Lonely Castles

by S. A. Tholin

  The drifter sank to its knees, its contorted expression smoothing as it looked up at Juneau.

  "Kill," it said. "Kill banneret men."

  "Delightful," said Hopewell, leaning hard on Rearcross's armoured shoulder.

  "That's what the whispers told you to do?" Juneau asked, and the drifter nodded. "But you don't want to do that anymore, do you?"

  "Maybe," it said, shrugging its bony shoulders and smiling in a way that made Cassimer regret returning Rearcross's gun. "What is a banneret man?"

  "What of this woman?" Appledore was tending to the battered BaseSec officer. She was badly bruised, her breathing a wet whistling sound, but she was conscious, looking up at the medic in awe as he eased pains and made wounds vanish.

  "She brought it on herself," Juneau said. "She wanted to come inside the habitat. Kept banging the walls, shouting for me to open the door. I told her to be quiet, to stand still like the janitor – see, he's fine – but she was quite hysterical. Her behaviour irritated one of the corrupted. He lashed out, and well, where one leads, it seems they all follow."

  "Why didn't you just let her in?"

  "Because, Lieutenant Hopewell, I didn't want to risk getting torn to pieces when I was seconds away from a non-violent solution. It would've done none of us any good."

  Practical. Rational. Cassimer had certainly made harder calls, but he wasn't sure he would've been able to stand by and watch. He imagined Joy, trapped outside the habitat, begging to be let in, and he hated Juneau. He imagined Joy in Juneau's position, and knew that the major had made the right decision.

  "How did you know your solution would work?" For the time being, he ignored the fact that she'd had a recording of him. Just one more person who thought they could take from him whatever they wanted.

  "Your little speech earlier – quite inspirational, by the way – got their attention. I thought it a reasonable assumption that the demon had instructed them to kill you, given your history, and that perhaps you could be used as bait. It would seem I was correct, if a bit too narrow in scope. Since the demon could just as easily have instructed the corrupted to kill indiscriminately, it's being quite considerate. Puzzling, don't you think?"

  "No." It made all the sense in the world, and Earth have mercy, he could only hope that the demon's control was precise enough to keep its most cherished target safe. "What is puzzling is how it's managed to spread its influence to Scathach. There's no lichen here. They even burned the park to ensure it."

  "The major's pet," Rearcross said. "It has to be. He brought the corruption here. He's the source."

  "Quite unlikely. Commander, tell the lieutenant to stop pointing his gun at–" Juneau fell silent as Rearcross took aim at her instead.

  "You brought the corruption here. Carried it into Scathach in a little box. Fed it and taught it and coddled it."

  "Lower your weapon, Rearcross."

  But Rearcross was lost to fear, drowning in his own sweat.

  "Maybe you're one of its vessels. It makes sense, doesn't it? That's how the demon knew we were on Velloa. That's how it found Vadgelmir. That's why you gave Kivik the primer samples and why this is happening to Scathach!"

  "I know how they found Vadgelmir," Lucklaw said quietly. "I figured it out, and it's got nothing to do with Juneau."

  "Then how?" Rearcross asked. Lucklaw hesitated, glanced at Cassimer, and then shook his head.

  "It doesn't matter. But trust me, it wasn't Juneau."

  "And how can I trust you? How can I trust any of you? Its name is Skald and it could be anyone."

  But Cassimer did trust Lucklaw, and the demon could never be so pure as Juneau. She was Primaterre through and through, and his responsibility.

  "Rearcross. Put the gun down."

  Rearcross wasn't listening, and he was stressing out now, his finger tight against the trigger. He wanted to shoot, and once one demon was down, it was hard to stop killing them. Cassimer had the gunner's kill switch ready, but Rearcross was his responsibility too. He moved to stand between the gunner and the major, shielding her.

  "Hey, Kyle," Hopewell said. "Stop acting like a dick, yeah? Juneau's no demon. She's not even quite the ice queen she likes to pretend she is. See, she stays up late every night, talking to her little pet. Files it under 'Science', I'm sure, but what she really does is confide in him. She tells him how she hates Scathach Station, how she misses her labs on Miranda. She tells him sorry tales about lost research grants and unrequited love, and gossips to him about us. She told him that you're not so bad, Kyle, in spite of your impure superstitions, although I guess she'll be revising that opinion pretty soon. She stays up late, telling him all her girly secrets, and I get up early and get him to spill the beans. He's happy to, aren't you, Bone?"

  "Buddies," it said, reaching a pale hand towards Hopewell. "We're buddies."

  "Non-touching buddies," she said, pointing a stern finger at it, and it slunk back behind Juneau. "Kyle, I'm telling you, she's not a demon. And you trust me, don't you?"

  "Yeah." The gun trembled in his hand. "Yeah, I trust you, Hopewell, I–"

  "Hopey. You can call me Hopey, okay?"

  "Okay. I..." He looked at her, then at Cassimer. "Apologies, I–"

  "You can also shut up now," Hopewell said, not unkindly, and he took her advice. Lucklaw made to disarm him, but Cassimer shook his head.

  "Rearcross. Holster your sidearm."

  The gunner obeyed, thereby earning the right to keep it.

  "If we're quite finished," Juneau said, just about keeping herself collected, "can we return to the issue at hand? I'm not sure how the demon infiltrated Scathach, but I was about to suggest – and I cannot believe I'm saying this – that we reach out to the botanist." She spat the word like a curse, but Cassimer was too thankful to care. At last duty overlapped with desire, and he could do what he'd been aching to.

  "Somerset, do you copy?" And, in a private text: Joy. Please respond.

  SO gladddd you areOK BUT VERY BUSY canttalk

  "Requesting permission to access visual."

  She complied, and for the first time, he saw the world through her eyes. Colours were less vibrant, details far less sharp, hardly any environmental data available. The world was lesser and greater at once, so much of it left up to her to interpret.

  She was in the med-wing, not far from Rhys's position, on the mezzanine of a store room. The floor below was teeming with the corrupted, hands clawing at the ladder leading up to the mezzanine. A BaseSec officer kept them back, booting them to the floor whenever they got too close. Though Joy's augments could not provide the data, Cassimer could tell that the mezzanine's supports were creaking under the pressure. It would collapse.

  Its okay, she texted, as though she could read his mind as clearly as he could see through her eyes, and extended his access to include her other senses.

  "...you ready?"

  "Stars, I hope this works." A med-tech walked up to the mezzanine railing. Joy held onto his belt, steadying him as he began to spray the room with chemicals. Their effect was as rapid as that of Appledore's antimicrobials, the corrupted almost immediately regaining control of their minds. The crowd stared at each other in confusion, all thoughts of violence gone.

  "Okay, that's thirty-two. A couple more times and we'll have cleared the lower med-wing. You got these people? Captain Rhys is approaching the next location."

  The med-tech nodded, and Joy hurried down the ladder, politely slipping through the bewildered crowd. How tall they all were compared to her. How strange it was to be towered over. How brave she'd been on Cato, and how brave she was still.

  She ran down the corridor to another room, identical to the first, where another nervous med-tech waited on the mezzanine. She didn't climb the ladder, instead waiting by the door. Moments later, Rhys rounded the corner, chased by a pack of the corrupted. They streamed through the corridor and into the store room, their fingers scratching at Rhys's boots as he climbed to the mezzanine.

  "Joy." />
  "Don't worry," she whispered, and in the throng of moving shadows, she raised her hands and formed them into the shape of a heart. She held the heart so that he could see it until every last corrupted was in the room. Then she slowly reached out and pressed the door lock. As soon as it turned red, she navigated through the corrupted, breathing steadily as curious hands brushed her face and tugged her hair. She made it to the ladder, where Rhys pulled her up.

  "All right, princess?"

  "All good. You ready for the next location?"

  "Ready. And Commander," Rhys said, staring straight into Joy's/Cassimer's eyes, "you'd better focus. We've got this, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier with Endymion Protocol in effect."

  Point taken, although it was disconcerting that Rhys knew about Endymion. Above his pay grade, by a fair amount.

  Cassimer turned back to his team.

  "Right. Questions can wait. We need to get to Amager."

  "The station chief's office is all the way up in the central column," Hopewell said. "That's a long way to go when there's thousands baying for our blood. If we could kill them, I'd say no problem, but..."

  "Polmak initiated the quarantine protocol, but only Amager can activate Endymion, a station-wide delivery system of aerosolised sedatives. Anyone not wearing a mask or a sealed suit will be rendered unconscious within seconds. The idea is that while the station personnel are out cold, the possessed can be identified and culled. This information is classified, and I expect you all to treat it as such. If an enemy found out about it, they could use it to disable the entire station."

  "But you know about it?" Juneau asked.

  "The system is untested, but the hope is that banneret commanders would be able to resist the corruption. We would be the ones doing the culling. So yes, I know, and Polmak knows."

  "What if the station chief's been corrupted too?"

  "He almost certainly has been, or he would've initiated the protocol himself. However, it doesn't matter. The system is coded to his DNA – we require his body, not his mind. We must go now, and we must hurry."

  "No," Juneau said. "We can't hurry, if it means taking a direct route. You saw the locals on Cato, and I've seen what has become of them since. The demon's influence is temporary, but the harder it pushes its subjects, the worse the cognitive damage. Bone has told me stories of locals who would leave Nexus for whatever reason. Out in the wastes, where the lichen didn't thrive, the demon's control was weaker, so sometimes the locals would regain their minds. At that point, they'd be faced with a choice: stay in the wastes or the tunnels as Bone did, where their minds would be slowly eroded by the echoing whispers, or return to Nexus to try to catch a ship off-world. Some tried to leave, but the demon didn't want them to. It gripped their minds hard. Beat them into submission, essentially. Few of them have recovered from that, even under our care."

  "What are you saying, Juneau?"

  "I'm saying that the more the demon imposes its will, the worse it hurts its victims. The ones who are standing dormant will be all right. The ones beating on the doors, probably. But if they see you, the demon will scream for them to kill you, and they will try to resist – and in doing so, irreparable damage may be done. If you want to minimise casualties, you must minimise contact."

  "An alternate route, then. Suggestions?"

  "Um, if I may, Commander." It was the janitor, his eyes now dry, but his cheeks burning red as the banneret team looked at him. "The central column has several external access points, and nothing minimises contact quite like space. If you go through the banneretcy quarters and the kennels to the park, there's a ladder that goes up to an access hatch in the dome. You'll be able to see the central column from there."

  "See it, sure," Hopewell said, "but there's a whole lot of space between the park and the column. We'd have to cross that span somehow."

  "I can help with that," Joy said.

  "You?" Lucklaw sneered. "How, exactly? Got a pair of rocket boots free with your promotion?"

  "Don't have time to explain. Get to the park, and I will meet you there."

  "I'm not sure you understand. The central column's gravity field overlaps with the outer rings'. It's space, yeah, but it's not zero-g. We can't just jump or propel our way up; we'd have to climb the central column. That's no small ask, and besides, only Rearcross and Appledore have their suits on hand. Mine's in the shop."

  "Mine too," Hopewell said, grimacing. "Knew I should've fixed that dodgy knee joint myself."

  Cassimer's was lost to RebEarth hands, but he knew that he could climb the central column. He turned to Hopewell, and before he'd had a chance to ask, she said:

  "Permission granted, Commander."

  * * *

  It was strange to wear another man's suit. It fit well enough to seal, but it chafed, as though rejecting him. He hadn't seen Florey since they'd returned from Cato, and apart from Hopewell, nobody had been in contact with him. It wasn't how a commander wanted to lose a man – but then, there were worse ways.

  Appledore grabbed his med-kit and stood. Cassimer was looking right at him and saw it happen – a widening of pupils, a shiver of his skin, as halfway through straightening his back, Appledore died.

  Here and then gone, so suddenly that none of them believed it at first. Hopewell checked his pulse and Cassimer double-checked, even though they could all see what their sensors were telling them. The BaseSec officer cried as they pulled Appledore's heavy body off her; repeating I'm sorry, I'm sorry, as though it were her fault.

  "Cassimer, what happened?" Polmak asked. "Why is my HUD telling me Appledore just got kill switched? I thought he was with you."

  "Affirmative. No apparent reason for his death."

  "He seemed fine," Hopewell said. "Right? Doing his job, calm and cool, not even a little bit afraid."

  "Appledore's seen way too much for even demons to scare him."

  "Polmak, check on whose authority it was done." Cassimer blocked Joy's access to the team channel. He knew where this was going, and she didn't need to hear it.

  "Oh, mercy. Yeah, I see it. He didn't kill switch himself. Vysoke-Myto did it."

  "Kill banneret men," Juneau said. "Company Chief Vysoke-Myto is doing what the demon is telling him, and he doesn't even need to leave his office."

  "Fuck me. I was just up there, but now with the fucking quarantine in place..."

  "Get to Vysoke-Myto, Polmak, and get there fast." Cassimer closed the visor of Florey's suit. Ozone instead of cedar, reactive plates instead of skin. A dose of stims, and reality became easier to handle. "I'll activate Endymion."

  52.

  CASSIMER

  The kennels were a slaughterhouse. Station crew lay dead outside empty cages. One man's limp hand was closed around a knife. A poor choice of weapon against a banneretcy canine, and he had lost his life and his throat because of it.

  A cage door creaked on its hinges as they passed. Rearcross turned, anxiously aiming at the shadows. Nothing in there but for bowls of food and squeaky toys. The gunner was jumpy, and who could blame him? Hopewell hadn't said a word since they'd found out about Vysoke-Myto. Thinking, no doubt, counting down the seconds, wondering which would be her last.

  Bad idea. Pointless. All that mattered was that it wasn't this second, or this.

  "Focus on the moment," he told them. They both acknowledged and they both failed to take the advice. They were used to death, but also to having at least the illusion of a say. Wear armour, take cover, shoot straight, think fast – but nothing could stop the death that was programmed in their DNA.

  The door to the park was open. A young woman in station crew uniform sat leaning against the wall. Sobbing, bleeding darkly from a gut stab. Captain Aurillac lay on his back in the park's ashes. Runner Bean paced about his body, nudging his master with his nose every now and then. Dozens of paw tracks led deeper into the park.

  "They wanted to kill the dogs," the woman whispered. "I shouted at them, what are you doing, are you crazy, not the dogs,
but when I tried to stop them, Kinsey, she stabbed me. She stabbed me and got on top of me and she was going to cut my throat, but Captain Aurillac saved me. He said don't worry, I'll get you out of here, I'll keep you safe, and he asked my name and I told him Emily, and he said we need to get the dogs to the park, Emily, they'll be fine there, we'll be fine there. And we opened the cages and then I couldn't walk anymore, so he carried me here. He opened the door and said look, Emily, you can see the stars, and then he died, he just died, and... and..."

  Cassimer knelt by Aurillac, whose wide-open eyes still stared at the stars. The captain's face was spattered with reconstructed skin in a pattern that implied phosphorous burns; no doubt the reason he was on Scathach instead of Hereward.

  He collected the captain's tags and glanced over his shoulder at Hopewell, who unarmoured and wounded, wasn't going to be as much help as she wanted to believe.

  "Hopewell, take Emily to our quarters and stay there. If there's a breach, Lucklaw may need assistance."

  "Yes, Commander. Stars..." Her expression as she looked at Aurillac was so unfamiliar on her face that it took him a moment to recognise it as anger. "It's so fucking unfair."

  Yes. It was. Nothing else could be said, nothing else could be done. When Runner Bean whimpered, Cassimer patted the dog's head. His coat sported patches of missing fur and fresh skin. Whatever fires his master had faced, Runner Bean had steadfastly remained by his side.

  "You want me to head back, too, Commander?" Rearcross was staring into the park, but it wasn't fear of what lay ahead that made the gunner ask. Lucklaw sat silver-eyed in their quarters, remotely assisting Polmak in his attempt to reach the company chief's office. Any distraction to Lucklaw was a risk to all their lives.

  "Negative."

  "Because of Aurillac," Hopewell whispered to her partner. "Appledore, Aurillac – Vysoke-Myto's going down an alphabetical list. Congratulations, buddy – you're going to be the last to die."

  Hopewell's assessment was correct, although Cassimer didn't care to hear it spoken, nor did he care for the look Rearcross suddenly gave him. He didn't need the reminder that death was coming for him in one-two-three.