“Buffering. Buffering. Air pressure and moisture sensors detect exhalation. Someone is in the computational storage room,” said the ghostly voice through some strange series of mechanisms around the pedestal. “I repeat, is this thing on? Or perhaps there’s a problem with the output device drivers… checking… checking...”

  The gearbox to Calaf’s immediate right whirred slightly louder.

  “Uh, hello?” Zilara asked.

  “Input received.” Again, spinning gears punctuated the sentence. “Playback hearing-impairment apology loop C-23: Apologies for the poor audio environment. It was necessary to… demonstrate… that which you see now. No man behind the curtain shenanigans here.”

  “What is this place?” Jelena raised an eyebrow.

  “Who are you?” Zilara asked, simultaneously.

  The receiver homed in on Zilara’s voice.

  “Playback explanatory segment B-07-E: What you see before you…” there was a crackling of static. “… The last preserved testament of Gustavo, smuggler, thief, and trusted companion in the Liberation Party for the duration. Not like that late-comer Aldia with his fancy Battlemage brigades and tower full of oddities. No, sir. And/or madam.”

  The trio cocked their heads, as befuddled as Yonah had been a few rooms back. Luckily, the gearwork system predicted their confusion.

  “Continued exposition dialogue segment N-345, rendition 2: This machine, buffering… buffering… is a predictive computational array set up to relay thoughts from Gustavo near the end of his life,” the machine said with a decidedly human chirp. “Segue to audience participation query D-04: Ask away.”

  “What does ‘computational’ mean?” Zilara asked.

  “Initiate Null-answer script: Sorry. Each response had to be entered manually. Available reactions are limited. Perhaps try rephrasing your question to include keywords.”

  “Are you… alive?” Jelena asked.

  Gears spun, computing.

  “Mortality and sapience explanatory segment G-03: This is the last preserved testament of Gustavo, smuggler, thief, and trusted companion in the Liberation Party for the duration. Life is… a debatable proposition. This array can ‘think’ if by that you mean 'compute inputs and playback prerecorded statements'. Do you mean to ask ‘Are you Gustavo?’”

  Calaf nodded. Then, with no response, “Um, yes.”

  “Sapience explanatory segment N-02-A: Personhood is… a debatable proposition. This array has the stored memories of Gustavo the Thief at level ninety-three, age seventy-five. There was a… branching event, once memories were stored in the array.”

  “What happened to Gustavo?” Calaf asked immediately.

  Whiiirrrrr. “Return branching segmentation query C: I’m sorry, the branching event occurred at age seventy-five for my biological originator. Information is sparse past that point. However, there was an… retrieving… retrieving… incendiary explosive event… recorded in the computational room’s fireproof storage closet fetching date… four hundred and fifty-eight years and… three months… ago. In light of the unique circumstances involving risk of infection and repurposed bodies, this is likely, retrieving quote, ‘how I wanted to go out.’”

  A chill ran down Calaf’s spine. He wondered what would have influenced the famous and mighty ancient hero to immolate himself and entrust his dungeon and docks in the hands of this… well, whatever this was.

  “Initiate friendly invitation audio K-24 rendition 345: Feel free to go investigate,” said the machine. “Censors are lax in that room. I recorded all this past tense, for reasons that should be obvious. It could always be something else.”

  Calaf nodded and excused himself. He walked to the back of the room in search of this storage closet.

  The machine they were ‘talking’ to had speakers all over the room. Calaf could not hear Zilara or Jelena’s further questions, but he could certainly hear the answers.

  “Sorry. Each answer had to be entered manually. Responses are limited.”

  This was the most common answer. It took a few tries each to word things in ways the machine could recognize.

  “Retrieving clockwork simulacra response script A-1: The automatons are creatures of my own design. Spent three decades perfecting them. Getting them on the Menu was easy. Never quite got the proper leveling or gold-rewards to emulate killing living prey. If the algorithms continued to tweak them past a certain point people would catch on that the dungeon is being… minded. Comes a time when you just have to commit to your changes and publish your work, yes?”

  “Ah-ha, stiffing us on level-ups!” Zilara’s shout echoed through the warehouse.

  “Retrieving special sorry response V-345: Apologies,” the voice said, neutral. “My biological originator may have compensation for you in that regard.”

  Calaf noticed that even that totem left him just shy of his next level, despite the prodigious level delta. Against dire-beasts he and Zilara would’ve gained four-plus levels by now.

  The interrogation continued.

  “… long backstory response Z-45: after dedicating my life to preserving the ol’ stomping grounds and building those self-replicating automatons, I devoted the remaining years of my life to constructing this machine.”

  “… the last communication attempt came from registered visitor… Archbishop Morvin… three… hundred thirteen years and… six months ago.”

  The name and timestamp were both harsh and off-syllable, as if constructed from various phrases all smashed together.

  Morvin… Calaf recognized the name, but only just. Should be the birth name of a man who became Archpope three centuries past. The timeline matched up.

  The machine returned many ‘Apologies,” messages past that point. By the time they’d found info the machine had a response for, Calaf had discovered the storage closet ‘Gustavo’ was referring to.

  A charred skeleton sat in what was left of a chair made of Deepwood. There was a desk with contents dusty from age but otherwise preserved.

  A rudimentary mouthpiece device sat, ruined with age, on the desk, free from the flames. However hundreds of phrases were recorded into the steam machine in gestalt approximation of a soul. Whether the machine possessed the requirements necessary to count as ensouled was a question for the ecumenical council. Calaf shuffled closer to the dried-up, half-cindered corpse at the chair.

  It was him. Gustavo, one of the Ancient Heroes of Yore. He’d set himself on fire and the resulting corpse just… remained here through the centuries. Calaf sensed he was the only person to check this room in four hundred years. The thought proved… humbling.

  A letter remained on the desk; its bottom half fried by the ancient flames. And on the table sat multiple baubles…

  Calaf examined the letter.

  And sharing tablespace…

  ‘Extensive’ – the other baubles explained how much experience they provided. Gustavo had edited this forbidden contraband before his death. To think that mere possession of an unmodified relic such as this could get an entire settlement purged by the same church of which he was a founding compatriot. Still, Calaf suspected just one would be enough to push him over the edge to level fifty-one.

  Calaf returned to the computational array room, baubles in his Inventory.

  “… would you like to hear a recording of the previous conversation with… brrrzzt... Archbishop Morvin?”

  Zilara shook her head. “Sounds boring. We were hoping to ask you about this.”

  Testament of Gustavo popped out of the holy child’s Inventory.

  “Visual interrogation apology script: Sorry, no visual sensors are available. You’ll have to read it aloud or utilize my translation services in the dedicated scanning port.”

  A narrow slit perfect for inserting a scroll sat beneath the receivers. It was not Interface-compatible. Jelena took the scroll and fed it through, careful not to fray the ancient parchment.

  The gears overclocked. Steam filled the roof of their chamber so thick that they half expected it to rain. Perhaps the vents would still work, or perhaps the rain would ruin these gear casings and their sensitive components.

  The scroll was returned through the slot. And adjacent to one of the gear-towers, a press came to life. Page after page was constructed before their eyes. Individual letters and symbols representing the church’s standard alphabet rearranged themselves in an automated process. Thirty or forty pages waited in a neat pile.

  “Transcription work in progress snippet A-3: By my estimates, the laypeople’s text should remain relatively static in the future. It’s the church script that’s all thee this and thou that. Feel free to translate it yourself. No reason to blindly trust strange calculation machines found in a Port Town basement!”

  “Thank you, Gustavo,” Calaf said with a nod.

  “Sorry. Each answer had to be entered manually. Responses are limited.”

  “Translation work complete message S-23: The testament contains instructions for where to find the next document. Like breadcrumbs, yes? It’s in Aldia’s hoighty-toighty chicken scratch, so it may be hard to read!”

  That was all the information they could gleam from this strange steam-and-gear powered ‘thinking machine’ for now. While they could return later, they would need more questions that the machine was capable of answering.

  “Okay. We’ll read all this over the campfire tonight.”

  Zilara took the delicate ancient scroll back into her Inventory. Jelena took the new paper, unbound and not Interface-compatible, and held on to it for safe keeping. Hopefully they wouldn’t encounter a stiff breeze on their way out.

  “Hey, thinking machine. Got a shortcut out of here?”

  “Farewell script F-53-D: Back into my loft. Try the door,” said the mechanized approximation of their ancient hero. “Feel free to pop by any time. It only opens from one side, but there’s a hidden key under the cot.”

  “You are handy,” Jelena said with a smirk.

  “Sorry. Each answer had to be entered manually. Responses are limited.”

  The trio returned to Enkidu and Yonah, and the combined group saw themselves out.

  Rather than backtrack through the dungeon proper, this path led them under the warehouses and docks. The tunnels here were made of some strange metallic substance. Gustavo’s automated voice sounded as they walked.

  “Guided tour script S-12 part one: Yes, every damaged automaton is swept up and stripped for parts. In this way defenses can be recycled. Effective security can be guaranteed for an additional… two hundred… twenty-three years.”

  They passed by darkened chambers. Others were alight with sparks from some welding automaton, building battle units for the next party to either best or be dismembered by.

  “He built all this by himself, huh?” Jelena asked.

  Enkidu only snorted, disinterested.

  “S-should we even be here?” their guest, Yonah, asked, still cowering near Enkidu.

  “It’s a shortcut,” Zilara said. “You’ll be fine.”

  Onward they walked. A flight of stairs ended in murky water. They were under the river. Luckily, the underground contained many bulwarks, and an alternate route presented itself.

  Along the way, they could peek out of hidden viewports and even hear elements of the docks outside. Like hidden dungeon-masters, spying on participants.

  “It’s flooded!” yelled a familiar, distant voice. “Why the hell is it flooded? We’ve been here before, it wasn’t like this.”

  “M-maybe it washed them away?” came a frightened, feminine voice.

  It was Jorge and Sarah. Calaf hazarded a peek. They were standing not far from the tunnel. If they could detect him through this narrow slit, they gave no indication.

  “You’re certain they came this way?” Jorge asked.

  Gerard, just barely visible from the narrow viewport, shrugged.

  “They followed us,” Calaf whispered. “C’mon, we shouldn’t stay here.”

  They could only hope Mikail wouldn’t face harassment from these auxiliary arbiters. As a proven master Scout, he should be able to evade them well enough. If he was smart, he was already off the premises.

  The group dropped Yonah off back at the Port Town gate. Reluctant to leave Enkidu though she was, Yonah said her goodbyes.

  “Traveling with you all is just inviting heresy!” she proclaimed. “Still, if my savior would be so kind as to send a letter along the pilgrimage path. I’ll eagerly await a courier!”

  Good deed for the day done, the posse ran deep into the delta’s forests. When they were certain none would or could track them, Calaf used another camp item.

  The group huddled over the fire. Days were growing longer, so they still had natural sun by which to read this testament.

  “I’ve been translating the original scroll as we’ve walked,” Zilara explained, sitting in the center. “If anything from that Gustavo-automaton’s translation is different from the original article, I’ll point it out.”

  “Shall we?” Jelena said, her good eye glancing at Calaf.

  The Squire nodded. “One last thing…”

  Calaf traded four Level Up Baubles to Zilara. Together, they popped them.

  Level up!

  Back to the mid-level doldrums. Still, the prodigious XP gains from this modified bauble left him not far from level 52.

  And for Zilara, with her smaller base level and many more baubles…

  Level up! Level up! Level up! Level up!

  “Heheh. Catchin’ up,” gloated the child with her typical sly-accented inflection.

  The group gathered around.

  It was time to discover what this strange testament was meant to convey.