Lonely Castles

by S. A. Tholin

  "They must know we have night vision. Do they mean to scare us?" Tallinn panned her rifle across the courtyard. Through her visual augments, Cassimer saw what she did – ash, floating like snow, pale against the dark backdrop, and on the third storey of the residential complex, heat signatures moving like phantoms.

  "Not us," he replied. "The civilians."

  The Kalevalans were the one aspect of the laboratory that he wasn't in control of, an unpredictable factor at the very centre of their base. Juneau checked in on them occasionally, but she wasn't exactly a people person and chances were she had them more worried rather than less. Somebody else should be down there with them – Tallinn, or Rearcross if he could shake off his dislike of the morgue, but Cassimer couldn't spare any men.

  Especially not now, because the sudden silence was familiar. It was the hush before the storm, the sound of combatants holding their breaths in anticipation. Something was coming.

  His men reported in; nothing. Security camera feeds showed the same. No alarms had been tripped, no sensors triggered. But something was coming; he could feel it in his bones and hear it in the voices of his team. They all knew; they all braced.

  "Perceive with clarity," he told them. "Be aware of the moment."

  A great white light swept across the courtyard and flooded the office. Tallinn drew a sharp intake of breath and threw herself to the floor. Pointless. No amount of cover could save them from the gunship hovering at the mouth of the cavern. Its rail guns were built to batter Primaterre frigates. A hastily-built office would offer no resistance. One shot from that thing would–

  "Melt us. Armour first. I've treated survivors, peeling back the layers; oh Earth have mercy, sometimes there's only bones and then, even if they're still alive, there's nothing you can do. Got to kill switch them, and if their commander isn't there – if they are the commander – you just got to put a bullet in them. I–"

  "Relax, Tallinn. They wouldn't risk damaging the primer research."

  "But if it's not firing, then what? The cavern's too small for it to enter. It couldn't possibly navigate between the buildings and the ceiling."

  Tallinn was right; it did look impossible. But she was no pilot, and Cassimer remembered Baltimore's no problem, Commander and Albany's bull-headed belief that she could outfly a storm. No doubt Kivik the Shipwrecker was cut from the same cloth.

  Outside, thermal signatures amassed on the edges of the courtyard.

  "Kivik intends to land troops on the roof."

  "Can he do that?" Tallinn took a nervous peek out the window. The haze of smoke cleared as the gunship manoeuvred through the narrow gap between craggy cave ceiling and the outer wall. One wing scraped sparks against the residential complex's roof – and then the ship was through. Courtyard tiles cracked in the heat of its engines, windows shattering in its downwash.

  The gunship had been built for space battles, and outside of the void it was large and lumbering, but its captain had a delicate hand and a keen ability to rein in his ship's power. It hovered like a snarling beast, rising over spirals of shimmering air towards the lab roof.

  Cassimer raised his Hyrrokkin.

  One shot to the engine block bloomed blue against the ship's crackling force field. The next shot fared no better. He chambered a third round as the ship's cockpit came into view. Its blast shields hadn't been lowered, and through the glass he saw bright red lights and a bright red interior. Kivik sat in the pilot's seat, his crimson armour exchanged for a jump suit, feather tattoos glowing behind the narrow visor of a flight helmet.

  The shields wouldn't fail and the shot would not hit its mark, but Cassimer took it nonetheless. Kivik would expect it, and his own trigger finger seemed to demand it. Blue lightning flashed across the ship's viewport. It faded and Cassimer thought he saw Kivik smile.

  The ship rose above the eighth floor, kicking up air so hot Cassimer's HUD turned red with warnings. The spilled yoghurt bubbled, a laminated schedule curling at the edges, and the drawing of a house that was someone's home caught fire.

  "Airlock opening. Count at least fifty troops," Kiruna reported.

  "We count another seventy approaching on foot from the southwest," Rearcross added.

  "Lucklaw, status on the force field?"

  "Apologies, Commander. It... I thought I could get it back online, but..."

  No matter. Might as well get it over with.

  "Fall back to the basement. Kiruna, Daneborg – I'm going to need eyes and ears on the outside."

  "Copy that, Commander."

  No objections, no reluctance. The recon duo knew what needed to be done and did it swiftly. Cassimer watched through Daneborg's eyes as he climbed down a fire escape. Kiruna followed, and together they ran unseen past a squad of RebEarthers. They were black wolves, loping through the frozen forest. They were hunters, unchained and unafraid.

  "Lucklaw, secure our route to the basement."

  Lucklaw had worked on the force field generator for twelve hours straight, and though the alertness in his guiding voice was thanks to stims, his precision was not. He was their wisp of light in the darkness, their golden trail to follow. He controlled security doors and barriers, creating a path for the team and a shifting maze for the breaching RebEarthers. They were close by sometimes, separated only by a few inches of steel. A RebEarther spoke once, his voice so loud and clear that he might as well have been standing next to Cassimer. Ghosts, drifting past one another in the darkness.

  Two turns from the basement stairwell their ghostly paths crossed.

  Hopewell saw them first; Cassimer fired first; Tallinn fell first.

  "Too bloody many," Rearcross shouted, and Cassimer wanted to disagree, the stims in his blood screaming that he could take them all, but he could hear footsteps approaching from behind, fast and heavy.

  "I set charges on both sides of the basement stairs," Hopewell said, bracing against the wall for cover. The light of passing bullets reflected in her visor, sparkles of gold in her blue eyes. "Could set off one, block the enemy fire."

  "Good luck setting off one and not the other," Rearcross said. "They're what, three metres apart?"

  "It can be done," Hopewell insisted, looking at Cassimer.

  Risky, but so was staying put. He knelt, holding out a hand to Tallinn.

  "Good to go?"

  Funny question; as if there were a choice. If she wasn't, they'd carry her. If they couldn't carry her quick enough, they'd die together. Strange how that happened. Self-preservation should've told him to run, instinct should've screamed at him to save himself, but as soon as Tallinn's hand closed around his, all such thoughts vanished.

  "Fractured tibia, contusions." She smiled, her pupils wide with anaesthesia-induced sweetness. "I'm good, Commander."

  He pulled her to her feet, and to her credit, she didn't even wince.

  "Burn all power to APF. Go on three."

  "We go or the charge goes?" Hopewell asked.

  "Both," he said, and the air glowed hot with sparks as shields of energy flared around them. On three, they ran into a bright zigzag of bullets. Droplets of plasma burst from Cassimer's cuirass as a bullet slipped through the APF and evaporated against his reactive plates.

  Then a shockwave made the absorption foam in his suit cradle him tight and the stims in his vein sing. He stood tall against the blast, shrugging off rubble and flames. More than mortal, the stims sang; a god, a destroyer, a conqueror of fire and death. A sweet feeling, an elevating feeling, and once, the best feeling he'd ever known.

  Now he knew better. Now he shoved aside the desire to turn and face the enemy. Now he grabbed a stumbling Tallinn by the arm and dragged her into the safety of the basement stairwell. Now he stood in the darkness as Lucklaw remotely slammed the security door shut behind them, and he could see Tallinn's teeth sparkling in white visor light as she smiled; he could hear Hopewell, her eyes brilliant with adrenaline, making a joke about wrecking the Shipwrecker, and Rearcross's laughter in response.


  Life was far better than death – he could see that now, and he smiled too.

  * * *

  On the third day of the siege, the civilians stopped talking. Tallinn tried to keep their spirits up, even offering drugs to keep them going, but none of them accepted. Couldn't trust a Primaterre, not even when the Primaterre were their only chance of survival.

  To conserve power, the team switched off their suit lights and all non-essential functions. The only light in the basement was the faint glow where the RebEarthers' arc welders ate away at the stairwell security door, and inside the morgue, the blue light of Juneau's tablet. It spilled over open refrigeration units, painting corpse skin silver, glinting in the wet tissue of freshly-opened craniums.

  Juneau had set straight to work, tablet in one hand, bone saw in the other. At first, she'd asked Ruotsi questions, but after a while her questions had turned into long glances and frowns, and soon she'd fallen quiet altogether, transfixed by the Kalevala primer research. To her, the morgue might as well have been Miranda Station. The cold, the dark, the relentless banging on the stairwell security door – none of it mattered to her. Admirable. The sort of attitude that he wouldn't have expected from Oriel, and had to keep in check in his own men. Banneret men did not quit – even when they should.

  They'd set up two lines of defence in the narrow corridor between the stairs and the morgue. Lucklaw manned the first station, having gone straight to guard duty from the heat and noise of the machine room. His fingers twitched slightly, and he blinked frequently. Overworked and over-stimmed.

  Not that any of them had slept much. Cassimer spent most of his time on guard duty, listening to the scratching and clanging of RebEarthers trying to break in, or watching through Kiruna and Daneborg's visual augments as the recon duo slowly moved around the compound. Information gathering was the only measure of control available to him, and he tried to tell himself that it would be useful to know that the kitchens connected to a corporate dining hall, that it would be mission-essential to know that the RebEarthers had chilli for dinner, that his team's very survival might hinge on knowing what shade of green the residential quarters were painted.

  A clear idea of the compound was starting to form in his mind, the RebEarthers pawns moving across a board that he pretended to own. He ran potential scenarios and calculations, focusing a hundred percent on the mission. He had to, because whenever he allowed himself to stop, other things crept in – and he didn't have time for other things.

  Especially not Joy.

  Thoughts of her would colour his every decision and action, and right now, that would not be conducive to success. Couldn't think about Joy. Shouldn't think about Joy. Didn't think about Joy–

  –and then a message notification appeared on his HUD.

  Sender: Unknown (but not really; Cassimer knew full well who it was, and so did his fists, clenching in anticipation).

  Subject line:

  JOY

  He took a deep breath.

  Lucklaw had just been relieved by Rearcross, water sloshing around his boots as he walked to the back of the morgue. They'd set up a small sleeping area there, using gurneys as bunks. Rearcross refused to use them, preferring to nap in the corridor, but Hopewell was back there now, moving fitfully in her sleep. Juneau was going through the primer research, occasionally muttering something under her breath, entirely consumed with the data. She didn't even notice Tallinn offering her a drink of water – need to stay hydrated, Major.

  She was focused on her work, like he should be. These people were all that mattered for the moment, their lives his responsibility. He should give them a hundred percent and no less.

  But the word JOY blinked on his HUD, and he couldn't ignore it.

  Should, but couldn't.

  And so he opened it, and then–

  –and then he was at the basement stairs, one hand tight around his Morrigan and the other on the security door's control panel.

  17.

  CASSIMER

  "You sure you want to do that, Commander?"

  Cassimer couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel anything except the dull pounding of his heart. It beat hard against his ribs, so fast that Tallinn sent him a concerned note, but to him it seemed slow. To him, everything seemed slow, and yes, he did want to do it.

  He did want to open the door and fucking kill them all, tear them apart with his bare hands if that's what it took. Anything to get out of here, because this was not where he should be. This place was dark, and the place in the photograph he'd been sent was anything but.

  Light strips had dimmed to a warm gold, making ashen walls glow. A snow globe on a shelf twinkled with flakes. Copper hair spilled over the single pillow. A grey blanket had slipped from the soft rise of a pale hip, the curve of Joy's waist. She hugged the blanket close, her knees drawn up, her feet well inside the bed. It was how Cato had taught her to sleep, and it was how she had slept on Scathach until Cassimer had understood that touch had the opposite effect on her than it did on him. He had run his hand along her side, never more tense, but she had relaxed against him. He had kissed her neck, drawing her close, and rushing adrenaline had made the world so sharp, but she had rolled over, all softness and warmth in his arms, to sleepily return his kiss. She hadn't worried about where her feet were then, or tried to shield herself.

  She hadn't needed to. Not with him; not ever while he was there.

  But he wasn't there now, and a blanket couldn't protect her. He wasn't there, and while he was not, somebody else watched her. Somebody else took pictures of her as she slept.

  The demon's message was clear, and worse, it was right.

  "Commander?" Rearcross stood halfway down the corridor. "If you want to get the wait over with, we should wake Hopewell first. I don't think she'd like it if we started without her."

  The gunner's joking tone jarred. Rearcross was smiling. Smiling, even though his commander stood ready to open the damn door.

  He probably wouldn't have opened it. Auto-pilot would've kicked in, steering him down the correct path. He probably wouldn't have, although he still wanted to.

  He lowered the Morrigan, dropping his hand from the control panel. It hardly mattered, anyway – red lines of heat on the door bubbled, spitting droplets of molten steel on the floor. RebEarth would be through soon enough.

  "I shouldn't be here," he said, because he could think of nothing to say but the one, painful truth.

  Rearcross looked confused. He began to say something, when raised voices inside the morgue interrupted him.

  * * *

  Ruotsi lay on his back, splashing awkwardly in the water. His nose bled profusely. Lucklaw stood over him, rifle raised.

  "Stay down," the comms specialist warned, glancing over his shoulder at Juneau. "Major, you all right?"

  "Yes. Thank you, Lieutenant." Juneau's left cheek was reddened. She pressed her hand to it, wincing.

  "What's going on?" Cassimer stepped into the room and felt a sting of guilt at the embarrassed looks his team gave him. From their point of view, their commander had left the room for a minute and they'd immediately lost control. In truth, Cassimer was the one who'd lost control. Whatever this was, it was on him.

  "The civilian got into an argument with the major," Lucklaw said. "I stepped in when it got physical."

  Juneau waved her hand dismissively. "Don't exaggerate. It was just a slap. Still, the man deserves what he got, and more. Did you really think we wouldn't notice, Ruotsi?"

  The Kalevala man muttered something under his breath, gaze downcast. The other civilians had retreated to a corner, as far away from him as possible.

  "Their human experiments, Commander. Volunteers, he told me, and when they ran out of volunteers, prisoners condemned to die. Quite happy to talk about that, weren't you, Ruotsi, going on and on about the Kalevala penal system. I get why now. You were hoping to distract me, hoping that I wouldn't notice." Juneau pointed to the centre row of open refrigeration units. Five were empty, but seven cont
ained bodies, cold and pale. "Primaterre citizens, Commander. Civilians."

  Women and men, young and old; one barely out of his teens. Their bodies were in bad shape, dark bruising mottling their dead flesh. Red marks encircled their wrists where restraints had rubbed their skin raw. Not volunteers.

  Cassimer had holstered his Morrigan, but the temptation to draw it was strong. As head researcher, Ruotsi was on the list of priority assets, but in exo-space, Cassimer's will was law. If he wanted to shoot the man, nobody would stop him. Nobody would care.

  "To manufacture our own primers, we needed to study the original. Think of it from a scientific point of view," Ruotsi pleaded. "What is it you people say? Perceive with clarity? Well, one cannot perceive if one does not first look."

  "London, Emma, twenty-eight years old. A veterinarian from Nerys who disappeared while on call to a seedworld. Nightingale, Rasmus, captain of the Carolean, a trading vessel that vanished without a trace, its cargo hold full of rhodium. The rest are the Carolean's crew, save the boy. He went missing on a school excursion." Juneau shook her head. "These were good people, Ruotsi, not lab rats."

  The Kalevalan spat into the dirty water. "Hypocrite. The Primaterre would stop at nothing to protect their own. Why should we be any different? Why should we not be allowed to do whatever it takes? You would kill all of us in an instant if it served your purposes."

  "We would," Cassimer agreed, "but for the moment, we want you alive. Lay a hand on one of my men again, and that will change. Understand?"

  Ruotsi nodded sullenly. In the corner, the woman who'd cut her hands on glass began to sob.

  "Cuff him, Lucklaw. Put him in the back with Southgate."

  "One moment, Commander. I have a few questions first," Juneau said. "The Kalevala bodies – there's something wrong with their brains. I've never seen anything like it. Tell me, Ruotsi, what is this?" She held out her tablet. Brain scans glowed on the screen.