“What are these machines still doing here?” Sensus demanded.

“I’m sorry General,” said the foreman.

Sensus glared at the man, then turned to Daena. “We’ve been behind schedule for a week.”

“I can make a call, General. Get us a few more crews.”

Sensus growled softly. “No. I’ll take S-1's offer.”

“But that’ll set the training back, sir.”

“I refuse to owe Salamanca anything.”

“Understood, sir.”

He looked around Talos and sighed. It used to be Albion’s premier recreation hall. There were dozens of restaurants and cafes, arcades with games of every sort, and hotels with rooms tailored to the biology of every species Albion nursed. Once lined with hotels and eateries, the pentagonal wall surrounding the main floor had been stripped of all furniture. But the facilities built into those walls were merely empty. Everything needed to convert Talos into the military’s new central HQ had yet to be requisitioned, not to mention delivered or installed. Meanwhile, the changes to the main floor were moving at a snail’s pace.

“General,” shouted a voice. It was Melody.

“Director,” said Sensus.

She was running, then stopped impatiently as a trio of workers walked between the general and her. She rushed to him as soon as they passed. As always, she had a datapad under her arm.

“General,” she paused to catch her breath, “General. I found something you need to see.”

“The pattern again?”

“Yes.”

“With all respect, Director, you’ve more than adequately established its prevalence.”

“With all respect, General, this appearance is special.”

Sensus held back a remark and nodded. “Show me.”

“I can just tell you. I know you’re busy.”

“No. I want to see it.”

She nodded while she pulled up a page on her pad. Sensus looked and saw the pattern. Melody tapped on the display and the screen shifted to a row of text engraved on a metal surface. She put two fingers on a point of the screen and spread them, adjusting to a more distant view. Sensus recognized the service number of a Sentinel.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to explain the significance of this.”

He did not. “Thank you, Melody. Now, how else can I help you?”

Her eyes darted nervously from side to side.

Sensus activated his aura. “Go ahead.”

“It’s my fault, General. And I’m sorry.”

“What’s your fault, Melody?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “The duke.”

“How is Duke Salamanca’s stupidity your fault?”

She stood there quietly for a moment, then wiped her tears and shook her head. “I went to him first. I should have gone to you.”

Sensus put his hand on her shoulder. “Given the circumstances at the time, I can hardly blame you.”

She nodded hurriedly, as if she were trying to convince herself of what he told her.

“Melody, we can only move forward. Trying to drag the past along with you will only tire you out.”

“Thank you, General.”

He said a quick farewell, then left Talos.

Damn you, Sol, he thought as he sat in his car.

Cephus, his new chauffeur, waited patiently for directions.

“The Stone Byway. And Cephus, take the scenic route.”

“You got it, General.”

Sensus smiled. He liked Cephus. He was old, but still sharp, and was not about to spend his final years in dim shades of platitude and decorum. Sensus had found him alarming at first, but quickly realized the man’s deference came masked as unsolicited candor.

“Unless you think I should take the short way.”

“General, I think you should do what makes you feel good.”

“Then the scenic route it is,” Sensus decided. The visual reminder of Salamanca’s treachery did not make him feel good.

Cephus told an anecdote to pass the time, recalling when his son first asked him what Harbingers were.

“He thought you were so cool. Wanted to know how you got your eyes to glow. Hehehe. He used to put on kid sized ka’chunga pads and wear his uncle’s work googles... you know, the ones that light up, and he’d go runnin’ around acting like he was fighting the Surge.”

Sensus chuckled. “I’ll have to remind of that next staff meeting.”

“Oh, you do that General. He’s a good man, but between you and me, working for you’ has gotten to his head. Best you be the one to let some of the hot air out.”

Sensus let himself feel relaxed as they drove through Mercia, sometimes called the Antique Quarter. The vintage style facades on the homes and storefronts reflected the mindset of people longing for a return; a welcome thing on a pilgrimage through the ravages of a postwar galaxy.

“Cephus, let’s stop here for a few minutes.”

They ate in a café called The Byzantine. Sensus treated his driver to a toasted bagel sandwich and coffee. The feeling of his light reducing the food to molecular dust felt soothing, and he let himself slip into a semi-dream while Cephus told a story about the art dealer across the road. Then they were off, cruising through the transit tube in the middle of the boulevard, twelve feet above the ground where pedestrians held the right of way.

It took a long time for them to reach the Stone Byway, and while the day was otherwise shot, Sensus didn’t care. He'd let himself get too stressed, while trying to drive every effort by himself. But Salamanca was right when he said Albion needed to remain united. He may have proven false, but the sentiment he channeled was true. So Sensus chose to see the day’s frustrations as a guiding hand pushing him towards the choices that he needed to make.

Cephus parked at the executive lot and took a book out of his glove box.

“I’ll be here a while,” he told Cephus. “Go on home. I’ll send for you in the morning.”

“You got it, General.”

The lot was a garden. Date and palm trees lined the path to the expansive structure that housed the Sentinels, and had Sensus the time to enjoy the grounds, he had his pick of grassy mounds to lay on. But inside, the Stone Byway was the realm of machines. The general walked through the large bay door into a world of stark white walls and empty floors. Where humans frequented, there were chairs and even a few tables, but mostly there was empty space, a white void.

On his induction as Commander in Chief, S-1 Tau offered what him what amounted to fealty, insisting that while they enjoyed the familiarity the Harbingers treated them with, they would feel honored if he, their general, addressed them all by their prefixes. Then they extended him an open invitation to their inner sanctum, which he was quick to take advantage of. On his first visit he was welcomed with a ceremony of tender rituals. They dressed him in a white robe, stark against his ebon skin, and gave him a sweet, syrupy spirit to drink. They then adorned him with wreaths of autumn hues, and the Pinnacle Three read a passage from Alvia.

“From Jovian storms did the children of light first emerge,” Hypatia read, “baptized in Arriana’s soft tears, raw from eons of lamentation.”

S-41 Lawrence read next, saying: “You, forever spurned, a candle in deep snow, do you even know the power in your hands? Do you feel the flame that you hold?”

And S-83 Mutumbo read: “Furious watchmen gathered to shine for Albion, darkening in the west, will you follow the toll that awakened you?”

And together: “Hold your ground before the starry harrow, before the Wheel of Destiny fades.”

In the Wheel lies truth, he had thought then, recalling one of the long conversations he had with Solomon in private, and it will be a Battlefield.

He was outside that same chamber now, growling under his breath at the sight of the duke’s personal guards. He felt the heat rising inside him, and he knew his eyes were glowing brighter from it. The guards fidgeted nervously. One of them even stopped himself from reaching for his shock pistol.

Sensus walked past the guards and the door parted before him. The duke, doubtless angry to see that Sensus did not need an appointment or to ask for entry, turned sharply away from him as quickly as he’d looked over his shoulder in the first place.

“What are you doing here?” Sensus asked.

Salamanca begrudgingly turned to look at him. “I have business with the Three.”

“No you don’t. Now get out. I don’t wanna see you here unless I personally grant you admittance.”

The two sentinels barring the duke from walking further into the room stepped closer. He flinched when their heavy feet thudded in unison.

“You’re taking this too far, Harbinger.”

“Get your thugs out of Oak and I’ll gladly step back, human.”

Behind the duke and the two sentinel guards, S-1 and the Pinnacle Three were huddled together. Sensus knew from the slight flickering of their eyes that they were silently conversing.

If only we could hear their uplinked thoughts, he thought.

As fiercely as he valued individuality and the boundaries bodies provided, he sometimes envied the Sentinels for the world of oneness they shared beyond what eyes could perceive.

Salamanca shook his head and left, muttering something crude as he went through the door.

“What did he want?”

Tau cocked her head and flared her shoulders. “To undermine you. He has made repeated attempts. Shall we detain him if he makes another?”

Her voice, calculating and subdued with almost a childlike innocent, often frightened Sensus.

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

“Shall we force his guards out of Oak?”

He shook his head. “Just keep monitoring Eno. So long as he’s not harming her, we’ll operate within the law.”

“We’re ready to move on your command, or the moment your parameters are breached. Know that we do not approve of the aged mother’s dignity being so besmirched.”

“Neither do I.”

“No one is more capable of keeping a vigil over her than S-0. We’ll ensure her safety.”

She then straightened her head. While she was one of the smaller, more dainty Sentinels, her strength was apparent, and she still towered over Sensus. Like the others of her ten-digit run, she was naked, uncovered by the smooth, honeycomb textured fairings of the more common models. The soft light beaming from inside the ceiling moved like water over her polished bones as she dropped into a more passive stance.

“How can we help you, General?”

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”

Her eyes glowed a soft, sunny yellow. “Excellent. Lawrence had a suggestion regarding Talos that I think you’ll approve of.”

“I’m all ears.”

“While Talos is an appealing space for a larger headquarters, there are other facilities your expanding military will need space for. For instance, a considerable number of new fighter pilots have been enlisted. Many of the gaming machines in Talos can be repurposed to serve as flight simulators. Utilizing Talos as a fighter pilot training facility would...”

Sensus raised his hand, stopping her, then smiled. “You’re right. It would solve a lot of problems. I’ll have the arrangements made and inform you when the work will begin.”

“We’ll be ready to assist, General.”

“Thank you. As for coming here in person, I’ve decided to accept your other offer as well. I’ll need every edge I can get.”

“Of course, General.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Sensus guessed she was communicating with her subordinates. “It’s ready. I’ll walk you there myself.”

She led him through places few organics had ever seen. The bays of insertion ports they plugged into to be fully immersed in what they called Osmium Halls, the rooms where they had their injuries repaired, and even the vast laboratory that while long out of use, they kept clean and operational, as their folklore claimed it was perpetually entangled with the place where they were born. The room she led him to was not far from there. It too was a laboratory, shaped like a long, high-ceilinged cave. Tables were lined in rows along each of the walls, with insertion ports built into the floor down the center. Bodies and parts of bodies were piled in heaps and lifted onto automated trucks that carried them away to be recycled. A curtain had been set up around one of the tables.

“The curtain wasn’t necessary but thank you.”

“Of course, General,” said the Sentinel tasked with performing the procedure. There were several other Sentinels gathered. The doctor nodded to one and she took the curtain down.

Near the procedure table, inside a storage device that emitted a tachyon containment field, was a tiny green spark surrounded by the remains of what some would call a small prison, others an iron lung. When Solomon had returned after yet another (though much shorter) absence, he introduced the object as The Bones of Mal. The Sentinels were reverent towards the relic.

“If a human doctor were to offer a similar procedure to one of you; say, circuits from a sentient machine of a different design than yours, would you feel nervous?”

The Sentinel surgeon put his hand on Sensus’s shoulder. “Yes. I would.”

Sensus nodded. Sol had explained to him in great detail what his alternatives were, which angered him as much as it reassured him.

“You’ll be spared a great deal of time, not to mention emotional pain,” he told him.

“While my team wanders in agony?”

“They can handle it. It may even do them some good, as it did me. Your other options are to remain as you are, or abandon Albion to wander in Ulro. They have a guide, and each other, whereas you would be alone. This is the best choice I can offer you. If you remain as you are, you will be left behind, and someone else will lead Albion, and that cannot happen. It has to be you, old friend.”

The word echoed in his memory. Ascension.

“Let’s begin,” he said. He removed his uniform and laid down on the table.

The table hummed, then began to vibrate slightly, holding even the Harbinger general in place. The Sentinels gathered left for a brief moment, then came back into his view with various weapons. The doctor held a pronged instrument that emitted an electromagnetic net of sorts. With it he carefully extracted the light inside the Bones of Mal. The armed Sentinels gathered around the table and raised their weapons.

“Do it,” Sensus said.

They opened fire.