The metal man and the blue-skinned vedalken climbed the curved entranceway to Memnarch’s laboratory at the top of Panopticon. Beside the door stood a rectangular pedestal, which rose from the floor to the height of Malil’s waist. Embedded in the top, a triangular red stone pulsed with a soft internal light. This was the portal to the laboratory, and only Memnarch and Malil could open it.
Malil placed his hand on the stone, and the door to the chamber slid open.
Turning to the vedalken, he indicated the door with a wave of his hand. “You are free to enter.”
Pontifex glared at him as he brushed past into the laboratory.
Inside, Memnarch gazed out over the interior of the plane. From behind, the Guardian of Mirrodin looked like a four-legged metal crab. His rounded abdomen rested on the floor. His long, pointy legs were bent, the joints poised above him ready to lift his bulk with a thought.
“Pontifex,” said the Guardian without turning around. “So good of you to come to see us.”
The vedalken researcher fell to his knees, lowering his face to the ground and spreading his arms in an elaborate bow.
“Of course, my lord.” He lifted himself then bowed again. “Forgive me for the intrusion. I know I was not invit-”
“Enough babbling, Pontifex,” interrupted the Guardian. “Memnarch will forgive your incompetence.” The crablike creature turned away from the window, scuttling around without lifting his midriff from the floor. “We forgive your intrusion.”
“Thank you, great lord.” Pontifex stayed prostrate on the ground, though he raised his head enough to glare at Malil again.
The swollen joints in Memnarch’s legs whirred into action, and the Guardian lifted his girth from the floor. Once his weight was up and balanced on his legs, he moved with a smooth grace that belied his size. He headed across the laboratory to his scrying pool. Pontifex shifted himself on the floor as Memnarch moved so that his head pointed toward the Guardian.
“We see that you brought your warriors,” said Memnarch.
“Yes, my lord. We were chasing the elf.”
“Yes,” replied the Guardian. “She is a hard one to catch. We have yearned for her, yet both you and Malil have failed to bring her to us.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” replied Pontifex.
Malil stood stock still beside the open laboratory door but did not say a word. He wished it was him lying prone on the floor, being berated. It was worse to be chastised for his failure indirectly.
“Once again, Memnarch will forgive your incompetence,” said Memnarch, “but that is only because the Creator wishes it so.” He waved his hand over his scrying pool and looked into its depths. “We have more time.”
From where he stood, Malil couldn’t see what Memnarch saw, but it apparently did not please the guardian.
“The next great convergence is coming,” the Guardian said. “The mana core is overripe. It will erupt soon. When that happens, we must be ready. We must. We must.” Memnarch ran his finger through the pool. “Memnarch is almost ready. Is not that right? Only a few more preparations to take care of, and all will be as we have planned.…” Memnarch went silent, his voice trailing off, staring intently into the pedestal.
Malil stood quietly for several minutes. Pontifex did not move from the floor, his face pressed hard against the tile.
After a long while, Memnarch spoke. “We must have her by then. Do you understand us?” He waved his hand over the pool once again.
“Yes, my lord,” replied both men in unison.
Memnarch raised his fist into the air and brought it down inside the pool. Blinkmoth serum slopped from the pedestal in a huge splash.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he shouted. Spinning away from the scrying pool, he turned to Malil. The guardian pointed at Pontifex, still prostrate on the floor. “See him out,” he said. “Memnarch must speak with the Creator again.” The Guardian raised himself to his full height. “In private.”
Malil nodded and crossed the floor to the worshipping Pontifex. “Time to go.”
Pontifex looked up at Malil, hatred in his eyes, but he got up off his knees and followed Malil from the laboratory. “I will bring you the elf, my lord,” he said over his shoulder on the way out. “This you can count on.”
The metal man led the vedalken lord down the curved corridor and waited until he was aboard the lift.
“You know the way out,” he said.
The lift descended.
Pontifex slipped silently through the floor, disappearing from sight.
* * * * *
Memnarch paced in circles around his laboratory. The clicking of his sharpened limbs mingled with his words as he spoke.
“Things were easier when Memnarch and the creator were the only creatures on the plane.” Memnarch laughed. “Yes. Yes, they were. There were occasional visitors, and sometimes the Creator left for long stretches at a time.” Memnarch pointed his finger in the air. “Still, he always returned.
“Now things are different. Memnarch has explored the entire plane. There is no more sense of wonder.” He shrugged. “There was not much to it really, at least, not before Memnarch brought in the test subjects. Back then, the only unique things on the plane were the blinkmoths.”
He listened.
“Sure the towers and chambers you created for us were interesting, but how much can an observer really learn from a tower? The blinkmoths, though, they could be studied, dissected, and experimented upon. Memnarch found the most amazing things. Yes he did.” He giggled, rubbing his hands together. “Memnarch discovered their separation anxiety. Yes. And found their threshold for distance.”
He cocked his head, listening again.
“Yes, Memnarch remembers the first experiments. The solitary moth taken more than a few meters from the other moths became frantic, smashing around inside its containment cube.” He laughed again. “As if it could build up enough momentum to break the glass walls.” Memnarch lifted an empty containment cube from the desk. He looked at it with all six of his enhanced eyes, admiring his own handiwork. “It could not, of course, Memnarch had seen to that. Eventually the moth expired. Separated for too long and at such a distance proved to be fatal.
“At first, Memnarch was saddened by the deaths of these delicate creatures. They had died of loneliness.” He shrugged. Putting the cube back on the desk, he headed across the lab. “That is what led us to populate Mirrodin with test subjects. Yes. To eliminate loneliness and to have more creatures to experiment upon.
“But that was a long time ago. A long time ago.”
Memnarch strapped himself into his apparatus once again. Before he had the device, he had created a portable tank that would deliver the serum to him in measured doses throughout the day. It was uncomfortable and limited his movements around his laboratory, so he preferred to simply dose himself while he worked within Panopticon. If he needed to leave his fortress to tend the soul traps or take specimens off the mycosynth growths, he wore the tanks. Today, though, he was working hard and would have no time to leave.
The straps came down around him, and he guided the articulated arms into place.
The door to the laboratory slid open, and Malil entered.
Memnarch looked away from what he was doing, examining his servant as he came into the lab. “Damn him,” said the Guardian. “He’s so perfect, so metal. Oh, to be made only of metal again.” He sighed. “If only to be able to remember what it was like to be blissfully ignorant again.”
Memnarch tilted his head, nodded.
“True, the serum has expanded Memnarch’s intellect, but who would have known that consciousness could be such a burden? You never spoke of such things.”
“Master, is everything all right?” asked Malil as he stepped closer.