Nordom, Part II

I went into the hallway, seeing Nordom with Morte. I overhead Morte asking Nordom a question.

“Psst. Hey Nordom. Calculate the easiest way for me to ‘snuggle with Annah’s pillows,’ okay?”

Morte looked innocently at me as I walked over to talk to Nordom, who was staring at his crossbows intently. The crossbows were making a variety of clicking noises, first one, then the other, as if conversing. This curious conversation led me to my first question.

“What are you doing with your crossbows?”

“Attention, Nordom: required!” Nordom turn-swiveled to me, stuttered in mid-path, then re-oriented himself with a klank. “Response to Query: Action being performed on crossbows? Submit Request for Clarification: Null crossbows present.”

“Oh, really? What do you call those two -klicking- things in your hands?”

“Response: Two -klicking- objects held in opposable digits.” Nordom raised his riveted fingers and waved the two crossbows, which suddenly started klikking and twanging, as if in irritation. “Response: Objects = Gear spirits.”

“Gear spirits? What do you mean?”

“Query: Define: Gear spirits. Response: Gear spirits.”

“Yeah, but what are gear spirits?” Morte moved closer to me to get my attention, and spoke up.

“Chief, as much fun as this is, prying a bar stool out of a baatezu’s rear might prove more worthwhile than rattling our bone-boxes with this stupid polygon.”

“Do you know what gear spirits are, Morte?”

“Chief, I have no idea what this cube is rattling on about.” I couldn’t resist getting a dig in at his expense.

“I thought you were the expert on the Planes.” I had obviously touched Morte’s pride, as he quickly replied.

“Wh — I know more than you, you staggering, guttural amnesiac! ‘Sides, here’s three more bits of knowledge to rattle around in that empty brain-box of yours: one, there are no experts on the Planes, two, I'm the closest thing to one you’re going to find, and three, treat me with some respect. Why? See the second reason.” I looked away from Morte, back to Nordom.

“I'm curious, Nordom… how did you end up in Rubikon?”

Nordom chrrruped. “Query requires submitting of Chronology: Shall Nordom submit chronology?”

“Yes, I would like to know.”

“Orders received at initiation of Rubikon project: Departure from Plane/Mechanus. Stage First: Arrival at Destination: Plane/Limbo. Stage Second: Parameters dictated by Superior/Creative Director: Shaped matter of Plane (Limbo) to test hypothesis. Rubikon dungeon constructed.”

“Superior/ — Director of ‘Create’ — lost in field test. Chronology disrupted upon achievement of Stage Second, Third Stage (disruption) occurs, not part of project directives.”

“What was this field test?”

“Superior/ — Director of ‘Create’ — field test: Scouting perimeters of Rubikon (Difficult) Dungeon construct to determine: Variances. Many deviations detected: errors considerable.” Nordom gave a low whine and shut his eyes with a klik. “Director of ‘Create’ not return from field test.”

“What happened to him?”

“Citing/Rubikon Wizard/Megalomaniac Declaration of Freedom: Creative Director encountered Error: Rubikon Wizard. Hypothesis: Director discounted strength of error. Sought to correct aberrance in Rubikon Wizard. Result: Director = Nulled.”

“What happened during this third stage?”

“Third Stage, unprecedented: Nordom-specific stage. Hypothesis: Lack of Director, plus Exposure to Plane (chaos) resulted in perspective of /Nordom/ to deviate from norm.”

“Nordom, what are modrons?”

There was a klik-klik-klik as Nordom executed a rapid series of blinks, then he chrrruped. “Query: Modron, what is? Define: Modron? I am modron.”

“Yes, but what is a modron?”

“Query: Modron, Defined: Modron, I am a modron, Answered.” The shutters over Nordom’s eyes kliked close a few times, and his ‘eyes’ contracted to points. “New Query — "Modron, But what is? Define: But what is Modron? Modron is Nordom. Backward Nordom = Modron.” Morte butted in again, obviously impatient with my questioning.

“Aighhhh! For the sake of the Powers and my sanity, cut it out! He’s going to snap a crank if you keep asking him that over and over!”

“Well, I wanted to know the answer, and I was getting it from him.”

“Look, chief, normal modrons barely understand anything beyond their basic tasks, and this stupid polygon here is fresh off the Planes to boot. Don’t confuse the cube, all right? At least, not while he’s armed. You want to know about modrons, ask me, not him.”

“All right, Morte… what can you tell me about modrons?”

“It’s like this, chief: Modrons are these stupid geometric shapes that clank around on their home plane, Mechanus — they’re really tidy, orderly, and they'd like the rest of the multiverse to be, too. That’s why they’re such pests.”

“What’s wrong with trying to make the multiverse more orderly?”

“Because, chief, chaos has its place. And if everything was the way a modron sees things, it wouldn’t be much of a life… at least a life I'd want to live. They just want to make everything structured. Yechhhh.”

“I agree; chaos has it’s place… too much law, and we'd all stagnate. Look, I had some other questions for Nordom…” I wondered about Nordom’s plane of origin. “Tell me about Mechanus, Nordom.”

Nordom froze, then slowly the gears in his elbows began turning in a slow, hypnotic synchronization. “Define/Query: Mechanus. Plane of Order. Sense. Cause generates Effect. Predictable. Law. Logic. Regimented. Obedience. Gears turn. Mechanus = Nordom Origin. Mechanus = Null Home/Nordom.” Morte, stung by my earlier criticism, amplified.

“Mechanus? Boring in every sense of the word, chief. Imagine a plane filled with modrons and big turning gears, and you have the great big boring plane of Mechanus. Too many laws, too annoying. A place you wouldn’t even want to think about, let alone visit.” Fall-From-Grace had by now also come out into the hall, and added her knowledge to the conversation.

“Modrons share a common ‘energy.’ In some ways, this energy links all of them. When one of them dies, the energy is absorbed back into the common pool, and a new modron is created from that energy. When a modron goes… rogue… then he severs the link from his kind and takes a small part of the energy with him.” Morte glared at Fall-From-Grace.

“Do you mind? I had the answer covered, thank you. I'm the font of information here, not you, all right?” Fall-From-Grace nodded slightly.

“My apologies, Morte. I did not mean to offend.”

I decided to ignore this byplay, since anything I said was likely to only make Morte madder. I instead asked Morte a question.

“So you’re saying that Nordom is part of this Source, but he’s cut off from it. And when a modron dies, they’re re-absorbed. Will Nordom be?” Morte nodded.

“And if he dies, another Nordom is created.”

“Eh… no.”

“What happens?”

“Well, they'll take his energy, chief, and they'll spit out another modron, but it won’t be Nordom, because he’s not really a modron anymore; he’s got too much of the Planes in him. They'll make a non-Nordom replacement.”

“So… in turning rogue, he’s become… mortal?” Morte paused for a moment before replying.

“Well… yeah, you could put it like that. I mean, if he hadn’t had his little rogue rebellion, then he'd be fine… if he died, another modron would pop up just like him. But since he became ‘backwards’ — well, that part’s going to be lost when he dies.”

I considered Nordom again. As a modron, and a relatively low level one at that, his knowledge outside Mechanus must be very limited. But even a modron should have heard of some things, and I asked about a subject anyone who knew of other planes should be familiar with. I was curious to hear what he would have to say.

“Nordom, do you know anything about the Blood War?”

“Define: Blood War. The largest conflict in recorded history. Underlying cause of war: ideological differences between baatezu — law and tanar’ri — chaos. Qualifiers of War: Racial Genocide. Prospect of War ending unless every baatezu and/or every tan'nari is exterminated is.0000000000000000000001%. Primary Combatants: Baatezu, Tanar’ri. Participants in war: All.”

“Tell me about the Baatezu.”

“ aka, ‘Fiends, Devils.’ Information incomplete: Generic Descriptor, Baatezu. Inhabitants of the Plane: Baator. Numbers: Incalculable. Primary Attack Form: Dependent on caste. Immunities: Fire, Cold Iron, Poison. Physical Traits: Dependent on sub-race, majority exhibit resistance to cold/gas. Personality Traits: Lawful, Evil, Manipulative, Efficiency: 73%.”

“Tell me about the Tanar’ri.”

“ aka, ‘Fiends, Demons.’ Information incomplete: Generic Descriptor, Tanar’ri. Inhabitants of the Plane: Abyss. Numbers: Incalculable. Primary Attack Form: Depends on category. Immunities: Lightning, Fire non-magic, Poison. Physical Traits: Dependent on sub-race, majority exhibit resistance to cold, magical fire, gas. Personality Traits: Chaotic, Evil, Efficiency: 13%.” Enough pointless questions. I had avoided broaching the subject Grace had suggested long enough.

“Uh… how are you doing, Nordom?”

“Introspective cycle commencing.” Nordom kliked his eyes closed and began to hummmm. A few moments later, his eyes kliked open.

“Introspective Evaluation: Perceptions have become (1) smaller and (B) louder. Wings have been replaced with arms: reason unknown. Suspicion/hypothesis: not liked wings? Speculation. Nordom was once -one- but is now smaller, louder -one!- Change has resulted in information-processing difficulties.” I decided to see if I could help him by filling the missing hole in his hierarchy.

“Actually, Nordom, Rubikon still has a Director — me.”

Nordom stared at me for a moment in silence, then a slow whrrrr came from inside his frame and he kliked. I wasn’t certain, but it sounded like something clicked into place.

“Uh… you all right, Nordom?”

“Status Updated: Creative Director now re-affirmed in hierarchy.” To my surprise, some of the warbling had gone out of Nordom’s voice; it was more level, more controlled than it was before. The effect was a little unnerving.

“What sorts of tasks did the Creative Director ask you to do?”

Nordom’s shutters whrrred down over his eyes, as if he was thinking. “Task Routine: Evaluation/Forward-Scout/Tidier: Assigned perimeter of Rubikon project to evaluate, catalogue, tidy, then report. Report includes: In-in-in-tegrity Evaluations/Extermination of Project Errors/Wayward Item Recovery of Un-Tidiness.”

“Integrity evaluations?”

“Repeated word choice confirmed (Echo?): Inter-grity evaluation. Evaluation intended to detect flaws in Rubikon project, catalogue them, then /repair/ such flaws. Nature of Multiverse and nature of Plane: Limbo compromises Rubikon Project.”

“How does the, uh, Multiverse… and Limbo… compromise the Project, exactly?”

“Properties of Multiverse: — Cracks — Seals — Cracks Again — Flaws Created. Creates “portals"/conduits in space. Frequency: Pattern Indeterminate. Solution: Unknown.” There was a sssss as a small trace of steam rose from one of Nordom’s vents. “Nordom cannot repair/seal cracks. Current Status: Nordom is limited to: perception of cracks.”

“Hold on a minute. You can see ‘cracks’ in Planes? Portals? How?”

“Ability to detect portals: 80-90% Percent. Maximum Distance of Perception Varies According to Flaw/Mean Distance = Y+78…” A bewildering series of kliks came from Nordom, as if a parade of snapping beetles were marching around inside his body. “Nordom must approach within ten feet of portal. Margin of Error: +/- 5th of Foot. Will sound off if near portal.” I asked about another of his tasks.

“Extermination of errors?”

Nordom’s normal warble dropped to a wavering murmur. “Errors: Many. All constructs in Rubikon Project are in error and exist in dis-obeyance with Creative Director and all personnel of Rubikon project. Order issued: Errors that persist in dis-obeyance are to be rescinded. Obstacle: Nordom not up to specifications of task without suffering Null State.”

“So you couldn’t stop these rogue constructs by yourself… at least without being torn gear from gear?”

“Affirmatory. Null State counter-productive to completion of task.”

“Well, maybe if they'd given you better weapons…”

The crossbows in Nordom’s hand began klikity-klikking and ta-wanging like a pair of strange insects. He listened to them for a moment, then glanced at me. “My crossbows wish to file a query followed by thirty-three pleas for help: ‘Ammunition limited by suggestions of creator.’ Do you wish to provide new specifications for them?”

“Sure… well, how about something like… I don’t know — a pyramid-shaped head, except the head splits into three when it hits something?”

There was a sudden ping from Nordom’s crossbows and a sheaf of crossbow bolts begin spitting out from their tops, arcing into the air. Two panels opened up on Nordom’s sides, and the crossbow bolts sailed into them with a rattle, one after the other. After streaming out ten or so, the crossbows were silent. I had a strange feeling they were exhausted.

“Maybe they should rest for a while… look, what about the task Wayward Item Recovery?”

“Affirmatory. Items appear in maze that were not present in original design of Rubikon Project. They must be gathered, catalogued, evaluated and stored to prevent interference. Modrons are sent out to retrieve them and secure them.”

“Hmmm. Did you find anything during your last trip?”

“Affirmatory.”

“Can you give me what you found?”

“Affirmatory.” There was a moment of silence, then the shutters slowly descended over Nordom’s eyes. There was a tkk-tkk-tkk from inside his frame, followed by a whrrr-klik. A hatch opened up in Nordom’s left side, and he reached over with his free hand and passed off several objects to me, including a stream of copper coins.

“Hmmmm. Nordom… out of curiosity, what sort of duties is the Creative Director responsible for? And how much do you have to obey him?”

A slow tkkk-tkkk-tkkk began building in Nordom — like a clock about to explode. “Response: Responsibilities of Director: (A) Integrity-Maintenance of Rubikon Project, (2) Order-Issuance to Rubikon battalion/work group. Period of obeyance in accordance with Nordom obedience: Until Rubikon project halted, Creative Director = Nordom’s superior.”

“So… you'll do whatever I tell you?”

“Affirmatory”

“Well, then, I have some orders for you…” I had a pretty good idea of how I could help him, if he would obey my orders literally. “Nordom, I want you to focus on clearing out any excess baggage from your memory and use it to improve your logic and introspection routines.”

“Affirmatory.” There was a moment of silence, then the shutters slowly descended over Nordom’s eyes. There was a tkk-tkk-tkk from inside his frame, followed by a low grinding noise. The grinding noise turned into a metallic screeching, as panels opened up in Nordom’s sides, and… excess “baggage” started flying out, and I tried to catch each piece as it flew out. Nordom settled for a moment, then his eyes kliked open. “Order processed.” My first order had gone well. Now to try for a greater change.

“Nordom, I order you to listen to me. I have some things I want to say to you.”

Nordom froze. “Awaiting. Talk.”

“I order you to be more than you can be, Nordom. I order you to become stronger, faster and more focused than you've ever been. I know you can do this, because I believe you can do this.”

Nordom stared at me in silence. His crossbows had also fallen still.

“Now repeat the following words: ‘I am a strong modron.’ ‘I am a fast modron.’ ‘I am a powerful modron.’ ‘My Creative Director believes in me.’ ‘I am focused for my Director.’ Come on, repeat it.”

Nordom spoke, but his voice no longer carried the metallic wobble I heard before: It was flat. Focused. Emotionless. “I am a strong modron. I am a fast modron. I am a powerful modron. My Creative Director believes in me. I am focused for my Director.” I focused all my will into what I told him next.

“Now feel those words, Nordom. become stronger. become faster. become more powerful. Let that energy within you surface and use it to make you nordom.”

Nordom continued to stare at me, but I could feel my words taking hold — I could feel just a spark, just a spark of the energy inside of him… if I could coax it out… bring it to the surface…

“Come on, Nordom… Strength. Speed. Power. Focus.”

“affirmatory.” The pupils of Nordom’s eyes suddenly kliked and became brilliant, white dots, like tiny suns. His hands raised above his head, in a curious flying motion, and then settled back to his sides… when they descended, Nordom seemed more… definite. Sharper to my senses, somehow. Something had changed. Given time, I doubted Nordom would need my belief to sustain his new persona.

“order processed.” Nordom blinked, and suddenly settled into himself with a klank. A small wisp of steam rose from one of his vents; his voice seemed uncharacteristically deep, like he was speaking from within a huge stove, then resumed its normal tone. “O-o-o-rder processed.”

Annah came out into the hallway, no doubt wondering what everyone else was doing talking rather than sleeping. As soon as she appeared, Nordom faced her.

“Annah! Morte wants to ‘snuggle with your pillows.’ ”

As Nordom spoke, Morte rolled his eyes and frantically stage-whispered to him, “Shut up! Shut up!!”

“Oh, I'll give yeh somethin’ to snuggle up to! Eejit!” Annah glared at Morte as she spoke.

I suggested it was time everyone got some sleep. I entered my room, and examined the junk I had gotten from Nordom. There was a mirror, which I determined was magical. On one piece of clockwork junk was inscribed symbols, magical symbols. They were similar to the writing on magical scrolls, and I found I could decipher them.

The heavy gear that I had pulled from the twisted mass of junk held the last algebraic ruminations of Enoll Eva, who was apparently the recently disintegrated Creative Director of Rubikon. Inscribed upon this twisted gear was a complex mathematical equation the modron discovered while attempting to calculate the permutations of the Rubikon maze. It was likely the presence of Limbo had an impact on his thoughts, inspiring the narrow-minded modron to think of something both brilliant and extremely dangerous. What was written was close enough to a magical scroll that I found I could copy it to my spell book, and I determined to try this new spell at the first opportunity.

Enoll Eva? I wondered if it meant something backwards, like Nordom? No, nothing.