by S. A. Tholin
CASSIMER
The Black Niners made their move as Scathach Banneret Company began to retreat. Men came from the shadows, smeared red with paint; men who had come to die, but not before taking as many Primaterre as possible with them. Screams echoed throughout the station's winding corridors as dying men were cut down. The vessel that Hopewell was dragging along screamed too, but sometimes it laughed.
"Want to die, do you?" The gunner shoved her captive forward. "Not if I can help it."
The prison had no escape pods, and the ones on the nearest level had all gone, one by one spat into space. Athens controlled the station, but though he'd restored sensor functions to the banneret men, he could only slow the deployment of escape pods by forcing manual activation.
"Still twenty left on the next level, enough for my men and yours," Athens said.
But by the time they reached that level, there were only ten. Elsewhere across the station, other units faced worse prospects. Cassimer's Team 2, led by Leander, were pinned down inside the station barracks. Team 3 were coming for them, Daneborg cutting a swath through Black Nine resistance, but they'd have to make it back to the hangar for evac. There were no escape pods for most teams, no choice but to retreat and hope that Rampart had the guts to wait for them.
Cassimer was also linked into Commander Johansen, who would have no evac at all. His unit, deep inside the station, were heading for the engine core. The Black Nine had disabled its safety measures and taken up defensive positions, protecting power cells that were racing towards an explosive fusion reaction. Johansen and his team would re-enable the safety measures and stabilise the core – or go up with it.
"Contacts at the pods," Lucklaw said, "counting a dozen."
The dogs rounded the corner first, leaping into darkness with as much conviction as Commander Johansen. A dozen Black Niners, then half a dozen, then three as Cassimer's Morrigan found its targets. He broke the neck of another, back to back with Rearcross who'd used his combat knife.
"Don't like using guns in space," the gunner explained, and Hopewell laughed.
"First sensible thing I've heard you say. Might get used to you yet."
The dogs returned, recalled by their handlers, followed by gunfire and multiplying contacts. The Black Niners came screaming, lights waving, sweeping across the corridor to create shifting shadows. Faces painted red, clothes dripping with more. Their armour was basic and their weapons inadequate, but the corridor was straight and narrow and a hundred Towermen were taking fire while trying to evacuate.
"Shield wall." Cassimer needed say no more. Hopewell and Rearcross pushed through the crowds to hold the south, Aurillac and Runner Bean following behind, the dog slaloming between Towermen legs and bullets, unafraid and excited.
Cassimer took the north, standing in the centre of the corridor, expanding his APF. Lucklaw and Tallinn flanked him, the medic deploying mild sedatives to the team. Their bodies would shield the towermen, the banneret men the wall against which the enemy would break, but when training and instinct screamed for a soldier to move and take cover, it wasn't so easy to stand still, not so easy to brace and hope. The sedatives would numb their fear, cool their minds, make them stand when they should run.
And they stood, side by side, as escape pods shot away behind them. One, two, five, seven, and somewhere in the dark, the demon laughed. Its vessel's broken teeth made its words slur, but it sang of Joy and Chastity, and it sang of victory.
Then there were no more Black Nine to the north, and Cassimer turned. Four escape pods left. Athens stood at the airlock of one, reluctant.
"Go," Cassimer said, giving the station chief the absolution he sought. No point feeling guilty. No point hesitating. Saving Athens and his men had always been part of the mission, part of why the banneretcy had come to kill and die.
"No." Athens motioned towards Hester. "Your soldier with the broken visor. She should go. This is my station, and I'll not leave it while you're still here."
No point arguing, either. Cassimer nodded, and Hester, Butcher in tow, headed into the pod. The airlock shut, the pod launching from the station.
"Get the demon on the next one."
The vessel looked up, and for a moment, it looked uncertain. No – afraid. As two towermen grabbed it by the arms and hauled it towards the pod, it scratched and clawed at the floor, writhing and wailing.
Cassimer looked away from it, stretching his awareness across Vadgelmir Station, and saw:
Teams Two and Three, leaping across broken gantries towards a Rampart shuttle's open airlock.
Ilminster's unit, fighting their way towards the single remaining escape pod on their level.
Rampart shuttles, racing towards the station to assist in the evacuation.
Commander Enfield and his team, lost inside the maze that was Vadgelmir. Athens was with them remotely, a shadow in the corner of Cassimer's awareness, guiding them towards the hangar bay.
And Johansen, deep inside the engine core. Flashes of gunfire, the hum of machinery. A scream, and then – "We got eyes on the core, neutralising – oh – oh Earth have mercy, they–"
Blinding white light filled Johansen's vision and Cassimer's. Cassimer pulled back, reversing through surveillance cameras and sensors, and the white light chased him, roaring and lashing and swallowing everything in its path.
"Evac, now!" He shoved Tallinn into the pod where the demon now laughed. The medic turned as the airlock shut, her green eyes wide with regret and guilt and Cassimer had just enough time to shake his head – don't be sorry – before the white light swept into the corridor.
Black bulkhead concertinaed in waves, blown inwards by internal chain explosions travelling through the station's ducts. Gravity failed, and suddenly everything was falling, tumbling, as vents spat spherical orbs of fire. The flames floated like little suns in the thrashing corridor. One burnt the cuirass of a towerman and ate through his hands as he tried to stop it.
The final escape pod rose into the air as the station's hull peeled away. An external emergency force field shimmered blue, keeping the oxygen in, but it flickered and sparked.
Hopewell made it there first, kicking her way up the walls to slam her fist against the manual release. The pod's airlock hissed open, and she climbed inside, holding out a hand to Rearcross. The three remaining towermen followed, and then Athens and Lucklaw, but Aurillac was nowhere to be seen, and somewhere, Runner Bean was barking.
"If you have to, go," Cassimer told his team and then dove into the field of debris. Orbs of fire scorched his suit, burning away a layer of reactive plates. His night vision turned the world into blackness and searing brightness. Aurillac floated, surrounded by globules of his own blood, grey armour shrapnel spiking the air. Something had pierced his pauldron, tearing his right arm from his body. Alive – barely – but his medical augments were working overtime to keep him that way. The thin layer of regenerated tissue in his arm socket pulsated, threatening to rip with every beat of his struggling heart.
Runner Bean, frantically moving his legs, was trying to reach his master. The dog barked at Cassimer, snarling and snapping his jaws at anything that moved.
"Easy." Cassimer's voice was drowned out by the roar of a distant explosion – the final dying scream of a space station, or the jubilant cry of a thousand dead demon vessels – but the dog calmed, stretching its neck towards him. He held its trembling body against his own as he secured a line around it. Then he scooped up Aurillac and began to climb and kick his way up to the escape pod.
It was still there, Lucklaw kneeling at the airlock, one hand outstretched. Still there, and of course it was; if there was one single order his men would disobey, leaving him to die would be it. Still there, a light to move towards, still–
The hull tore, twisting like a spiral into the void. Air rushed around him, balls of flame bursting outwards in gusts of heat. He lifted Aurillac towards Lucklaw, then tugged at his safety line. One second – two seconds – how long could a dog survive
space exposure? Cassimer didn't know, but as Runner Bean was pulled up and into his arms, he hoped at least five seconds.
The airlock shut and the pod launched with a violent shudder that threw him forward, crashing into the opposite wall. He cradled the dog, protecting it from the impact, and when it gave a small bark, he was so relieved that he forgot for a moment that they weren't yet safe.
"Strap in, Commander," Hopewell shouted. "I'll take Bean."
He handed her the dog and took the seat next to Lucklaw's. Rearcross was next to Hopewell, and Juneau sat between two Towermen, head between her knees, shaking. A full headcount. Good, and even though the pod rocked back and forth, battered by impacts, maybe they'd make it. If a dog could survive five seconds in space, then maybe an escape pod could survive five minutes.
* * *
The Rampart shuttles didn't leave until the hangar collapsed around them. Metal groaned and crumpled like paper around the last shuttle to depart, squeezing its stern. The shuttle's guns fired, blasting itself free to tear away from the station in a blaze of light. Inside it, Daneborg struggled to strap himself in, one arm wounded and useless. His new partner dropped his Ratatosk rifle and helped the man, and through their eyes, Cassimer did a headcount. Thirteen of his men inside that Rampart shuttle, and another fourteen onboard a shuttle that was already docking with a frigate. None of them safe, not yet, but none of them left inside Vadgelmir, either.
The prison station twisted and turned, implosions and explosions turning it this way and that, stretching it into jagged shapes. Flames burst from hull breaches like solar flares on the space-black hull. It no longer seemed man-made, but a cosmic phenomenon, a thing that would churn and burn forever.
And still Scathach Banneret Company had men inside that hideous thing.
Enfield's team of twenty-six, lacing the compartment they were in with cutting gel in hopes of decoupling from the station. They worked fast and they worked hard, and didn't stop even as the compartment's airlock blew inwards, killing two instantly.
Ilminster's team had reached their single escape pod, their commander shoving in as many men as it would fit. He stayed behind, along with half a dozen others, and when the pod ejected, they followed it. Taking their chances in space, hoping against hope that their suits could keep them alive long enough.
Rampart ships glittered in the black, darting through debris fields with nimble grace. The purity of their pilots afforded them the clarity to act even in the face of chaos, and their sense of duty would not let them sit idly by while Bastion men died. They scooped them up by the dozen, collecting pods and soldiers, and once, through their pod's exterior cameras, Cassimer's team watched a silver ship streak by, close enough that its force field interacted with their pod's, blue sparks arcing between vessels.
"They'll come for us next," Hopewell said, one hand clenched around her armrest, the other holding Runner Bean protectively. "They will, right?"
"The beacon's lit," Lucklaw said. "They can see us. They'll be here."
"Primaterre protects us all." Rearcross placed his hand on Hopewell's, and this time, she didn't pull away.
"I'm in contact with Rampart," Athens said. "When–"
It happened fast. With a high-pitched screech, a hurtling chunk of Vadgelmir tore the pod apart. It barrelled through like a shadow, smashing through failed force fields and inadequate hull. The pod sheared in half, the pieces sent spinning in different directions. Screws popped from the floor and floated away. Electrical wiring snaked outwards, waving like neon seaweed. Cassimer's seat spun violently, and all he saw was flashes of light and colour. Stars lengthened like bullet heat traces, silver ships blinked past.
"Commander!"
Lucklaw's voice killed his panic. The comms specialist had been in the seat next to his, and though he couldn't turn his head to look, if Lucklaw was still alive to speak, he was still there. Still there, and stars, so afraid.
"Breathe, Lieutenant. The pod's emergency force fields will be up in a second."
Slowly, the pod stopped spinning, and Cassimer could finally get his bearings. His and Lucklaw's seats, along with one that still had half a towerman strapped in, had been torn away. The other half of the pod floated some distance away, more distant by the second. Its emergency force fields had come online. He could see Runner Bean, barking at debris that battered the blue shimmer. Hopewell, one hand around the dog's collar, stared into space with horror.
"This section's generators were damaged," Lucklaw said. "They're not coming online, Commander."
"All right. Hopewell; status report?"
"Alive, Commander. Lost two towermen, but everyone else is okay."
"Have Athens throw his weight at Rampart, get an evac sent your way."
"With all due respect, they should pick you up first. You're totally unprotected."
"When your force field runs out of power, everyone without a sealed suit dies." Juneau, Aurillac, Athens and his one remaining man, and Runner Bean. All of their lives, kept safe only by a temporary emergency measure. "Get that evac en route ASAP, Hopewell."
And then he turned to Lucklaw and saw the cracks in the man's visor and the fractured reactive plates on his suit. The charred edges of a bullet hole sat just underneath his ribs. Another, on his chest, peeked out from underneath Lucklaw's fingers as he tried to apply pressure.
"Black Niner got me earlier," he explained, smiling wanly. "Missed any vital organs, Tallinn said, so nothing to worry about. Guess Tallinn wasn't accounting for space exposure, though."
"You should have reported it to me," Cassimer said, although it hardly made any difference now, and he hated that this was who he was, that he couldn't let go of protocol even as a man faced death at his side. He pressed his palm against the bullet hole. New tissue had been growing there, healing Lucklaw's side, but it had been sucked against the hole, brittle with cold. Frozen droplets of blood trickled through widening cracks.
"Yes, Commander. Apologies." Lucklaw coughed. "Lost a lot of oxygen. Hope Rampart gets here quick."
Hope was not a luxury a commander could afford. Their section had been thrown far from the station and far from any fighting, but micro-shrapnel punched intermittent holes through the pod's hull. Their APFs couldn't keep them safe for long when even one such impact could prove fatal.
Their pod clattered into a chunk of looming darkness. It was a section of Vadgelmir's prison, its exterior shaved away to reveal rows of cells. Vessels floated there, still attached by their manacles, pale and white in the dark.
"We need to get in there. Lucklaw, your safety line."
Lucklaw didn't answer, and his face was nearly as pale as the dead vessels', his lips tinged blue. Cassimer had once seen death like this shadow Joy's face. He had denied it its prey then, and damn it if he would let it have Lucklaw now.
"Lucklaw." He shook the comms specialist's shoulder.
"Commander...?" Lucklaw's eyelids fluttered open. "We're still in space... I thought we'd been saved... I dreamed it."
"Give me your safety line." Cassimer didn't bother with explanations, simply took the line and secured it to his own suit. He unbuckled Lucklaw's harness, and then his own. "All power to your APF."
Lucklaw didn't acknowledge, but he must've heard, because his suit sparked hot against Cassimer's.
Cassimer kicked away from his seat and towards the cells above. The pod drifted away, leaving Lucklaw hanging motionless in space. Cassimer's gauntlets scratched metal, clutching for a hold, clawing until his fingertips caught a hairline fracture. He pressed his fingers into it, using the minute ledge to heave himself upwards.
A dead vessel floated above, bulging eyes staring at him. It looked like it was in pain, but he knew that if it were alive, it'd be laughing. He grabbed its swaying hair and pulled himself up along its body, its stiffened limbs groping at his armour as he clambered into the cell.
He pressed his Morrigan against the cell lock, firing until the metal gave way and he could wrench the door open. A cor
ridor stretched on for hundreds of metres in both directions, its walls providing reasonable protection. With a slight tug on the safety line, Cassimer began to reel Lucklaw in.
A swarm of fireflies surrounded the comms specialist. Shrapnel, sparking against his APF, burning against reactive plates that smouldered under the strain.
"Still with me, Lucklaw?" Cassimer hauled him into the corridor, turning him onto his back. "You better be. You hear me?"
"Affirmative." Hardly more than a whisper. His fingers trembled around Cassimer's wrist. "Oxygen supply low."
"Deploy your filaments."
A bouquet of gossamer-thin strands rose from Lucklaw's armour. Cassimer's own filaments deployed, and when his HUD advised him that a connection had been successfully established, he commanded his suit to share its supply of pharmaceuticals and oxygen.
"But Commander, my suit's still leaking. The supply will run out fast."
"Just breathe, Lieutenant." Cassimer's lips were numb with cold. His medical augments had initiated their anti-hypoxia protocol. They lowered his core temperature and increased suit pressure to preserve brain matter and function, thinned his blood with hemodilutants and prepped a defib charge in case of heart failure. Scripts and semi-organic machinery, working together to prolong his life. "Rampart will be here soon."
Very, VERY soon, said the text on his HUD, and he read that over and over, mouthed it as breathing became harder, whispering it to himself and tasting the words. As he released the last of his oxygen supply to Lucklaw, he told the lieutenant that it would be all right, that everything would be fine, that as long as he had Joy, he didn't need air.
Outside, a cluster of stars glowed around the ember-red sun. When Cassimer closed his eyes, their light followed him into the darkness.
28.
JOY
The smell of hospital summoned childhood memories. If she opened her eyes, she'd see red dust whipping the windows. If she listened harder, she'd hear the hum of Kirkclair rush hour traffic and the quiet beeping of monitors. Any moment now, Finn would walk through the door, stressed from his commute, apologetic about being late, but always, always, with a smile for her.
