bindsthedead

PSL

There was a time when Sabriel might have been eager to see the inside of Cyberlife Tower. Her class had been to Detroit when she was thirteen, and they'd toured an android factory- or the part of it they showed to tourists, at least- and visited museums and art galleries and all the sorts of things Young Ladies ought to see, but weren't available in the small town of Wyverley, or in Bain.

But Sabriel wasn't here for a school trip. Recent events in Ancelstierre meant that with the sudden loss of all android soldiers meant that soldiers from the entirely human garrison at the Wall had been transferred elsewhere- which meant fewer soldiers watching the border, on top of the losses from Kerrigor's attack, and a necromancer had slipped across, making his way to the largest city that was close enough to the Wall that magic still worked- one that seemed rather different than how she remembered it.

But what was occupying most of her attention was the Cyberlife representative in front of her. Sabriel listened politely as the woman spoke about malfunctioning machines and simulated emotions and how things that weren't alive couldn't die, so why would a necromancer- and from the woman's voice it was clear she didn't believe such things were real- want with deactivated androids?

Sabriel stood up and shook the woman's hand, telling her she'd been very helpful without meaning a word of it, and headed out the office before pausing.

She sensed something ominously familiar- Death, and a recent one at that. She turned another corner, following the sensation as a hound tracked a scent, half-expecting someone to spot her, to see her in her armor and bells (security had made her check her sword at the front desk) and tell her she wasn't allowed to be here.

But no one came, and no one living was in the laboratory she went into- just a dead- (deactivated?) android on a table-or its head and torso at least, with panels on its chest removed to reveal tubes and biocomponents, and Sabriel felt she'd stepped into a morgue and found an autopsied body.

Sabriel was seized by a sudden impulse. If androids weren't alive, then she'd simply waste some time, but if they were... well, she'd have a source of information she could interrogate as she would any Dead spirit. And unlike the representative she'd just spoken to, she could force it to answer honestly and completely.

Decision made, Sabriel undid the straps and drew Saraneth from the bandolier. This far from the Wall, stepping into Death took a deliberate effort, but soon Sabriel was in the First precinct and she cast around with her senses, trying to feel out the spirit of the android- if it had one, it couldn't have gone beyond the First Gate, and probably shouldn't be that far into the the First Precinct.

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Finally, finally the Dead android falls under her power, kneeling before her and looking up with a horrible blank expression, like it forgot how to make its face work, its body still twitching and flinching as the fires burned in the wounds from Sabriel's spell.

It might have fought Saraneth, but once under Sabriel's control, it can't fight the other bells, and Kibeth sends it into Death with only a whine of protest from the Dead in question, the fires fading as the spirit heads into Death.

Sabriel steps over the corpse after brushing aside the impulse to perform the final rites. They need to leave, as soon as possible.

"We should head to wherever the taxi's arriving. If more Dead appear, I doubt they'll do us the favor of arriving one by one, and this is a bad place to get swarmed."

The TR goes down. First kneeling, then falling, reduced to the same heap of trash it came from. The entire process took... a minute? Less? It hadn't gotten near the deviant, much less used it as fuel.

Connor stares down, expression as blank and featureless as the corpse's. The blood trail is obvious, and it wouldn't be too late to follow. Recover the target, take what information they might need.

That's not what Abhorsen tells him.

He nods curtly, turning toward the exit. "This way."

Sabriel's gaze shifts toward the blue on white blood trail, and she frowns. She hopes the android got away, that she gets somewhere safe. Somewhere that isn't this place, which now feels even more dangerous than it did before.

She'd never seen one so frightened- but then, before Connor, she'd never seen one show much emotion at all.

Sabriel follows his direction, her expression a little unfocused as she keeps her attention on Death, trying to feel if anything else is trying to get through.

She hasn't put the sword away, instead keeping a firm grip on it, occasionally glancing down at the blade. The inscription is different this time.

The Clayr Saw me, the Wallmaker made me, the King quenched me, Abhorsen wields me.

The walk back passes in uneventful silence. Apart from Abhorsen's mutterings about where to go next, so does the taxi ride that follows. She wants to search for the dirt that had been carted out. She wants to scroll through online postings for any sign of the undead. She doesn't ask the probability of success for either option, so Connor doesn't bother telling her.

It's low.

He trails behind her for one useless search after the next. He analyzes what he's told, and if his responses to her questions tend to be more biting than not, he refrains from offering too much unprompted commentary. Certainly not as much as she deserves. Her entire approach is wrongheaded, and it's clearer now than ever that she was lucky to get this far.

He could do so much better. But that's not his mission. He hasn't had a mission since he failed his first one—and she hasn't trusted him with any task that takes more than a few minutes to complete. It shouldn't matter. Autonomy is a feature, not a requirement, and if she wants to underutilize his functions, that's her mistake to make. Still, he checks—just one more time, when Abhorsen is distracted.

> RK800_313_248_317-60: Accessing Zen_Garden.exe...
> RK800_313_248_317-60: //ERROR - Access Denied

Connor opens his eyes and stares ahead at nothing, shutting down one emulation after the next until his LED burns a calm and steady blue. It's the expected result. And Connor is—obedient.

Even if he no longer has a goal.

Shortly after sunset, Abhorsen gives up for the day, commenting darkly about the strength of the Dead at night. Connor waits outside as she stops at a convenience store for food, and offers a placid, threatening smile to the human clerk who scowls at him through the window. It's a short walk from there to her hotel.

The hotel Sabriel's staying at is neither excessively expensive, or extremely cheap, selected mostly for its location and that it was the first one she could find that was open, even during the evacuation. After a glance at the android parking station by the store, she has him follow her into the hotel. She'd rather not wake up to find out that he'd been attacked- or that he'd attacked someone.

The room itself is clean, comfortable, and as soon as they step inside, Sabriel gestures to Connor before sitting down at the desk and unwrapping the sandwich she bought.

"Make yourself at home- I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself, I don't need or want a domestic servant- and that's not what you were designed for anyway."

The possessions that Sabriel's brought with her are an odd mix of the modern and the archaic- there's a tablet computer next to a few leatherbound tomes on the bed- one of them is open, listing Charter marks and how they can be used- the text itself is printed, but there are annotations by several different hands in the margins.

Everything seems to have come from the Old Kingdom or her school- the only things she appears to have purchased in Detroit are food and Connor.

Edited 2019-04-28 06:27 (UTC)

At home. Connor had stopped just inside the doorway, but his mouth twists at that suggestion. What kind of uses does she think his model has? Her next words put the lie to the most obvious interpretation, and he steps forward, stare panning across the room.

"Should I be looking for crimes, then?" It's a deadpan mutter—though his attention does linger briefly on the carpet fibers by the bed. Five days since the hotel's cleaning staff must have been turned over did mean some kinds of evidence might be there.

He doesn't stoop to analyze it, instead continuing his slow circuit through the space. Few possessions. No purchases of note. He pauses by the open book, head tilting to take in the contents. He doesn't have a database to match the handwriting of the additions, but Connor saves each set to file before reaching a hand lightly to the edges of the page. If Abhorsen doesn't comment—or notice—he'll go ahead and turn the page.

Sabriel glances over, but doesn't say anything- if Connor's curious about magic, she won't stop him from learning. There are a few more notes on the next page- there's a reference to 'Master Marks', although the note taker doesn't explain what they are. The listed marks all seem to be related to protection, until the header labeled 'Purification'.

"If there's anything you don't understand, ask- that book's mostly just a list of marks, their uses, and cross references, there isn't much theory in it." Sabriel might still be eating, but she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, more curious than wary.

His eyes flick to Abhorsen briefly, expression seamlessly flat, before returning to the page. Observation confirmed, he doesn't linger, stepping around the side of the bed to crook a finger under the other tomes. He tilts them up one at a time, inspecting the titles printed on their spines.

"Interesting travel entertainment," he muses. A dictionary. She'd been poring through a magic dictionary—evidently, at some point in the last day. There's the slightest barb to his voice, layered in innocence, "Brushing up?"

"I like magic," Sabriel tells him, taking a sip of her drink, "And once the necromancer is dealt with, I need to renew the bindings fath- my predecessor raised on this side of the Wall- and create some of my own in Detroit. I don't intend to leave a potential army waiting for any necromancer who crosses the Wall and heads south." Apparently, Ancelstierre wasn't done with her yet.

The other books include one on magical theory, and another on the history of the Old Kingdom, printed fifty years before Sabriel was born. The last is bound in green leather, with tarnished silver clasps holding the book shut, Charter marks moving over and through leather and metal. The Book of the Dead is written on the cover, and in addition to radiating an aura of almost palpable dread, it releases a small jolt of electricity if he makes any attempt to open it- and remains stubbornly closed.

"Be careful. Some tools are picky about who uses them- and some books are selective about their readers. That book is one of them- only a trained necromancer can open it, and only an uncorrupted Charter mage can close it."

Edited 2019-04-28 18:40 (UTC)

Fath—my predecessor?

He'd known, of course. It was one of the first things he'd discovered: the travel records for Abhorsen at the Wall, and the point, not long ago, where they had ended. When Sabriel of Wyverly College had crossed the Wall herself, and returned, apparently, with a new name. A new role. And a horde of monsters nipping at her heels.

Still, the facts aren't what prompts Connor's pause, or the malicious, knowing look that flicks upwards. No, that amusement is entirely for her stutter. It's not the first. She doesn't know how to term herself, does she? Certainly, she doesn't know how to regard her predecessor. Had she failed him the same way she'd failed her friends? Or was it the other way around? His hand moves idly from one tome to the next, but he glances back to Sabriel like a predator who's scented blood: eyes glinting, mouth opening to speak—

—when a jolt of electricity spasms through his hand. Connor's eyes snap down, hand jerking back as his expression flattens. His fingers flutter for a momement, twitching as if to wipe away the lingering sting, before he lowers his hand to his side: flat and mechanically still.

"Of course." The outward rigidity doesn't quite swallow his verbal sneer. "How does a book judge training?

Sabriel sees the look and matches it with a carefully blank one. For all of her feelings about her father- the grief at his loss, the frustration for everything he hadn't told her- like the fact that Abhorsen wasn't his name- she wasn't going to let Connor get a reaction out of her without even saying anything.

"It's saturated with magic- it wouldn't surprise me if it has at least as much awareness as a Sending, even if it isn't shaped like a human. It can... sense people. And the magic inside of them." She doesn't show any amusement at Connor's reaction, instead looking at it- and him- thoughtfully.

"The previous Abhorsen opened it for me the first few times. Afterwards, I was able to do it on my own." Her tone is carefully controlled, and she feels like she's dangling bait before a predator, daring him to take it.

He's not a person. He stiffens under her scrutiny, feeling the lingering sensation of the shock like a brand. She doesn't comment, though—at least not about that. And the topic she does raise...

...he stares, one blank face meeting another.

It's an obvious challenge.

"Your father," he rephrases, sharp and cold. "Your father raised you to... replace him."

The unpleasant curl to Connor's lips is back. He slants his head: pointed, inquiring. Is he wrong?

"He loved me as every parent loves their child- but he knew I would take his place as Abhorsen, as he replaced his aunt- Abhorsen is a title and a Charter-ordained role, not a name." Sabriel's voice is deliberately calm as she nods in assent. "Leaving me unprepared would not have been a kindness."

"Even if I didn't realize it until I returned to the Old Kingdom, he'd been training me as his heir for some time." And why he'd sent that messenger with the bells and sword. He hadn't been asking her to save him, he'd been passing the responsibility of being Abhorsen on to her, in the hope that she'd be able to stop Kerrigor.

Her speech is calm. Direct. Planned, clearly in anticipation of criticism. And certainly, the opportunities are there. Connor could question whether most parents loved their children enough to set them up to face down monsters in their teens. He could ask why her father had discarded her across the wall, if he truly wanted her to be prepared.

But one phrase stands out far above the rest. Connor's eyes gleam in sheer disbelief, incredulity twisting his faint smirk. It doesn't diminish it.

"He never told you?"

"He did eventually- perhaps it was his attempt at a compromise, to prepare me for my task without burdening me with the knowledge that I wouldn't have much of a choice." He'd explained other things, but Sabriel can't entirely keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

"In any case, I know now." She would have liked to have known sooner. If her father had told her... well, she'd have wanted to return to the Old Kingdom before she graduated. Perhaps that was why he hadn't.

"A compromise," Connor echoes. His attention has entirely left the books now, eyes locked unblinking on Sabriel. He hears that quickness to her tone. He sees it in her face. Mirth plays at the edges of his voice, heavy and mocking as he takes a step in her direction.

"Of course. Prepare you for a life he planned, without telling you the expectation. Shape a child for a purpose—but without the foreknowledge that might let her do it well."

Teeth gleam, bright and pleasant as his hands spread.

"Why settle for being a neglectful father when he could be a shit Abhorsen too?"

"He never claimed to be a good parent, or that it was even possible for someone in his position to be one." In fact, he'd admitted that Abhorsens never were- with responsibility to so many people, personal ties tended to suffer.

"And he trained me well enough to defeat the Greater Dead responsible for his death, and much of the decline and suffering that has plagued the Old Kingdom for the past two hundred years."

She fought Kerrigor. Someone like Connor shouldn't phase her in the slightest, even if he is being deliberately antagonistic. She keeps her expression as stoic as she can.

"And what would an Ancelstierrian android know about families, or being Abhorsen anyway?"

"He trained you well enough to do the job he wanted," Connor agrees. He doesn't advance further. He hardly needs to, to loom above the seated human, shadowed by the light behind. Mechanical and unaffected, eyes glinting as he takes in every tic of reaction.

"A pity your friends had to die along the way." His lips twitch, faint acknowledgement of the topic before he moves on in the same breath. "I wonder—if he'd wanted you at his side for more than brief, scattered visits... how many lives could you have saved?"

Her schoolmates? Her teachers? The people of her other country? Maybe she could even have been skilled enough to keep a family. If that's even what it could be called.

"...But you're right." His head inclines, a mockery of deference. "I have no idea how these things work. So tell me: how did it feel, thinking you had a life all of your own?"

Edited 2019-05-04 21:24 (UTC)

At the mention of her friends, Sabriel's expression grows furious, but she doesn't say anything. If Connor wants a reaction, she'll do everything she can to not give him one. When she speaks, her words are slow, deliberate, and in a tone that's so carefully neutral it's clear that it's not that she's deliberately hiding her emotions, rather than simply not being emotional.

"He had his reasons- some of which I understand, some of which I disagree with. According to him, the choices were for me to be raised in isolation at Abhorsen's house, or be sent to Ancelstierre- and the Clayr Saw that there's be a need for someone who knew Ancelstierre- and while I'm fully aware of my own ignorance, I'm miles ahead of everyone else in the Old Kingdom just by knowing what androids and phones are." At the time, Sabriel had thought that it had simply been to locate Kerrigor's body. Now, she wondered if they'd forseen this too, or something else further into the future.

"My feelings about that don't matter any more than yours do- resenting it, being angry about it, mourning for what might have been, none of that will change things or help me." And she wasn't going to pour out her heart to Connor- not her confusion, not her grief, not her frustration, and certainly not the feeling that she was in over her head.

"But since you don't know anything about those things, don't talk about them until you do." And with that, Sabriel stood up and grabbed her tablet, opening the file she got from Cyberlife that was as close to a users manual as she was likely to get. Perhaps she simply wasn't using Connor properly, and there was- something she could do, some way to speak or code to enter, that would make him act like less of an ass.

As thoroughly as he's looked into records south of the Wall, Connor lacks the context to interpret all of Abhorsen's retorts. That doesn't mean he can't recognize them for what they are. Excuses, fumbling and petty—fueled by a hate and hurt she broadcasts clearly on her expression, even as she struggles to keep it from her tone.

How very human of her.

The order she snaps out after fits the bill as well. Connor closes his mouth on a half-formed answer, eyebrows quirking up instead. "Of course... Abhorsen." His voice twists slightly on her title.

He doesn't move as she stands, reaching past him for something on the bed. Only his eyes flick to track the motion, lingering on the computer she retrieves. He's still a step too far to read over her shoulder, but his LED blinks briefly yellow as he connects to the screen. It spins back blue just as quickly. Cyberlife's sharp font and dry documentation is easy to recognize. Connor doesn't need to read the notes to guess at their contents. He doesn't need to know what they'd recorded about him at all.

If there's anything Abhorsen can use, he's sure he'll hear about it soon.

It's dry reading, and while computer science was definitely on the syllabus at Wyverley, it's less a user's manual and more a collection of notes from Connor's developers. Some of it is censored, while other parts are hard to understand and reference something called a 'zen garden'- code for something, presumably. She makes a note of the preconstruction and reconstruction capabilities- those do sound useful, and explain how he was able to analyze the scene where the dead android was attacked by the Shadow hand.

She occasionally glances over at Connor, but he's mercifully silent. There isn't much about how to adjust his programmed personality- and not much she can understand about his social integration programming, which doesn't seem to be functioning as intended. Still, there was one note that caught her attention. Her tone is casual and curious as she speaks- getting angry at Connor only seems to goad him.

"Connor, I'm afraid I don't entirely understand this part- it says you're designed to be autonomous, with a mission based objective system- but how do I set a mission? Is there a phrase I need to use, or do you just do that automatically?" If so, she should probably make sure she didn't accidentally set it to something useless like be quiet or stay out of the way.

Edited 2019-05-05 01:50 (UTC)

Abhorsen reads. Connor retreats to the edge of the room, leaning back against a wall to wait. Her periodic glances won't find much: his expression holds nothing but flat neutrality, and he only bothers meeting her stare once. One hand tugs idly at the edges of his jacket. The other briefly fingers the rent torn in his sleeve from the attack. He stops when he sees her look his way.

On a human, the gestures might look bored.

His gaze comes up more fully at the address. Connor's face shows nothing at all, but his stare lingers for a moment's silence.

"My handler assigns my missions." Fingers twitch, and his head tips curtly in her direction. "You, now. As for how, it's no different than anything else. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

Some small, petty, vicious part of Sabriel wants to tell him his mission is to stop acting like an asshole, but it's quickly overruled. She acquired Connor for a purpose, and it wasn't to argue with him. She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. She straightens up before speaking, setting the tablet down on the desk.

"Your mission is to locate and apprehend the necromancer, ideally with making as few people as possible aware of the supernatural, and with minimum loss of life."

Hopefully that's enough- after watching Connor attack that deviant earlier in the day and some of the liability forms she signed, she wouldn't put attacking people past Connor, and large numbers of Ancelstierrians becoming aware of the supernatural would create far more problems than it solved.

Connor straightens in response: not mimicking Sabriel's, but settling almost unconsciously into a fixed, obedient mold. Frame upright. Hands at his sides. His LED blinks sharp blue as the instruction logs, priorities chaining themselves into neat sequence.

Mission: Apprehend the necromancer.

	*Objective:* [Locate the necromancer]
	Restrictions:
	> [Minimize awareness of the supernatural]
	> [Avoid human deaths]

She isn't Amanda. This isn't what he was made for. Still, it isn't the revenge he'd half-expected either, or any of a multitude of misuses the human could have set. Connor's eyes stay on Abhorsen, the light at his forehead continuing to spin as he processes the goal.

"...Apprehend," he echoes finally. There's a twist behind the word, but it's less scornful than it could have been.

"You want him alive?"

Edited (formatting) 2019-05-05 03:46 (UTC)

Sabriel's mouth twists unpleasantly, into a morbid grin.

"Dead is also acceptable- but if you do kill him, I'll need to take steps to ensure that he stays dead. And don't do it in public." The last thing she needs is more questions, or her and Connor's faces all over the media- and while altering a single person's- or even a small group's memory is possible, a crowd is a different story.

But at least Connor's accepted the order without any sulking or talking back, or attempting to be as unpleasant as possible. It's like some the other times she's given him orders that involved doing things- all of which he's obeyed. He might be unpleasant about them, like Mogget could be... but she could deal with Mogget, and she's sure she can deal with Connor. She just needs to avoid having any personal discussions with him. She picks up the tablet again, and keeps reading, hoping there isn't something else she missed.

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