Part 21: There Is No Substitute for Competence

There Is No Substitute for Competence

In this update, we take the best route through the docks.





A field of ruins spreads before you. After spending so much time in the canyons, this wide open space feels oppressive, as though the vast sky is a massive heel descending to crush you.

The Takers haven't bothered with this place because your people's statues still stand. These ruins are pretty in a desolate way; from here, you can just barely hear the crashing surf and the cries of sea birds.

But you don't have time to adjust to the change in scenery. You must be alert for more rogues. If there are more battle alphas out here and they're acting with some kind of coordination, you're in serious danger.

Thinking back on the battle alphas, you're struck by something. They, the thahds, and the serviles are all humanoid creations. What if Clois is right about serviles? Might the thahds and alphas be based on once-human stock? Human experimentation repulses you, but the Shapers must have been open to it at one time... After all, they created the canisters. Then there's the matter of the Geneforge. It must also be capable of changing humans and Shapers. Why else would Trajkov be so interested in it?

You examine the nearby obelisk. It notes that the docks are southeast, Kazg is north, and so is Holding Two. While you check for other information, Like Clockwork snarls.



A bluish roamer approaches from the south. Placid saviour strikes first, startling the rogue, which swiftly turns to flee. Remembering Narsu's warning, you direct your other creations to finish it off before it can summon help.



But the guardian roamer manages to hold itself together just long enough to run headlong towards the south. Your creations follow, dragging your battle formation out into an irregular string. Another rogue appears, and idhrendur promptly fires on it. You direct your artilas and Like Clockwork to attack the newcomer to ensure it's covered in corrosive slime. Both roamers try to retreat, but drop dead after a mere few steps, the acid having taken its toll.



West of the old boulevard is a cluster of ruins partly screened by trees. This was no doubt an important administrative center at one point -- perhaps the offices here were responsible for running the docks and other related matters.



More patrolling roamers blunder into your team. Each time, the roamers flee rather than standing to fight. Your creations' powerful ranged attacks are a great advantage in silencing the rogues before they can regroup with reinforcements.



In fact, the effort of exterminating the rogues soon becomes more tiresome than challenging. The change in pace compared to your struggles against the pylons can't be starker.



Your creations put down another handful of the guardian roamers before things quiet down and allow you the luxury of examining your surroundings further.

The earth around here is much softer than the hard barrens of Kazg. Some spots are even almost marshy, not unlike the salt marshes back east where you initially encountered roamers. This is good territory for their kind. Roamers are well-adapted to flat grasslands and marshes, and the tall grasses and brush provide cover while permitting chases.

You even locate a few stands of thorn bushes, which you use to replenish ammunition for your venom baton.





You find a small record storehouse, but too much of the structure has collapsed over the years. The records are all ruined from exposure to tell you anything else about this place.



As you skirt your way around a larger building to the west, another rogue runs up. It's much more startled to see you than you are to see it. The roamer pivots swiftly and flees east, leading you and your forces on a merry chase away from the building and into unknown territory.



Once off the brick path, you're forced to pick your footing carefully -- the soft ground here threatens to swallow the feet of the unwary and twist ankles.



But the rogue roamer isn't fast enough to evade you even though it knows its territory well; Like Clockwork finishes it off with expert aim, earning a grateful pat from you.



You return to the larger facility and, after putting down another rogue, step inside. The automatic door is long dead and nearly everything of value has already been looted from this room. The far door is too well locked for you to break in without wasting a significant number of living tools.

Frustrated, you kick at some potsherds. The sudden movement drives your fyoras wild -- they give chase and then yawp excitedly as they return to you with their "kills" for your inspection.

Maybe there's no need for you to be upset. This ruin is large enough that there's probably another way in, or failing that, a wall might have collapsed. The records storehouse is in bad enough shape that it's likely this building has suffered structural failures too.



You toss the fyoras' potsherds ahead as you walk and they fetch the clays back. Like Clockwork gets in on it, too, wrestling GreatEvilKing and idhrendur out of the way so that it can also hog some glory.



As you hoped, there's another way in. You suspect that this must have been a barracks before. You find another locked doorway here that you can't justify opening, probably into the same small room... If this place is what remains of the settlement's main barracks, then the locked room is probably an armory.



North of the ruin, you find what's left of a minor Shaping hall. The platform here is long dead, and all that's left of interest is another strongly locked door and a used-up canister.



South of the barracks is what looks like the remains of a dining hall and, oddly enough, a pair of shattered crystal spirals. No clues remain about what they might have powered. This ruin is slowly being overtaken by grass and brush. Give or take another few years and this place will vanish entirely beneath loam and vines.





You find a few more thorn bushes here. You've gathered such a wealth of baton ammunition that you consider selling it. Giving ammunition to the Takers is right out -- they aren't in need of it, firstly, but you also don't feel that the balance of power should swing any further in their favor. The same for the Obeyers.

The Awakened are likely to give you a better price for thorns, and better armaments for them will help push back against the influences of the Obeyers and the Takers. Chaos among the serviles means that they'll spend less attention to what you're doing and more on each other. You suspect they're all as keenly interested in the Geneforge as you are, and you also suspect any of the sects gaining control of it will lead to disaster.



This small guardhouse is intact but quite austere. There's not even any rubble here, just watermarks. You pull the lever in the corner, but the door doesn't open. Shrugging, you head back out.







You must have killed almost two dozen of these stupid rogues on the west side of the ruins, but there are still more patrolling! The fyoras account for themselves very well, though, and soon things are quiet once again -- at least for a little while.

The obelisk nearby informs you that the docks are still further east, so east you go.



Imposing alloy-reinforced gates block your path. They don't slide down when you approach. You wonder if the lever you pulled in the guardhouse is part of the locking mechanism for these. Perhaps the lever failed. There should be another room opposite the first one, though; gatehouses are almost always symmetrical like that.



You are, of course, correct. There's another lever here labeled "WEST GATE." You yank it and hear the muffled grind and thunk of a hidden mechanism in the direction of the huge gates.



But before you can investigate, a roamer passes the door, sees you, and runs away. After a heavy sigh, you order your creations after the rogue. It manages to elude you for a time, but its panic permits your creations to corner it between a mud pit and a ruin. It doesn't last much longer.

Since you're already here, you decide to investigate the small ruin the roamer has led you to.



You're not exactly shocked by what you find. There is a dusty servant mind here. It's not dead, it's not asleep, and it's not deranged. It does, however, look pretty stupid. One look at its dull eyes makes you suspect that it wasn't too alert when it was first created.

"Shaper, I am Tro. Welcome to this area. It has been time since I received instructions." It doesn't seem to even have noticed its centuries of isolation. Even though the Takers haven't apparently come through here yet, centuries of neglect should have taken the same toll on this creature as they have the others. You wonder if someone has maintained Tro.

"What is your purpose, Tro?"

"I am looking after the docks area. I admini... admini... look after this area." Maybe its simple-mindedness has permitted it to use its nutrients more efficiently. Tro's verbal fumbling doesn't fill you with confidence about this servant mind's helpfulness.

"What is around here?" you ask. Even so, a servant mind should be able to provide you with some basic information.

"The docks are..." It thinks. "East. This area has inns, barracks, and a shaping post, for your use and enjoyment. Holding One is east, and Holding Two is north," Tro replies.

Tro is no more useful than the signage on the obelisk. You do your best not to show your disappointment. The servant minds are sensitive creatures, and you don't want to upset it with your disapproval. "All right. How can I reach the docks?"

"The gateway is to the southwest. Just ask the guards there. They will be glad to let a Shaper through." Tro wiggles in pleasure that it's able to give you all these answers.

Alas, if only these answers were in fact helpful. "Can you unlock any of the doors outside?" Surely Tro can be of some use.

"No, but I have a key thing!" it says brightly. "I can give it to my supervisor."

"I command you to give me the key." You're tired, and if Tro weren't obviously so stupid, you'd be angry at it for toying with you. As it is, you're already straining the limits of your patience. You're much too tired for this and you've already had to endure a truly terrible day even by the standards of your time on this forsaken island.

Tro droops. "I can't, Shaper. I can only give it to a supervisor."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Oh. Well, I've just been made your supervisor."

"You have? I am glad! I haven't had a supervisor for a long time." Credulous Tro. It's amazing that the Shapers didn't bother embedding some sort of verification protocol. Maybe Tro forgot it over the long years. You hear a clicking noise from one of the cabinets.

"So how long have you been waiting for instructions, Tro?" You check the cabinet as you ask. Inside, you find two empty ceramic jars, some crumbled documents, and a large iron key. Someone has fed Tro, but you can't imagine why. The Takers certainly wouldn't, not even to keep the rebels away from the docks. Maybe Trajkov had it done. Tro only represents the most minor roadblock through the gates, anyway, since he doesn't seem to have any control over the mechanisms or the local creations.

Tro blinks a few times. "I... I forget. I think it has been awhile. I don't know."

"Do you know why the island was abandoned?"

"It was? Oh no! I'm all alone? Now I'm scared!" Tro flails, but its tiny limbs can't dislodge its porcine body from the pedestal.

You're forced to spend the next half hour comforting Tro, lest its squeals summon curious rogues or worse. Your creations mostly fall asleep, immune to the servant mind's annoying voice.

When Tro is sufficiently reassured, you ask, "Do you know anything about the Geneforge?"

"Should I?" it replies innocently.

Why did the Shapers make this servant mind so abysmally dull? Control Four and the rest are much more in line with your expectations. What purpose does neutering this mind's shaped-in intelligence serve? "Can you do anything about the rogues outside?"

"There are rogues outside? I was wondering why it was so noisy..." Tro blinks at you slowly, even duller than an ornk. At least they have self-preservation instincts.

"So what exactly do you do, Tro?"

"I admini... admini... I do things. People say, 'We need essence.‘ And I say. 'Oh.' And someone says, 'Do you need anything? ‘And I say, 'Essence'. And they say, 'Oh.' Nobody has told me I have done anything wrong for two hundred years, so I am doing good."

"Well, keep up the good work, Tro. If I need you to change how you're administering things, I'll come see you, okay? Just keep doing what you're doing for now."

Tro seems happy with this. You leave the simple creature before the rest of your patience evaporates.



The key Tro has given you allows you into the locked armory. A pleasant surprise awaits you: an intact canister! When you use it, you find your ability to neutralize toxins improves, which will no doubt serve you well if you encounter any more of those awful pylons.



You also let yourself into the chamber just beyond the Shaping platform. Inside you find some basic supplies, but then you make another exciting discovery. Shaped steel gauntlets! Such protective equipment is expensive even now. You slip them on instead of the conventionally forged gauntlets you've been wearing. The Shaped gauntlets feel almost like gloves. Magnificent.



While you're there, you spend some time absorbing power from the essence pools within.



With all the rogues cleared out and everything of worth stripped from the area, you head through the western gates. It's time to see what awaits you at the docks.

But before you can pass through the last set of gates, Like Clockwork bristles and emits an alarming growl. Just on the other side of the gates is a massive battle alpha, a larger specimen than you've ever seen. Worse than its supreme size is the fact that it's armored with chitin armor and a superbly made shield that it seems to know how to use.



As soon as it sees you, it whoops and rushes your team. Like Clockwork, RickVoid, and placid saviour form a front line. It's far from ideal -- you know intimately how vulnerable they are. The deaths of Big McLargeHug, PurpleXVI, and ManxomeBromide are still too fresh to ignore.

Your artilas immediately soften the alpha up with acid, and then your fyoras get to work. Their attacks are fierce, leaving the battle alpha stunned and uncertain. It didn't expect such strong resistance from ordinary creations. RickVoid finishes the alpha off before it can retaliate.



Somehow you made it through that ambush without any of your creations coming to harm. You release a long-held breath and praise your creations like you would pets.



Next time: An Alliance with the Follies of Others

Nobody died this update! Yay!