Iron Truth (Primaterre Book 1)

by S. A. Tholin

  "Not going to find much of that on Cato. Most of it broke a long time ago, or got buried. After the war, nobody ever cared to come and check on us. Too far and too poor."

  "No comms at all?"

  "Nothing that would interest someone like yourself. That suit's got its own comms system, hasn't it?" Natham couldn't quite hide his jealousy as he looked Cassimer up and down. "Why come to Cato dressed for war? There's no enemy here, no battles to fight. Yet the Primaterre sends her banneretcy to our desolate world."

  "Even Cato must get visitors from time to time."

  "Only thieves and murderers."

  ◆◆◆

  The farmer hadn't lied. The settlers used old computer towers as feeding troughs and planters, and one avid collector had tiled his shelter with circuit boards, but beyond that, they had nothing. The vehicles had been stripped of their guidance and comms systems, leaving them useless husks.

  "It's all junk," said Lucklaw with barely masked disgust.

  "How do you communicate with other settlements?" Cassimer asked.

  "We try not to. They're not all as friendly as we are." Natham's nervous laugh turned into a cough. "Only the big one - Nexus - is worth talking to. But we do the talking when we go there to trade. Otherwise, we mind ourselves."

  "No off-world contact?" Lucklaw sounded horrified, as though lack of access to instant information and entertainment was the worst thing imaginable. To Cassimer, it wasn't half so bad as the obvious lack of health care. The farmer's pockmarked skin, the jaundiced sclera of his woman's eyes, the rashes and lesions that blistered the arms and legs of most of the settlers - these people were unwell. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live in a diseased body, unable to stop the decay. Every ache felt, every discomfort a reminder of the approaching inevitable.

  These people suffered in ways neither he nor they could comprehend.

  "Commander." In a burst of ear-tormenting static, Copenhagen's voice came over the team channel. "I lost contact with another drone. The eastern one this time."

  "Scavengers again?"

  "Can't tell; it's gone completely dark. Can't download the analytics."

  Cassimer looked towards the east. Still clear, but as the farmer had said, Cato was a trickster.

  "Head back to base. Don't need you getting caught in a storm."

  "I haven't got the force field set up yet. If we leave now and a storm hits, we might lose the array."

  "How long do you need?"

  "..another forty-five minutes, maybe," came the faint response.

  Might as well be a lifetime. He switched to Albany's channel.

  "Commander?" This connection was far better, amplified by the transport shuttle's systems.

  "Status on the drone?"

  "Scavvers never knew what hit them. Drone is secure."

  Cassimer resisted the urge to swear. "You did not have permission to fire."

  "Who says I did? Storm could've got them. Nobody will ever know for sure."

  "We've got another drone down," he said, willing his voice calm. Anger was pointless; focus was all. "Copenhagen and her team are still at the array in the mountains. If a storm is coming, they need to know."

  "All right, Commander. We're on it."

  He switched to Copenhagen's channel again. "Albany's heading out to find the second drone, but I don't want you taking unnecessary risks. As soon as the force fields are set up, head back to base. I'm sending Florey to pick you up en route."

  ◆◆◆

  Anything that looked even remotely useful to Copenhagen's efforts to track the Andromache had been stowed into one of the Eponas. The other armoured vehicle kicked up dust in the distance, speeding towards Copenhagen's position. The skies looked clear, as did the horizon.

  A miserable crowd of settlers had gathered to watch the Primaterre soldiers seize their scrap. The mood was not pleasant; he could hear them mutter amongst themselves in their thick accent. He didn't think they would try anything - their weapons were so inadequate he'd not even bothered to confiscate them. Still, even the most harmless of wretches were capable of unpleasant surprises.

  Hopewell jogged up, carrying electronics ripped from the settlers' vehicles. "Reckon that's everything, Commander."

  "All right. Time to move out."

  "Before you leave, maybe we could trade?" Natham stepped from the crowd, tattered hat turning in twitching hands. "There's things we need, too. Medicine, food.. anything that isn't tubers." The farmer smiled, droplets of blood erupting from the cracks in his dry lips. "Or maybe just something to raise our spirits. Books, snacks... you must have things. In return, we can offer tea. Alcohol, very nice for cold Cato nights. Or if you're looking for something to warm your beds..." He grabbed a girl by the arm and shoved her forward. "Rivka knows how to heat a man's blood."

  "Impure scum." Hopewell raised her weapon towards the farmer. "We should teach you a lesson -"

  Cassimer raised his hand and Hopewell stopped. She was right, but it was not for them to intervene. Cato had been forgotten and abandoned too long; it would take more than a banneret detachment to bring purity to this ashen world. Short of a mercy killing, the lot of these settlers could not be improved.

  Still, lingering in this impure place was inadvisable. Who knew what else watched from the shadows of the fulgurite groves? Who knew what sat laughing behind the settlers' eyes? If they were watching now, those who preyed on the weak and the impure, would they recognise him?

  The fear slithered round his spine, and the ash churned.

  "We have nothing to trade," he said to the farmer. "The Primaterre Protectorate appreciates your cooperation."

  The farmer followed him as he strode towards the Epona, wheedling and pleading, apologising for any offense.

  As he opened the Epona's door, Natham tried to grab him by the arm. Cassimer recoiled and twisted the farmer's hand sharply backwards. What flesh the man had was spongy; Cassimer's fingers closed around little more than bone and tendon.

  He let go, dropping the farmer in the dirt. In spite of his gauntlets, the urge to wash his hands was overwhelming.

  Cries of outrage rose from the crowd of settlers. Half a dozen or so stepped forward - wary, but reaching for their guns.

  Targeting lasers lit up their chests. Invisible to the naked eye, but to Cassimer's visual augments, they glowed emerald green. Hopewell was at the controls of the Epona, training its guns on the settlers - one twitch the lieutenant didn't like the look of, and they would be so much mist.

  Then a roar rumbled through the valley, dust rising in the wake of Albany's shuttle, flying low across the settlement. The few settlers that didn't run, watched the disappearing shuttle in awe.

  Cassimer got into the vehicle, easing himself into the seat next to Lucklaw.

  "Pilots." Hopewell shook her head as she started the engines. "Bloody show-offs."

  7. Cassimer

  They were an hour out from base when Cassimer got the call. This time, there was concern in Copenhagen's voice.

  "Commander, I just lost the northern drone, and my scanners are seeing a lot of electrical interference."

  "All clear here, but the temperature's dropping fast." Frost had begun to form in the corners of the vehicle's windshield. "How far from base are you?"

  The following pause was long enough that he could predict Copenhagen's answer.

  "Copenhagen, are you still at the beacon?"

  "Yes, Commander. The force field isn't ready; we've been having trouble with -"

  "Drop whatever you're doing and return to base now. And make no mistake, that's an order." He took his anger and worry and shoved them deep into the ash before switching to Florey's channel. "ETA to Copenhagen's position?"

  "Twenty minutes, Commander." The gunner's voice was barely audible over the static.

  "They're on the move, heading for base. Track their signals and intercept ASAP."

  In the driver's seat, Hopewell mumbled a curse and slammed on the accelerator.
<
br />   "Easy," he told her. "Don't want to crash out here."

  Grey dust passed in a blur. Blooms of frost distorted the view, turning dunes into fractal shapes.

  "Cassimer, you there?" For once, Albany's voice was a welcome distraction.

  "I read you, Albany."

  "Oh thank the stars! Been trying to reach you for ages, but the interference is ridiculous. We found the drone, recovered it too, but listen - it'd been struck by lightning. The whole damn area, maybe six acres of dust, turned to glass. Looked like a damn war zone."

  "In which direction was the storm headed?"

  "That's the thing - we never saw a storm. But there's a lot of electricity in the air - whatever's brewing, it's not over yet. I strongly recommend returning to base. We're inbound, ETA fifteen minutes."

  "We're on our way, but the engineering team are still at the array site. If you can collect them..."

  "Shit, they're still up there? All right, don't sweat it. We'll swing by for pick up."

  Half an hour passed. The Epona's interior had cooled to such a degree they'd been forced to lower their visors. When Cassimer flexed his fingers, his gauntlets felt crisp and unyielding. Twenty-two below zero, according to his HUD. Survivable, but the sort of temperature at which the smallest mistake could prove fatal.

  The vehicle crested a dune, and the plains opened up before them. The twisted torsos of buildings rose in the distance; rusting monuments to the city. Not far to go, and though frost painted a white film across his visor, there were no other signs of disastrous weather. The sky was dim, undisturbed by dust or lightning.

  "Earth have mercy!" Copenhagen's transmission was little more than a screech.

  One deep breath to allow the fear to settle. Then: "Copenhagen, what's your status?"

  Nearly a minute passed. The tension in the vehicle was palpable. Hopewell sat rigid in the driver's seat, hands tight around the wheel. Lucklaw kept shooting nervous glances at Cassimer.

  When Copenhagen spoke again, it was with an eerie calm. "Commander, a huge storm just rolled in over the mountains. It's - I can hardly describe it - it's an avalanche of dust; a massive wave swallowing everything in its path."

  "You need to find cover."

  "According to my calculations we shouldn't be hit too badly. I chose the location well - the array will need repairs, but it'll be here for you."

  That wasn't calm in her voice. It was acceptance and incredulity in equal measure; the absurd understanding that this was where her life would end.

  "Copenhagen, find cover now. A cave, a hollow, bury yourselves if you must."

  "We'll certainly try, Commander, but if you could see what I'm looking at... the sheer immensity... I'm fairly sure we're completely fu-"

  The transmission died in a burst of static.

  A moment of silence. A moment to perceive and purify his mind; this was what Cassimer wanted more than anything, but if lives were to be saved, he couldn't waste even a moment.

  To his relief, the shuttle's comms still worked fine.

  "Albany, return to base at once."

  "Base?" The pilot sounded surprised. "Commander, I'm looking at a wall of dust here, about six miles out. The engineering crew can't survive that kind of weather. We need to pick them up."

  "The shuttle won't make it. Return to base before the storm catches you too."

  "Commander, they're going to die."

  He knew that; he bloody knew, and if there was even a chance he would run up into the mountains himself.

  But there was none, and he could do nothing; nothing at all but make the hard call.

  The silence in the Epona was broken only by a sharp crack when Hopewell squeezed the steering wheel so hard it fractured. She said nothing, because ten years in the Primaterre military had taught her that sacrifice was inevitable - but Cassimer was condemning both Florey and "a mermaid who's really good with computers" to die. A fairy tale spoiled.

  "We need to act in accordance to what's best for the mission. At this juncture, we cannot afford to lose the shuttle."

  "Hey Cassimer." The venom in her voice stung even through the static. "Maybe that's how you rolled in the cataphracts, but that's not my idea of honour and purity. I've got people down there too, and I'm not leaving them behind. So you can take your juncture and shove it up your -"

  He muted the connection.

  "Mercy," Lucklaw whispered softly, looking out the side window. "I see it."

  Vivid blue lightning forked across an ashen backdrop. The mountain range had vanished into swirling darkness. As a cataphract, Cassimer had seen similar destruction, but in war, the path to victory was clear: destroy the enemy before they destroy you.

  Here there was no enemy and nothing to rage against but merciless sky and endless wastes.

  ◆◆◆

  Lightning struck the copper cupola, showering the approaching Epona in a rain of sparks. Hopewell pulled the handbrake and the vehicle skidded to a halt. The wind speed was enough to rock the armoured vehicle.

  "Expect zero visibility. Follow your guidance systems to base." He ran a quick check of his own armour. Sealed up and ready to go. His heart rate was racing; his mind reeling against the idea of relinquishing control to the elements. "Ready?"

  At their confirmations, he slid open the Epona's side door. Wind burst in, strong enough to knock Cassimer back a pace. He braced himself and sprang out.

  Fine dust swallowed his legs up to his thighs. His HUD flashed a flurry of warning messages. Dangerously low temperature. Highly charged environment. Incoming debris -

  - he ducked, dodging a sheet of corrugated iron that thundered past. Metal shrapnel clattered against his suit, setting off the reactive plates. Sizzling droplets of plasma were carried off on the wind.

  A steel girder whirled towards him. He deflected it with his arms, the impact pushing him backwards, reverberating through armour and bone.

  Then it was gone, and the redbrick bank loomed large before him. Floodlights shone white at the entrance and he ran for them, stumbling through the opening.

  The bank shuddered and creaked in the storm. As he approached the habitat, the airlock doors slid open. Rhys stood by the interior lock, and when he saw Cassimer, he raised his hand in relief.

  The airlock began to close as a computerised voice advised that the decontamination procedure was about to commence. Cassimer stopped the door with his foot, much to the computer's dismay, and scanned for the rest of the team.

  Hopewell was about to enter the bank. Lucklaw was a few feet behind her, but didn't appear to be moving.

  "Lucklaw, report."

  The corporal didn't respond. His vitals, relayed to Cassimer's HUD, were still strong.

  "Hopewell, Lucklaw is down."

  The airlock banged against his leg as the computer's gentle voice nagged him to please ensure the airlock door was clear.

  "Commander." Hopewell's tone made it clear the news was not good. "He's out cold, pinned underneath a slab of concrete. Requesting assistance."

  The weight of the slab wasn't an issue. Less than a tonne; only a slight strain for him. Impossible for Hopewell, whose augments were only a hair above the basic package.

  While designed to reward the honourable and skilled, the merit programme did result in ability discrepancies. No doubt armies had been that way since ancient times, when the wealthy could afford sword and mail while commoners went to war with pitchforks and leather, but Primaterre augment tech was advanced enough to create chasms between the extraordinary and the average. It couldn't be pleasant for Hopewell to have to call her commander out to assist because she had banked most of her merits for civilian use, instead of investing in herself.

  Cassimer made no comment, quickly lifting the slab for her to pull Lucklaw out. Merits were to be spent any way a soldier pleased, and raw power wasn't everything. If it were, none of this would be happening. If it were, he would've made the storm yield.

  ◆◆◆

  "How is he?"


  Lucklaw sat hunched over the well-kept equipment to which Copenhagen might never return. His pale face looked sickly in the blue glow, and so very young.

  "A couple of minor fractures and a concussion. He should take it easy and let the bone-knitters do their job, but he'll be back on his feet in a day or two. No major damage, either to him or his merit account." Rhys picked up a syringe and prepared to inject Lucklaw, who winced at the sight of the needle.

  Good news, though not as good as the fact that the corporal, on regaining consciousness, had set straight to work. Unexpected; encouraging.

  The next few hours would be difficult. Hopewell was already displaying signs of anxiety. She'd made every bed to perfection and scrubbed the floors twice, now pacing the habitat like a trapped animal. In relative safety, the lieutenant had been able to relax just enough to remember that Florey was still out there.

  "Commander, I've got a signal," said Lucklaw, one trembling hand pressed to his temple. "Weak, but I'm trying to boost it."

  "Trying? Get it done, Corporal," Hopewell snapped.

  "Copenhagen's settings are difficult to make sense of. Some of these mods, I'm not even sure they're legal."

  "I'd advise not accusing a superior officer of illegal activity. Especially when she is not present." Especially when she was dead.

  "Yes, Commander." Lucklaw bowed his head, cheeks burning with shame. "Patching it through now."

  Static crackled and popped. Interwoven with the white noise was a voice, low and hoarse as it hummed a tune.

  "Albany?"

  The humming stopped. A beat of static passed. "Cassimer? Is that you?"

  "Albany, do you have the rest of the team? Is Florey with you?" Hopewell interrupted.

  Cassimer cut off Hopewell's access to the channel. There'd be no good news from Albany. There was a touch of madness in her humming that he knew to be the madness of the dying. He'd heard it often enough. In words to pass on to loved ones, or in curses for the enemy. In pleading and cries for mercy. And, sometimes, in song. Simple tunes snatched from childhood lullabies, forgotten until a mind on the verge of shutting down grasped fragments of the past.