even possible?  The last emperor made research into artifact intelligence illegal early into his reign."

Nuhst nods his head, his pedipalps drooping sadly.  "Too true.  But some seasons ago a Somner I know made a new contact.  They're monstrous creatures, ugly and nearly blind, but they were willing to trade.  I've spent the last two seasons studying, adapting their rituals while maintaining the underlying mechanics."

"You want to stake my life on alien techniques?"

"Days.  Not seasons, not spawnings.  You have days.  Then all of that," he waves his lower tendrils at me, in what must be a subconscious sign of his agitation, raising Bruen's protective instincts.  I feel Bruen's body tense angrily.  "Will be beyond anyone's ability to repair.  You're more enchantment than person already, which significantly improves your ratio of expected transference."

"Come back tommorrow, Jurer," I sigh irritably.  "I will listen to what you have to say then.  Put me down, you great hulk.  Slowly!"

"Of course, Mos.  If you'll follow me we can see to your fee," Bruen murmurs as he slides my body into the pool before leading Nuhst to a nearby storage room.

It does relax me some as once into the soothing brine I can no longer hear as Bruen pays the dust eater.

Not fixable, huh?  Entropy comes for us all, eventually.  How bad could it be?

No, if there's a chance, that's better than just giving up.  If I wanted to take the easy way, I could have died when that piece of shrapnel took out my left heart.  Or when those Southern tribals got me with a jsen venom coated spear.  Or... Nevermind.  I'll do it.

At least all the hurting will stop, and I'll be in command of my own body once more.

---

Nuhst returns the next day, carapace freshly waxed, robes spotless.  His pedipalps are held tightly to his face, showing his eagerness to convince me.

"Thank you for allowing me to return after over exciting you yesterday, Mos Denn.  Your condition is dire, but I do believe that the process is quite translatable to one of our kind."

The parcel has also returned to its place by the door.  At almost three ubits tall and two sixths that in diameter, that raw core can't be the only contents.

"Tell me more about this technique.  Some sort of spell, I imagine?"

"Indeed, a very advanced ward, meant to protect an intelligence inserted into it.  Then we just use the enchanted core to animate a 'shell and the process will be complete."  He's practically vibrating as he explains the finer details, quickly losing me with his technical jargon.

Triple redundancy, reinforced glyph work, spiral runic arrays channelling energy into several frequencies, blah blah blah.  I commanded soldiers wielding advanced magitech, not enchanters with tiny chisels.

When he finishes gushing about the spell formation I squint my primary eyes at him.  "And it works?  There's an intelligent battle-shell out there somewhere?"

I can practically see the air leaving Nuhst as he deflates.  "There is every indication that it should work.  I've preformed all the neccesary calculations myself," boasts Nuhst, trying desperately to reclaim the tighter grip upon our negotiations.  "But the number of individuals in your ...condition, makes it rather hard, from a practical stand point, to actually demonstrate the technique."

It's already been decided, this meeting has simply been for peace of mind.  Make a decision, don't waffle.  Regrets are for after.

"Bruen, prepare the medical pool.  I want to be submerged while this happens."  A short coughing spell, another ruined kerchief, and we head down to the chamber housing the medical pool.

The antiseptic smell is off-putting, but very familiar.  From the way his upper tendrils twitch when we enter the chamber, I can tell Nuhst isn't so inured to the sharp aroma.

Bruen lowers me into the astringent water, and several of the wards engraved upon my chitin come aglow as they match frequencies with the pools energy field.  I can feel some of the heat leaking out of my implants and into the chemical infused water.

"If you'll drink this then we can begin."

I expect the nutty taste of a standard sleeping draught, but the sour after taste is distressing.  Paralysis poison!  Why?  I agreed to this experiment, does he doubt my resolve?

As I begin to lose consciousness I hear a wet cracking sound, followed by a loud thump, as of a body hitting the floor.  Bruen!