by S. A. Tholin
"With me, Rearcross," he said, stepping into the ashes of the place he'd once loved.
* * *
Runner Bean followed them, stirring up a grey haze as he bounded across fallen logs and soot-swept paths. The park was silent but for the occasional crack as someone stepped on a branch. Trees loomed wraithlike, white ash falling from their branches like snow.
The artificial sun no longer shone, the fake blue sky replaced by star-shot space. The station's central column towered over the domed roof, glittering with lights. Here and there, windows flashed orange with gunfire as personnel either ignored Cassimer's orders, or were left with no choice but to gun down their own. A panorama of tragedy played out on the station, and Cassimer could see some of it.
Two of Polmak's gunners, who had killed dozens before comprehending what was happening, sat in hushed regret behind dark glass walls. The corrupted pressed against the panes. A long crack ran down the centre, spider-webbing by the second. It wouldn't be long before they would have to kill or be killed. He knew what they would do – what they were trained to do – but their faces were pale and strained. They were considering the alternative, and in the light of the killing they had already done, it would look tempting. Their commander should be in their ears, reassuring and authoritative, but their commander was doing all he could to keep them alive. Polmak wasn't struggling with morality, not even hesitating as he cut a swath through Scathach.
"Movement," Rearcross mumbled, turning his rifle towards a sloping sand bank. The streambed was dry, the puzzlegrass burnt, but the curve was familiar. Here, where the stream meandered into a birch grove, Cassimer had once forgotten where he was. The sunlight had been artificial, but Joy very real, and though the nearby path was frequented by joggers, he had kissed her. One hand on warm skin, the other on the smooth bark of a birch that was now charcoal, its ashes puffing around his boots.
"It's the dogs," he replied. Runner Bean seemed to agree, nose twitching curiously. The dog ran to the crest of the bank, but no further, waiting for the banneret men to catch up.
Elsewhere on the station, Daneborg hid in shadows as the corrupted milled past him. A young corporal strayed too close, spotting Daneborg a split second before the recon man's knife pierced his throat. He died in Daneborg's arms.
"Shouldn't be dying at home. Shouldn't be killing at home," Daneborg mumbled softly in the dead corporal's ear, and Cassimer had to speak up then, to remind and reassure Daneborg, Polmak's men and all the others that they were doing what they could, that the deaths were not on their conscience but on Skald's – if that abomination had such a thing as a conscience.
"Commander." Rearcross motioned towards a hill stubbled with tree stumps. More movement. Not dogs, not this time.
"Rangers. Won't see us if we keep quiet."
As the moving shadows drew nearer and he could hear their whispers between broken trees, the darkness crept into Cassimer's suit. The ash stirred as though something was moving underneath. A worming thing, large and toothed. Flakes drifted from scorched branches as he pushed through a tangle of dead wood. Dark smears streaked his visor, fogging his vision. Breathing was difficult, focusing harder, and all the while he had to keep Rearcross in check, repeating mantras until he felt that he might as well be Skald.
"No traces of lichen in the samples Lieutenant Hopewell brought back from the park," Juneau said over the team channel, her voice a welcome distraction.
"If you mean the stuff you scraped off the soles of my boots," Hopewell said, "I could've told you that. Equal parts gum and ash."
"No trace in the air, either. But if the demon didn't sneak its lichen on the station as an aerosol or hidden in the local vegetation, then how? The food? Scathach gets its supplies from the same central as every other Bastion station."
"You're saying this could be happening across the Protectorate?" Rearcross asked.
"Perhaps. I don't know."
"Well, let's start with what we do know." Joy sounded out of breath, stressed, but not afraid. Cassimer was thankful for that, as well as for hearing her voice at least one more time. One more second, one more syllable, and it didn't matter that the park lay in ruins. The birch tree was ashes, but it had once grown tall. Its leaves had played in the breeze, and Joy's hair had glowed copper against its white bark. The fire had transformed its matter, but it hadn't been destroyed. Like the atoms of dead stars that had become the building blocks of human life, the tree, too, would have forever. Cassimer saw that now, and he wanted to once more forget where he was and tell Joy that he loved her, tell her the three words he hadn't yet said, because it mattered. Everything mattered.
But Joy spoke again, and he couldn't interrupt, the moment not so much lost as it was caged, his heart its home, his ribs its prison, his hesitation its warden.
"We know for a fact that Skald came here as his tower operative vessel Elkhart while we were on Cato. He came to Scathach for information on the banneret team that was causing him trouble, but what if that wasn't all he did?"
"You mean the demon's been planning this for months?" Juneau asked.
"He claims to be ten thousand years old, and he definitely spent over a century planning his great escape from Cato – six months is probably nothing to him."
"Elkhart's movements have been accounted for," Cassimer said. "He went straight from the shuttle bay to the station chief's office, and back again. No detours."
"Station Chief Amager's office? The one with the giant fish tanks? Okay, so stop me if this is crazy, but lichen is, generally speaking, a symbiotic organism consisting of a fungus and cyanobacteria–"
"Also known as blue-green algae," Juneau said. "Earth have mercy, we know that's what it is in the case of the red lichen. Every water sample taken from Cato was contaminated with just the sort of algae that would thrive in Amager's fish tanks. That bloody idiot of a station chief has been cultivating a demon inside his office all this time!"
"That doesn't explain how the entire station was affected."
"Hang on. Janitor – patching you in – the station chief's fish tanks, are you familiar with them?"
"Familiar enough that I know to avoid clean-up duty."
"When they're cleaned, what happens to the water?"
"It's pumped into the station supply."
"You're saying we drink fish water?" Hopewell, horrified.
"Water recycling is paramount on space stations. It's purified, of course. The filters kill everything and their sensors notify staff if there's anything wrong with the water."
"Which is why I wasn't considering the water as a potential vector. I... Bone, stop that. Bone! Lieutenant Hopewell, restrain him."
Through Hopewell's visual, Cassimer could see the drifter. It had skulked back inside its habitat to fetch the marker pen. It drew a thick black line across the floor, the furniture – Hopewell's face.
"Right, that's enough." Hopewell twisted its wrist until it, howling, dropped the marker. She shoved it backwards into the habitat and sealed the door. Any semblance of humanity had been wiped from its face. It looked in pain, suffering from far worse than a broken wrist, and Cassimer regretted not putting it down. Its lips curled back from greying teeth, and it said: "No filters. No filters. No filters!"
* * *
The maintenance ladder was located in the shadow of the rock Cassimer had so often climbed. A nearby door set into the cliff-face stood open. He'd always known that the rock was hollow, its core hiding the park rangers' greenhouses, labs and offices, but he'd never seen the door before. Even for a banneret commander, Scathach had its secrets.
He tested the first rung of the ladder. Secure enough. At his feet, Runner Bean scratched at the ground, sniffing a dug-up piece of burnt root.
"Go," Cassimer said. Runner Bean looked up, his wagging tail stirring up ash. "Go find the other dogs."
Runner Bean's tongue lolled out. The dog nudged the root towards Cassimer's boots, like it was looking to play. Stars. Commanding dogs was a skill set he di
d not have, but he didn't want to leave Runner Bean down here alone. His thermal showed contacts inside the hollow rock, and he wasn't sure whether the dog would be able to tell friend from foe until it was too late.
"Bean, watch," Rearcross said, and Runner Bean snapped to. The gunner pulled a visor repair kit from his pouch, IF YOU ARE NOT HOPEWELL THIS IS NOT YOURS stencilled across it, and presented it to the dog. Runner Bean sniffed it vigorously. "Seek."
At once, the dog bounded away back the way they'd come.
"I spent some time with Captain Hester after Vadgelmir. She taught me a few tricks. Dog tricks, I mean. Nothing inappropriate, Commander," Rearcross said in a tone that heavily implied 'yet'. "It's a strange thing to say, but I'm glad she's still on Hereward."
"Agreed." Cassimer hesitated. "You good, Rearcross?"
"Yes, Commander. Apologies for my behaviour earlier. It was unbefitting and will not happen again. I was afraid," the gunner said, an admission as earnest as it was unexpected, "but not anymore. Not with the Earthborn watching over us."
He looked up. Cassimer followed his gaze and saw a moving light on top of the dome. Visor light, reflecting in a glittering silver suit. His HUD identified the light as CPT JOY SOMERSET, but he didn't need it to tell him. She glowed, the brightest star in the sky.
* * *
The maintenance airlock was too small to accommodate both him and Rearcross, so Cassimer went in alone. When the external lock opened, silver hands greeted him.
He stood on glass above a dead forest in the shadows of Scathach's rings. Perfect silence, perfect calm. He touched the rim of Joy's vitro-plastic visor. Copper hair framed her face. Her eyes were wide and soft, tears sparkling on her eyelashes.
"Why are you crying?"
"I made a mistake. When I tell you, I'm afraid you'll hate me."
"No," he said, relieved at the chance to tell her what he had come to understand in the burned park. "After Cato, I thought I had to hate the Primaterre, that the truth had burnt all I believed in to ash. But though the Primaterre might have been born out of darkness, so was the universe, and just look at it." He pulled her close, holding her as he regarded the expanse beyond Scathach. "The void surrounds us, but we seek the stars. RebEarth, Skald, Hierochloe; they are the dark that we stand against to protect the light. I love the Primaterre. I love who we are, what we've built, and what we will build. I love you, Joy, and no mistake will ever change that."
Sparks leapt between reactive plates and silver fabric, changing colour from yellow to bright blue as they reacted to the different materials. The maintenance airlock opened to let Rearcross through, and Cassimer let go of Joy. The afterglow of sparks lingered, and she made a sound of amazement, reaching out to touch what could not be touched.
"Earthborn," Rearcross said.
"Joy, or Somerset if you prefer. Anything other than Earthborn, really. It's almost as bad as what my superior likes to call me."
"What does he call you?" Cassimer had tried not to think about the fact that she had a commanding officer who wasn't him. He didn't need to be in charge of her, but if someone had to be, it ought to be him. He understood her, knew what she was capable of, and he would protect her – which was exactly why Bastion regulations disallowed relationships within a chain of command. Reasonable, rational, and very frustrating.
"Worldbreaker." She shrugged and unclipped a tether from her belt. "He's not a very cheerful person. Here, take this. I can't make the climb back up, but I'm hoping you can."
He looked up, trying not to be distracted by the confirmation that her superior was a he. It shouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter if Polmak couldn't get to Vysoke-Myto in time. And yet it did, chafing nearly as bad as Florey's suit.
The tether was attached to a strut channel about twenty metres above the park dome. The narrow channel connected to the station's central column, where another tether hung down from an open maintenance hatch. To reach the dome, Joy had crawled through air ducts, then rappelled a long way down to land on a strut channel no wider than his thigh.
"Looks dangerous," Rearcross said, and he wasn't wrong.
"I'll go first." Cassimer secured the tether to his suit. A quick tug to make sure it was secure enough to hold someone more than a few weight classes above 'tiny botanist', and then he began the climb. The tether was thinner than the lines he was used to, but squat by squat, he made his way up.
The strut channel creaked dangerously under his weight. His HUD threw up an orange flag, which was as good as a shrug: maybe it'll hold, maybe it won't.
"Somerset next." He unclipped the tether and let it fall. She secured it to her harness. "Rearcross, stand by to catch in case I drop her." In case Vysoke-Myto drops me.
But death wasn't coming for him this second or the next, and soon she was on the channel with him, holding onto his arm.
"I wasn't afraid before," she said, "but now that you're here, it's different."
"You couldn't allow yourself to be afraid. With me, you can be anything."
"The strut channel's looking strained, Commander. I'd advise moving off it before I come up."
"Remain where you are," Cassimer replied, to Rearcross' obvious relief. "Stand by to climb if required." Better this way. The gunner wasn't much of a climber, and if there was a worse place for a person gripped by terror than a several hundred metre ascent in the void of space, Cassimer couldn't think of it.
* * *
He free-climbed the central column, finding foothold on hull seams and air ducts. A maintenance hatch two hundred metres up would be his point of entry. One level below the station chief's office, but close enough.
He wrenched open the hatch and stepped inside the lock, jamming it open with his foot. Joy stood far below, looking up at him.
"I'll take it from here."
"You might need me. The corrupted leave me alone."
True, and if the next second was his last, he would need her to initiate Endymion. He'd passed her instructions, temporarily granting her the authority, but if he began to pull her up and halfway through, his kill switch was activated...
"I can't guarantee your safety."
"I'd rather be in danger with you than safe anywhere else."
"Keep your hands and feet on the wall at all times. Be ready to hold on if I drop you."
"Drop me?" She laughed. "You? Unlikely."
Unlikely or inevitable. He looped the tether through the maintenance hatch handle and began to haul her upwards.
Elsewhere on the station, a glass wall shattered and banneret men were forced to fight men and women who wore the Primaterre sun on their chests. Gunshots went off in the arrivals shuttle bay, where BaseSec had tried and failed to calm disembarking passengers. A group of tech officers had made their way to Sanctum's contemplation hall at the central column's apex. The stained glass doors slid open to reveal chaplains and doctrine logicians – all of them corrupted – and the tech officers panicked at the sight.
"If they couldn't resist, how can we?"
"Oh, mercy, I can feel it inside of me..."
"Get away from him!"
"No, we need to help–"
"Only one mercy for demons."
Little snippets of horror, gathered from surveillance cameras and monitors. Cassimer had told the station that the demon was attempting to destroy them from within, but in truth, they were destroying themselves, spurred on by a fear as ingrained as it was false. Skald had taken advantage of that fear, yes, but it had been there all along. A darkness, gnawing at the heart of the Primaterre he loved. A corruption.
Joy reached the airlock and the hatch sealed. He held her, counting the seconds as the environment pressurised. One second, two seconds, three – more than he could ever have hoped for, yet not enough.
"Cassimer." Polmak's voice, tight and clipped, his Kalix accent coming through stronger than usual. The sound of home was strangely comforting. "I'm in Vysoke-Myto's office. He's dead."
A shame; a loss so monumental that Scathach would
be feeling it for years.
"You did what you had to do."
"That's just it; I didn't. He was dead when I got here. Take a look."
Ceramic shards on the floor. Dirt, ground deep into the grey carpet. Broken furniture and smashed frames. Vysoke-Myto's bonsai, uprooted, its glossy leaves stripped. Blooms of blood in an erratic pattern on the wall. The company chief sat in the midst of the destruction, his eyes staring blindly up at the ceiling. His nose was broken, his forehead split open, his lips curled back from shattered teeth.
"He did it himself. Trying to resist the demon, I think, and he figured out a way to beat it. He did what it commanded – kill banneret men – and used his own kill switch. He had our backs, Cassimer, 'til the very end."
Earth have mercy. The interior airlock opened, but he couldn't bring himself to step back into Scathach just yet. Though the corridor was brightly-lit, entirely without shadow, he saw wraiths there nonetheless, from the Hecate to Tallinn to poor Aurillac, and for the first time, there was no ash to hide them. They glowed, and he had to clench his fists to stop his hands from quivering, had to open his visor to breathe.
He sank back against the wall, and Joy didn't ask why he cried. With her, he could be anything; even vulnerable – but for her, he had to be better, so he allowed himself ten seconds, no more.
He shut his visor and marched through the bright phantoms.
* * *
Station Chief Amager stood dormant and slack-jawed in his wave-dappled office. He turned when the door opened, but didn't have time to so much as snarl before Cassimer slammed him against the cold wall of an aquarium, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary. A rainbow school of fluorescent fish darted towards the glass. Their open mouths battered it, as though expecting a feeding. He held Amager there while Joy opened the hidden panel behind the station chief's desk.
Endymion Protocol was air-gapped and partly mechanical to prevent remote triggering. A code had to be input, six switches flipped in the correct order, and as soon as Joy had done all of that, Cassimer dragged Amager over and pressed the man's hand to the biometric scanner.
