Time was running out

  Six weeks prior, imperial changeling reports had estimated an infection rate at one in ten thousand. It was a startling letter that was printed on expensive paper, full of glaring blocky tones and smothered in bureaucratic comfort. A year ago the incidence rate would have been one in sixty thousand; a decade prior, any reputable official would have scoffed at more than ten in a single city.

  Laura had skimmed the report, corrected a few spelling mistakes and threw it out the same day. It had been a problem to be discarded, an issue that would be dealt by magistrates or considered the archmages' fodder. Today, these problems were not so distant.

  Never in the world did she think it would be her problem.

  “Sixty meters and the buildings right there, Commander Laura!!” Sill’s voice chriped over the sound of the horses.

  They had been racing down the streets like wildlife, drawing curses and condemnation from the ever-growing body of almost trampled peasants and merchants. Still, no matter how fast they rode, nothing could make up for a splinter of lost time.

  “It has no eyes, how does it know the city so well?!” Merle responded coldly.

  The inquisitive Captain was starting to get the hang of talking to the small rock. He pulled back on his horse’s reins with gritted teeth before squinting his eyes at an unfamiliar science district. A baggage train of disgruntled soldiers followed the two with a wagon dragging whatever stock of Nuem’s cure supplies could be spared.

  Laura ignored him. She gritted her teeth in contemplation while writhing her hands around a scrap of paper.

  “That one” the scribe pointed towards a smooth marble building. It’s fine, articulate pillars leetched towards the sky with pale bleached stone standing as a testament to unchanging time. It was ridiculously ornate, eight stories high with smoke-stacks and thin pane glass windows. The back however was something straight out of a despotic factory with gigantic wood barriels and open air vats churning out a chemical stew. A short stone wall surrounded the Gargoyles and historical figures danced across the smooth exterior with a more modern edifice striking towards the street.

  “Don’t worry, we got this, Commander Laura!!!!!! Thought I must admit I miss Commander Jan!” Sill whispered within.

  She paused for a moment before turning to glance at Merle. A thin band of protesters surrounded the exterior. It was the same peasants who had earlier pestered Irwain about changeling reports, now clustered and shouting like squawking birds. They paused when they saw the riders approach. There was still a laceration in one of the old quarter bricks where a more recent lab explosion had ricocheted off the building's proud walls.

  Laura placed her foot on the first step, then another. Her shoe quavered while it slowly climbed up to the building's front door. Merle stayed right behind her with Sill buzzing more sporadically in her pocket. With each step she felt her confidence swirl with an idea of what would have to be done.

  This city had a problem. An infection wriggled through its streets and had twisted them rotten to the core. It was a cough that hung in the shadows that laughed while waiting to strike, eager to pilfer anything they held dear. Typhoid, Smallpox, Brewer’s Cyst, Weilysian fever, Meula Plaque were nothing but blisters and boils. A day-long pain was short. Those with Weilysian were destined to die, yes, but they could at least cherish the final licks of sunlight between their bedridden existence. Smallpox killed in droves, but still let you act out the gravity of your final moments. All of these diseases and ailments allowed the victim to spend their final moments at their own voalition. It was pestilence, survivable but deadly, a reaper of untold souls but still defeatable.

  The changeling, however, was something far worse.

  Not many can describe the feeling of amnesia its survivors taste, nor the experience of dread. To become a mere puppet of alien emotion that is bent in a chemical stupor towards the will of an unknown master while having your own tongue tied towards the infection’s demands is a surreal experiene. Lives are traded with legacies destroyed and mistakes or opportunities blundered on the regular, but to know that it wasn’t your own action behind your failures is an eternal torture. To be the guard who opens the gate to a ratling horde only to see his friends slaughtered is indescribable. To be the nobleman who gambled a family fortune down to a single quand to fund the parasite's own designs, skipping your own brother’s funeral, only to have your family distance themselves like light to dark is torture. To be the merchant who slips away from their family once a night, unable to warn others of their own infection, unable to even remember what they did after spending hours washing their hands of blood, they can not speak about is torture.

  They weren't your mistakes anymore. It wasn’t your cough, your fever, your decision, your failing, it was its pleasure.

  The disease was an affront to individuality, to anything that made humans unique on the scattered world. It was an affront on the agency to dream.

  This city had a problem and for the first time in its parasitic life the changeling had made a mistake.

  It was Laura’s problem.

  So when the receptionist’s desk came into view with it’s brobdinagian ledgers and lavish chairs, there was no time for hesitation. By the time professors, researchers, citizens, alchemists and vatworkers mustered enough courage to question why a young Sheriff was barking orders at their ears, there was little they could do to stop her from pushing past the cushy lab offices and into the lab itself. They wore lab coats woven from livium with thick black goggles and leather gloves. Brand-new analytical equipment made of copper pots and steam-pressed burners was scattered among pummel-stones, glass vials and test tubes. A surgical kit was seen in the farthest corner, where a parasite had been removed and dissected. Its scrawling green tendrils were delicately pinned under steel tweezers like a giant lettuce. Huge vats with connecting tubes and spigots dotted a vast network of pipes.

  It was there in an upgrown industrial powerhouse that Laura Lanu first squinted her eyes to make out her team. They wouldn’t know it yet, but the Sheriff’s appearance would herald a challenge many had spent their entire lifetimes preparing to confront. She was simply the catalyst, a step in the right direction towards thirty-six hours without sleep and a single goal.

  Then they heard Sill’s voice. The sound of a foreign inanimate that didn’t respond to magic posed a true enigma of curiosity.

  The lead researcher was the first to confront Merle. He was built like a twig, infact the man was practically a stick with long arms and poofy grey hair clinging to his scalp like overgrown moss. He was brave enough to approach an inqusistor Captain but had clearly spent a great deal of time conversing with regular beaurocrats.

  “What the hell is this? You can’t just march in here! Who are you?” A harsh shout cried.

  “Laura Lanu, Sheriff of Kag and hereby General under Consul Theric’s Authority! This city is under siege. I have been tasked with getting the alchemical district up to speed.”

  That was not the expected response. Luckily, the presence of the inquisitor lent a semblance of authority.

  “Consul Theric? That useless prick of an apprentice has no authority! General? That’s a bit of a leap!”

  “Silence, Jannic Vagabond! Your quack science and archaic tools are well-beneath the smallest part of Commander Jan's thumb!!!!” Sill screamed.

  “Quack science?” the Professor edged forward. His poofy hair swayed while he looked down on at the stone in his palm. His clean-shaven face whisped with sheer disbelief that the foul-mouthed granite could have grumbled hard insults.

  “Do you have any idea! Who you’re talking to?!! Commander Laura is……”

  Then the Professor ignored the shouting rock and stumbled forward. His face whisked between fear and curiosity before one emotion conquered the other, and his hand called forward. He edged towards Sill before casting a series of spells and enchantment checks to understand the tiny creature. The others watched with flickering faces.

  [Inspection 30]

  His eyebrow raised into a peculiar glance. The livium lab coat draped the marble ground with its thinly sewn fabric, scraping against the floor.

  [Greater Inspection 100]

  [Lesser Magic 20]

  [Reveal Mechanics 350]

  The Professor’s whitening face soon looked paler than the cold marble floor below.

  “That.... that is ... .that's not an inanimate ... .that's a machine!!”

  The surrounding scientists gaped.

  “Yess! Finally, someone who gets me for who I am?!!!!, You have keen eyes, rudimentary scientist jannic!!!”

  Laura noted his statement, but at this point she was too distracted to fully comprehend its relevance. Those around him let their mouths flop up and down like disgruntled fish in a bowlful of kelp with Sill continuing to ramble forward. Then with a conglomerate of words that seemed to twist on his tongue, the twig-like professor turned and spoke.

  “You’re…..that’s…..that’s more complex than anything…..anything I’ve dreamed…what is it, why are you here?” the twig man echoed.

  The others formed a circle around Sill graveling and re-kindling a hidden love for geology while they frolicked over the rock like fancily dressed monkeys adoring fire.

  “Invasion…you said? ….What do you want me to do?” Twig-man coughed.

  Then a series of words were birthed into the room, words that those inside could never have expected.

  “The changing disease, we’re going to cure it.” She responded calmly.

  The entire room went still. Only after some time did a researcher speak. He leaned back against a table-counter to spread a collection of flasks backwards.

  “I'm confused, Danat Vim did that over a century ago.”

  The alchemist motioned towards an oil portrait of the late Vim that had been christened towards a veritable religious symbol to lord over the alchemists below. Her watchful eyes and wizened gaze were portrayed beautifully through a mesh of gray hair. Each stroke had been painted with such finess of adoration it was clear the majesty of her sacrifice not yet forgotten.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “No, no. Not that simple parasitic burn-out! We’re going to cure it pharmokinetic style!”

  “Pharmodynamics!!!! Chemistry?? The principles of modern drug-making??!” Sill followed up with shrill enthusiastic cries toward the stunned silence.

  Some reeled back at the gall of the rock to utter at Danat’s accomplishments so precariously , but they were quickly re-enamoured by Sill’s inerworkings.

  “Look, let's pretend I know what those words mean, magic rock man, why now?” A researcher questioned.

  Laura ordered the veterans of the pit to come forward. The soldiers twisted a sack over their shoulders before swinging it onto a candle-lit laboratory bench. Beakers, vials and rudimentary burners were cast like trinkets aside for the Dalious head to squelch on the desk infront.

  The entire room stayed silent.

  A pencil dropped from a researcher's hand to clang against the cold floor. Another stepped back to feel their blood draw faint. The lizard’s face perched like a vile trophy that relished in displaying the majesty of its bulbous pores and parasitic growths. At last one of the officials mustered the courage to speak.

  “What the &$%& is that?” a researcher breathed.

  In a single brave act, Laura lifted the head above her shoulders as would the famed heroes of old and shouted out for the group to witness.

  “Careful!!!!! You don’t have to hug the thing Commander Laura! Commander Jan wouldn't have hugged it!” Sill wheezed.

  She however was in a very dramatic mood.

  “The infection has changed, it’s been weaponized. A creature has used it to take control of both this city and an army heading towards our location. Consul Theric has ordered for a defence of Kag and we need to ensure every soldier on the front-line fights on their own accord,” Laura shouted.

  Disbelief spread through their ranks.

  Merle gave out a sympathetic yet concerned look and nodded his head in agreement. There was a brief wave of whispers from the crowd before one spoke.

  “If what you say is true? We need to make enough medicine for 50,000 or more troops. Currently, the effective dosage is at a tablespoon; it’s near impossible.”

  The others in agreement like a school of fish following an unseen leader’s flock.

  “Yes exactly! We’ve going to streamline this down to a better science, if I’m correct we can get the cure to work with only a teaspoon. Then we will talk about distribution” Sill roared.

  “A teaspoon? Teaspoon would be ridiculous. Why not try a single drop?” another researcher shouted sarcastically. He picked up a book and waved it around to mock the creature below.

  “Great idea!!!! I’m starting to like these Jannics!!!” Sill screamed, impervious to their sarcasm.

  The twig-man was the first to step-foward. He eyed the dalious’s head worryingly.

  “Look I think we’re aiming for a longshot here Mr. Rock. We’ve spent our whole lives working to improve this technique and come up with a better cure. What do you think we do here? Nothing? Mix chemicals and call it a day? Maybe we can make something better but, this, this is insane.”

  The others nodded behind him. Laura could tell from the sleepless crests under their once smiling face they had been under much pressure from the public of late. This group was no conglomerate of lazy or fenestrated nobles provided but hard-working scientists and insults we’re not taken lightly. Then a slip of words came from the rock infront that sent them into a spiral.

  “That’s TACTI UNIT SILL to you Jannic citizen! You’ve been working your entire lives on curing the changing faster?!!!!!!!”

  “Yes” a gruff scientist responded.

  “Show me, show us”

  The group slowly smiled. They seemed happy about this, a little too happy.

  “Alright we’ll show you” a researcher cackled.

  “We’ll show you and your stupid rock”

  Laura began to gulp.

  “Don’t worry Commander!!! We’ll show these archaic simpleton’s what we can do!!!!!” Sill shrieked.

  For some reason, that didn’t add to her comfort.

  A mountain of research came their way.

  In a peculiar fashion the team began to heap books infront of the rock. At first, it was a simple collection of pages, outlines of chemical techniques and diagrams of the infection’s spread throughout the body. Next it was ledgers, textbooks, drawings and recordings with such meticulous detail it would have taken years to analyze. Six more books were stripped from the shelves, one being the autobiography of Vim herself. One on changeling morphology was a thick as a coffee mug on Twig-man’s desk. There was information here that would take a genius to understand and an immortal to discern. Specimen bottles much like Dalious’s head were taken from their resting places to horrify Laura’s every glance. Early analytical reports from the 4000’s recorded when the illness was first encountered in livestock, dissertations from the 6000’s concluded possible vectors and vehicles for the disease. Little by little like stones to a growing wall the group began to pile books around the rock. In the beginning they bothered to open them and caress the pages as if to taunt Sill with the useless knowledge of the ancients he would have to fruitlessly conquer. Then they carried forward in sheer glee, placing book after book, diagram and manual until the mountain became more than anyone could imagine.

  A pyramid of books lay ontop of Sill. The tiny rock shouted with his voice piercing the still air.

  The researchers looked full of themselves, both guilty from disrupting Laura’s mission and pleased with shoving the upstart rock back into place.

  They laughed with an expression that should never have come from their lips. With every snear, Laura felt herself grow smaller to the researchers' delight.

  That was until ten seconds later, the pile of books began to speak.

  “Sixty chemical vats, eighty-four beakers, three ounces of 60 chemical vats ceramic-lined or glass-lined. 84 beakers, various sizes, 23 round-bottom flasks, retorts, 34 alembics for vapour condensation, condensers with copper coils, 12 graduated cylinders with volume marks, 8 separatory funnels for phase extraction, 7 stirring rods glass or polished stone, 6 stoppered phials for reagent storage……….”

  “What…What’s it doing?” the Twig-man asked.

  He turned to face Laura. His hands were in his pockets, slowly kneading the fabric within panicked fingers.

  “It read….” another scientist breathed.

  She looked as if she was about to collapse. All colour had drained from the researcher’s face.

  “Some useful information scattered in the spelling mistakes!!!! But still pretty terrible for a society that is just approaching early renaissance Commander Laura!!!! We do however, have to discern several aspects of a better formula!” the tiny rock cried.

  They were ignoring the scattered group of officials and Merle, who now gave off the combined expression of hardened skeptics having visited a ghost-ridden graveyard.

  “Commander Laura!! Pick up the orange book to your left, turn to page 473!”

  The scribe did as she was told and pursed her finger on the chemical manual. Then she began to glance over the familiar pages with a determined expression. After several minutes of silence the rock began to speak.

  “Forgive me, I did my best to understand the crude chemical techniques here. I am thinking of doing a Vim-Cox Regression Burn? Would this be sufficient enough?”

  The others grew paler. It was like a group of scattered sheets, blowing about lazily in the wind. Strangely, Laura actually knew how to respond. Her own schooling in Kag’s academies and research internships was somehow proving comprehensive.

  “How about a Vim-Cox combined with sublimation burn, then we can use the vats as a stir-base? If we need to mass produce, that would be faster with the equipment on hand, and no need to make our own custom pipes ... .what is it exactly we’re doing here Sill?”

  She turned to a chalkboard and started to draw the apparatus, the premise for making Vim’s elixir was simple. This, however, was something new. Laura was displaying a mastery of knowledge and skill that little in the crowd had expected. The others watched.

  The two conversed with utter smug satisfaction.

  “Great idea Commander Laura!! Once again you prove your rank among CORE!!!! And what about the heating and cooling?”

  “We can get mages to perform [Lesser Cool 10] and [Greater Heat 30] if we use the base of the vats it will save energy..may I ask what exactly we are making?”

  “Simple Laura! We’re going to create a water-stable, orally ingested, parasite-targeting opsonin-carrier that can cross the blood-brain barrier and induce immune clearance of the parasitic neural cysts!!

  “Ah yes that one” Laura nodded firmly. She coughed for a moment almost trying to bite back laughter at the sheer absurdity of the alien words. The other researchers looked at her with pure fright, thinking she actually knew what the rock discussed.

  “The parasite has a receptor on it called CSP-2! I know this from our field guide manual, subsection 7634B, while orbital teams have never bothered to isolate it!!!!!!! We can certainly do so here in the “field!”!!!!! when our drug binds to the receptor it will block CSP-2’s ability to cloak the parasite from the host immune system! simple effect!”

  The crowd around them looked a little too shocked. This was a far cry from the magic potions and utilization of groundsprout and other healing remedies Vin had aspired.

  “You and the team will have to create the precursors, dried parasite cysts, ethanol, resin, salts, albumin, glycerin and pure water. When delivered, we will break them into molecular fragments and reassemble them into a targeted antagonist!!!!!!! The compound will bind the parasite’s cloaking protein CSP-2 receptor and prevent its mimicry of neural adhesion signals. Then when uncloaked, microglia will recognize it as foreign and destroy it! The brain will do the killing; the drug merely shows the way. Once we’re finished well worry about distribution!!!!!!.” Sill screamed.

  Well that’s where you lost me.

  “Microglia? They’re like white blood cells for the brain Commander Laura!! Don’t worry I’ll catch you up to speed, it’s clearly been awhile since our last time back in the comforts of base!!!”

  Pretending she knew exactly what a “protein”, neural adhesion, and microglia mean’t Laura simply nodded before spending more time with Sill bickering over methods to heat and cool the final product into a proper creation. Surprisingly she was able to correct Sill twice on rudimentary “Jannic” cooking techniques likely saving whatever process Sill was contriving valuable time. It was only half-way through more praise. She did however stop Sill to explain words every so often. Today was a learning experience that could not be squandered. She tried to take a mental note of all the creatures spouted.

  The two began to draft a list of materials.

  “Glycerin!! Don’t forget the glycerin! Ethanol lots of ethanol? Do you know how to make ethanol? I’ll show you!”

  Thirty minutes passed.

  Words Laura had only seen in fleeting passing were used like common adjectives with a near infinite amount of confusion. They drew a diagram together on a chalk-board. Then seven more. The process was started again three times. On the fourth edition they hit a brick wall.

  Two more hours passed. Laura was starting to mimic the ghost-like faces of the researchers with her body now caked in a thin line of white. Her hand had begun to cramp. The chalk within her palm was made 27 years ago. It was produced in a little factory outside of Kag, a family business that had struggled generation after generation to keep a foot in the door. Never in their wildest dreams would those within have thought the fate of the world would be held within a single stick of their chalk. Today that chalk beamed with revelry at the brilliance to which it drew.

  Only once her brain thoroughly hurt and the scribe was keeping focus from sheer adrenaline alone did the other researchers give in. They had begun to contribute aswell, occasionally perking up with advice but still very much observing from a distance.

  “Look, we…how can we help?” Twig man responded.

  He had been using his own notebook to follow along. The group had treated Sill’s appearance almost like a lecture and eagerly devoured any information they could get from the creature’s orders. A transcript of his words was already being crafted through magic, with Laura checking over it twice to study the results. This day in the lab was after all certainly another day in school.

  “Finally ready to do something?”

  The man looked up at the chalk apparatus infront. It was incredible.The technique and precision the tiny rock and Laura had commanded showed an attention to detail only seen in the houses of lords, let alone the battle-plans of ancient kings. The pen-strokes were equivalent to the mightiest of swords. The equations sung the songs of a universe's hidden lore.

  “What’s your name?” Laura asked.

  She felt a little embarrassed about needing to ask after so much time. He turned to her and uttered it slowly.

  “Professor Treadwell, Barty Treadwell and yours?”

  “Lanu, Laura Lanu”

  It felt good to say the name Lanu. The words gracefully slid off her tongue like a weight lifting off her proud shoulders. If she succeeded, her parents would be remembered; she would be remembered. It was an honour to their legacy that would stand until the end of time. There would be no need to scrape the fame of ancient transcripts or legends past.

  “Eggs, we need eggs.”

  “Eggs?” the man looked back at her with a startled expression. The rest of the group looked up from their resting places like a bundle of plucked chickens.

  “How many?”

  “Thirty dozen should do, and a lot of other things…..check out this list.”

  Laura placed the paper into his own sweaty hands to have his eyes light up in shock. Merle was sitting with his sword on his lap with other veterans of the pit. They too stared at the scribe with a dumbfounded expression, wondering why she would need to cook a building sized omlete.

  “Cholesterol?”

  “That’s fat Filfthy Jannic!!!!” Sill shouted.

  The man nodded, confused.

  “Glycerin? Acetic trace? Activated charcoal and ethanol? Dilution barrels? Linen funnels? Casein?”

  “Caesin is milk curds!!!!!!!!!!!” Sill added oncemore.

  He stared further and flipped through the pages like a bundle of leaves. Then he turned to speak.

  “I…. I don’t know what half of these are for” Treadwell mouthed.

  Laura stared harder. He flustered for a moment longer.

  “Relax, we can use your jannic [Synthesize 100] to get most of it fixed up! You’ll just have to follow my lead!!”

  The others nodded and this time Treadwell approached.

  “Look uh Commander….Laura? we can help you, but we only have ten thousand quands in emergency funds and this will need alot of procurement. I imagine we can find most of this in Kag but no offence even with that inquisitor of yours we’re going to need more….”

  He gestured to Merle who shrugged aimlessly before trying to help another researcher move more vats into place. A few of the lab-techs had begun copying

  “Money, you’re saying we need money?” She smiled again.

  This was like shooting fish in a barrel.

  “Yes, exactly this would take hundreds of thousands of quands, you dont understand this will be a monumental effort! The requirements for ingredients alone are….”

  She didn’t let him finish. A smug Laura motioned towards another veteran of the pit to bring forth a wooden crate. They grunted and strained with the container's weight. She gleamed while she used her own sword to pry off the box’s edge. Dawnshire quands glistened within and flooded the chamber with an aura of gold.

  “Will millions do?”

  Treadwell nearly fainted.

  They had everything a researcher ever dreamed of: money, resources, equipment, personnel.

  All they needed was time.

  Time was running out.