None of the soldiers budged. They waited for Jacob to tell them to do that.
“Is that clear?” he asked.
There was a chorus of “Yes, sir!” from everyone, human and demon included.
“Good,” he said, before seizing the radio. “I'll take that. I can't have any potential leaks to the Resistance about this.” He smashed it beneath his foot.
The sandy-haired technician stood up in shock. “But I'm communications,” he protested. “I'm supposed to report back.”
“You report to me now, soldier. What's your name?”
“Tardo Illsrid.”
“Well, Tardo,” Jacob replied. “You're going to be a little bit more than communications on this mission. I hope you're up to it.”
I hope we all are, Jacob thought.
The journey passed in awkward silence. The gentle rocking of the carriage, and the comfort of the pliable bag behind him, might have made Jacob fall asleep, were it not for the nervous glances from his accomplices, each look etching away at his nerve.
Whistler stared at his polished boots. Perhaps he was too used to scuffed, sand-covered shoes, but Jacob knew that he was having a difficult time trying to blend in. He might have looked entirely out of place were it not for the two young cadets in Azrion's unit. Both of them were around Whistler's age, and one of them was just as much a late bloomer as he was, so much so that his cuffs covered half of his hands. There were many soldiers in the Regime forces like this. Hell, they're not soldiers, Jacob thought. They're just kids. They might have been, but they would die like soldiers all the same.
There was a sudden beep from Azrion's chronometer.
“Top-up time,” he said, before taking out a small pouch of Hope. The other soldiers followed suit, taking a pinch of the powder and sprinkling it into their mouths.
Jacob suddenly realised that neither he nor the other Resistance members, except Lorelai, had a similar pouch. She took out hers, dipping her finger inside.
“Did you forget your ration?” Azrion asked.
“It's in my other uniform,” Jacob said.
Azrion furrowed his brow. “Your other uniform?”
Jacob tried to mask his gulp. Maybe that was not the right thing to say. If he really had another uniform, it would have had Resistance emblems on it.
“That's above your grade,” he said. In theory, it was. A lieutenant would not know what a commander was entitled to. For all Azrion knew, Jacob could have an entire wardrobe.
“Here, have some of mine, sir,” Lorelai offered, handing him her pouch. He wished she had not, but it seemed like Azrion's intent gaze would not falter until he ingested some of the drug. “I don't want you getting sick, sir,” Lorelai added.
Jacob stared into the bag. There was not a lot left, as Lorelai had not received a top-up since stumbling over to the enemy's side. But there was enough to get very intoxicated, enough to lose himself in, to forget his troubles, and forget the mission. He felt a deep-rooted urge to scoff the lot, and wished Cala had not dragged him down to her level. The problem with her level was that no matter how much it looked like the bottom, she always found a way to dig deeper.
Jacob felt everyone watching him, judging him. On one side, the Regime wanted him to take it, and on the other, so did the Resistance, all except—perhaps—Whistler, who had witnessed what Hope did to people, to human people.
He took a sprinkle, less than the others, but he tried to make it look like he took more. He rubbed his fingers together over his open mouth. He felt the tang of the powder on his tongue, and wished it could stay there, and not enter his bloodstream. He glanced at Taberah, and he thought that maybe she got the message. If I'm not up for this, he thought, you'll need to take over.
But when Lorelai took back the pouch, she handed it to the scarlet lady next. After all, she was supposed to be maran too. The sickness affected them all. It almost seemed to Jacob like Lorelai was deliberately botching the mission, but he was not sure, and already the Hope was beginning to feed his mind with suspicion and doubt.
Taberah took her hit with ease, as if she had done it many times before. She was good at pretending, at lying. The question was: could she lie her way through the symptoms? The demons did not get high—they got well. For humans, it was the opposite.
Taberah turned, and Whistler was next. He bit his lip and looked at Jacob. Everything could go terribly wrong now. They might have been able to kill the soldiers, but the secrecy of their mission would be over. They could not afford to have the eyes of the enemy upon them, and Azrion was very watchful. He was watching Whistler now.
Brooklyn snatched the bag from the boy and held it up. “Iron Plague is longer in my bones. Youth will respect their elders and let them eat first.” He dipped his hand into the bag, but Azrion interrupted him.
“You, soldier,” he said, “what's your name?”
Brooklyn sprinkled the white dust back slowly into the bag. “Rubion.”
“Like Rubion the Red?” Azrion asked. “The first Birth-master?”
Brooklyn nodded slightly. “It is good name.”
“Not a very common name though.”
“I am not common person.”
“No,” Azrion said, squinting his eyes. “You're not.”
Taberah looked to Jacob, and he saw that she was communicating something back. It was not words or thoughts. Her hand was inching its way to her gun.
“Your skin,” Azrion said, pointing to Brooklyn. “What happened to it?”
Brooklyn shook his head. “I do not know what you mean.”
“It's very dark skin,” the lieutenant said. The emphasis betrayed his feelings well—it was almost as if the very word left a bad taste in his mouth. He moved his jaw, as if crushing each of those four letters.
“Been out in the sun too long,” Jacob said. “That's mechanics for you.”
“Really?” Azrion asked, his own pallid complexion standing out in stark contrast. “Not the mechanics I know. White as my hair. Pale as … what did the humans call it? Snow?”
The carriage jolted over a bump, like a body on the tracks. Everyone inside rocked a little. Everyone inside was silent a little more. Everyone inside looked at everyone else a lot.
“Well, men,” Jacob said. “We have—”
“You'd almost swear,” Azrion interrupted, “that you were one of those savages from the Wild North.” His eyes bore through Brooklyn like the drills used in the iron mines. It was as if there was no one else in the carriage. Nothing else mattered but the colour of Brooklyn's skin.
Brooklyn was about to speak, perhaps even about to confess, and Taberah was about to shoot, when the carriage halted suddenly.
“What's that?” Jacob asked.
Azrion licked his lips and shook his head. “That's docking time … Commander.”
They all stood up, and two of the soldiers opened the front door, just in time for them to see the front of the Landquaker before them. It was so close that they could barely see the top. Their sight was conquered by an immense grill, the so-called “cowcatcher” used to deflect objects from the tracks. It towered over them, so it must have caught some very large cows.
From there they could also hear the sound of turret fire, and the haunting echo of the railway gun's blasting barrel. Jacob hoped they would not be caught up too much in the fight.
“Seems you were right about the attack,” Azrion said. “Looks like Resistance landships out there. We better get on board quick. We're sitting ducks in this supply train.”
Chains were cast out, and crewmen on the railway gun pulled the supply train closer before latching it in place. Then a large ramp was lowered down, bridging the small door on the food carriage with the larger door up much higher on the railway gun. Yet it did not close the gap entirely, and a mistimed jump might have added another animal for the pilot grill to catch.<
br />
“After you,” Azrion said, gesturing to Jacob.
Jacob gave the slightest of nods, even less than he should have for his rank. He felt like giving none at all, or giving the larger kind of nod that involved smashing his skull in the lieutenant's face. He wished it was the Hope that made him think that, but he knew it was not.
Jacob stepped out onto the small platform, railed on either side. There was a fairly large gap between the platform and the ramp, and Jacob did not feel like using the chains joining them as a tightrope. He leapt across, and thought that his leap was probably rather undignified for a Commander. As he reached the top of the ramp, he looked at Azrion and hoped he tripped.
But Azrion did not jump across next. He nodded to Tardo, who hopped across with ease. Then, as Jacob looked back to see who next was joining them, he felt a sudden sting on the back of his neck, before realising that Tardo had struck him there with the butt of his gun.
25 – CHANGING WEAPONS
“What happened to Rommond?” Leadman called to his commanders.
“We don't know,” one of them said.
“He went down,” said another.
Leadman rolled his eyes. “One hell of a time to die.” He paused for a moment, then straightened up. “Right. If Rommond's gone, then I'm taking charge. This is a fool's plan, and the fool is dead. We need another.”
“Another fool?” one of the commanders asked.
“Another plan!” the general snapped.
“What do you want to do?”
The explosions continued outside, and Leadman grabbed a handle on the ceiling of the landship as it rocked from the blasts.
“Forgot this central push. Let's head north and regroup with the savages. Dividing our forces like this was a suicidal plan. Three weak prongs are not as good as one strong one. Let's trade in this trident for a spear.”
Rommond had spent enough time in and around landships to know their subtle sounds, and he heard them turning on the spot. He raced to the nearest watchpoint, and pulled down the shutter. It had been abandoned so long that the sand had gathered thick outside, so he had to poke a hole in it with his hand. He peered out, even as one of Leadman's landships rolled straight overhead. They were heading north.
“No,” Rommond said, shaking his head.
“What's wrong?” Ollie asked.
“They're leaving the battle.”
Ollie sunk his head. “I guess it isn't going so well.”
“They haven't even tried.”
“Well, bravery's not for all.”
“They're not fleeing, Ollie. They're regrouping, and in this case, that's worse.”
“Why?”
Rommond banged the shutter closed. “Sleight of hand is no good if after the distraction, you wave the hand they did not see. We don't want more attention up north, and besides, the tribes don't need the Landquaker firing upon them. I'm sure they have enough to worry about up there.”
“What can we do?”
“We find a way to catch up.”
They continued on, following the winding paths, taking the trails the messengers ran in bygone days. They passed by rusted bunks, where the soldiers of old slept. The stench was terrible. Yet it was not any better when there was no roof. Rommond could remember everything too well. Once that smell set up bunk in your nostrils, it never left.
The general stopped suddenly, smacking the palm of his hand into Ollie's chest. They heard faint sounds from the room up ahead.
“So it seems they discovered these tunnels,” Rommond whispered. “Let's show them what lurks beneath.”
He kicked open the door, startling the guards inside, who were sitting down for tea. Two of them reached for their weapons, but the general shot them dead.
“Where are the keys?” he asked the last remaining guard, who still held his cup and saucer, though now a lot more unsteadily. “Where are the keys?” Rommond shouted.
The guard nodded to the cabinet in the corner.
“Thank you,” the general said, before unloading another bullet. He could afford to waste them down here, as he knew there were spare supplies. And besides, a bullet spent on a demon was never wasted.
“God,” Ollie gasped. “I'm glad I'm on your side.”
Rommond rooted through the cabinet, casting a large set of keys to Ollie. “Search for the one numbered 001.”
“What'll you be doing?”
Rommond grabbed the gun that was still holstered to one of the guards, and kicked the man away from it. “I'll be stocking up.”
The general collected as many weapons and ammunition as he could hold or strap to his belt. He knew there were several more rooms ahead that were likely filled with guards. Ollie rummaged through the keys, cursing every now and then.
“You'd think you'd have put them in order!” he called out. A few minutes later he cried again, “Found it! No, wait. Yes!” He had the wipe away the grime to be sure.
“Good,” the general said. “Come with me.”
Ollie handed Rommond the key, and Rommond handed him a gun. “I hope you're not just a driver.”
They continued through the tunnels, turning this way and that, finding the odd lone guard strolling through. With such a ruckus up above, the last thing they expected was to find the action down in those tunnels. For many in the Regime, it was a luxury job, laying back while others did the fighting. Not today. Today it was a curse.
Rommond halted outside the next room, where silhouettes passed back and forth.
“Listen,” the general whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment. He heard several sets of footsteps, some of them moving together. It was hard to make out the number, but he listened intently until he got a decent estimate, and a more than decent idea of where the guards were standing.
“There are two at our closest right,” the general told Ollie. “You take those. I'll get the rest.”
Before Ollie even nodded, Rommond burst through the door, firing with guns in both hands. He took down the guard by the bookcase, bloodying the books, which were just Regime propaganda anyway, and he fired at the guard mid-stride and mid-sentence, ensuring he would never walk or talk again. Then Rommond turned to get the guard in the left corner near the door, who had an awkward to aim rifle, and turned again to get another running in from the farthest connecting corridor. By the time his eyes met with the location he had given Ollie, he saw the two guards there slumped dead.
“Better them than me,” Ollie said.
Rommond slapped him on the back. “That's the spirit.”
He led Ollie through the next corridor to two large sealed doors, printed with huge, faded numbers: 001.
Ollie bit his lip. “I'm hesitant to ask.”
Rommond smiled. “You'll see soon enough.”
He opened the lock and pulled open the doors, one at a time. It took a lot of effort, and Ollie was not much help. The metal doors scraped across the ground, and Rommond grimaced from the screeching steel. It was pitch black inside, which made Ollie shudder. It could have been anything in there. A machine. A monster. Maybe nothing at all.
“What are we looking for?” Ollie asked.
The general held up the oil lamp. Inside they saw the silhouette of an old landship, covered in cobwebs.
Rommond smiled. “A bigger gun.”
26 – ON THE EDGE
As Taberah saw Jacob go down, her gun went up. She knew she could not kill all of the Regime soldiers in time, but she was not going down without a fight. If she fell, at least some of the demons would too. Azrion would be one of them.
The lieutenant already had his hands up. “Woah!” he cried. “I'm on your side!”
Little did he know. The problem was, Taberah was not so sure that he did not.
“Put that away, soldier,” Azrion ordered.
“I'll put it in your head,” Taberah
hissed.
“You've got some nerve talking to a lieutenant like that.”
“You've got some nerve taking out a commander like that,” she replied, nodding to Jacob's slumped form across the way.
“I had nothing to do with that, I assure you.”
“That soldier you sent across. Is he not one of your men?”
“He is, but—”
“Then take some responsibility, Lieutenant.”
Azrion clenched his fists, but said nothing.
“We should be calm,” Brooklyn said.
“Stay out of this, soldier,” Azrion replied.
Taberah clicked the safety off. “What was with all the questions back there?”
“What, with him?” Azrion asked, gesturing to Brooklyn. “With … Rubion?”
“Yes.”
“It's just procedure,” he said. “You can't be too careful,”
“No,” Taberah replied, keeping the gun steady. “No, you can't.”
“I hate to interrupt a good verbal lashing,” Lorelai said, “but I need to go across to tend to the Commander.”
“You're not going anywhere,” Taberah replied.
“You can shoot me if you want,” Lorelai said, “but if you really care about your commander, you won't stop me.” She marched off, bracing herself. She clearly expected Taberah to reply with gunfire.
“I should have one of my men over there,” Azrion said. “In case that nurse isn't on our side.”
Taberah glared at him. “You already have a man over there.”
“I keep telling you ... I didn't order that attack!”
Taberah looked at Brooklyn and Whistler. “You two, join the nurse.”
They complied, hopping across to the other side, where they found Jacob in Lorelai's arms, mumbling away to himself.
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