He had let go of her arm, but her left hand came to rest on his right forearm, and March froze.
“What happened to you?” said Roanna again.
March stared at her, trying to read her expression. She only looked sad. Was she trying to seduce him? To gain an advantage over him? At the moment, she only looked like a frightened, saddened young woman.
“What do you think?” said March, his voice rougher than he would have liked. “I was an Iron Hand. They don’t wear uniforms. The changes go…deeper. Surgery. Cybernetics. Nanotech.”
“Did you choose it?” said Roanna.
She stepped a little closer to him, staring up at his face.
“Choose what?” March said.
“To become an Iron Hand,” said Roanna. “To join the Final Consciousness. To do…this to yourself.”
Her other hand strayed down his chest, brushing the scars, and her touch sent fire through him.
“Choose this?” said March, his voice thick again. “No. I was chosen. The Machinists destroyed Calixtus, crushed its civilization. I grew up in a labor camp. My mother died when I was young. The Overseers came through and tested us. Only about every one in five people can join the Final Consciousness. No one knows why. The eighty percent who cannot are used as slave labor until they die, and then their bodies are fed into protein reclamation plants. Me, I was one of the lucky ones. They took me and determined I was suitable to be a soldier. Not just a solider, an Iron Hand.”
“What…what was it like?” said Roanna. Her eyes were wide. She looked fascinated, but in a horrified sort of way, like a young soldier seeing a corpse for the first time.
“The Final Consciousness?” said March. “It is hell, but you don’t know it at the time. You hear the voice of the hive in your thoughts…and it’s so strong. You agree with it. You’re drowned in it. You lose yourself. You become part of the machine, and you don’t even realize that it has happened. You…”
He shook his head, pushing aside the memories. His throat ached a little. He wasn’t used to speaking for so long.
“That is why you hate them so much,” said Roanna.
“The Final Consciousness thinks itself a god,” said March. “The Machinists think they have built a replacement for God. They haven’t. They’ve built a devil, and it will kill and kill until it is stopped, all because they think they can perfect humanity…”
He blinked, realizing how much he had said.
“I’m sorry,” said Roanna.
“Why are you here?” said March.
“I wanted to go running,” said Roanna.
“And you got me talking about myself,” said March. “A lot of things about this situation do not make sense, but they make far more sense if you are a Machinist agent.”
“No,” said Roanna. “I just thought…I would talk with you.” She brushed his arm. “Maybe try to understand you better. Maybe…”
Gently, he reached up and put the fingers of his left hand on her cheek, his thumb curling beneath her jaw. Roanna flinched at the cool feel of the metal against her skin. March had only to squeeze, and her head would shatter like a melon beneath the wheels of a car. He wouldn’t even need to squeeze that hard.
“Are you a Machinist?” said March.
“No,” said Roanna, meeting his gaze. “I’m not. I’m a fool, and an idiot and I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” He saw her pulse in her neck. “I hate the Machinists. Not like you. I don’t have the right. But one of my friends died at the Orbital Shipyard bombing. That was why I was so angry with Thomas when he fell in with those dissidents. He should have known better.”
“Fine. You’re not a Machinist agent,” said March. “You might have come here to run, but you thought I was here. Then what do you want?”
She pushed against his metal hand, gently, and he had no choice to release her or inflict injury upon her.
Roanna’s fingers slid across his back, and she kissed him on the mouth.
Soft, her mouth was soft, and her tongue slipped beneath his lips. It had been a long time since he had had a woman. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him.
March put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away.
“What?” said Roanna.
“Did you give this speech to Lieutenant Heath as well?” said March.
She flinched but didn’t look away from him. “I…no. But I deserved that. We haven’t slept together. He hasn’t touched me…”
“But you let him think he might,” said March, “and so he’s followed you all the way out here.”
“I needed help,” said Roanna.
“Then go knock on his door,” said March. “He’ll fall on his knees and worship you. Probably bring you breakfast every morning and compose poems for you every night.”
“No,” said Roanna. “Sam is…kind, good-hearted, but he’s a boy in many ways. I need a man.”
“A man?” said March. “Go talk to Bishop. He can probably find one you to rent by the hour.”
Anger flashed over her face. “Is that what you think of me?”
“I haven’t decided what I think of you,” said March. “But you’re giving me evidence to make up my mind.”
“Yes. I…suppose I am,” said Roanna. “You must think me quite the wanton. But I am a long way from home, and I am frightened out of my mind. I am the only one who can save my brother. Don’t you see? Thomas is like Sam. He’s a boy, and he rushed into something over his head. I need to save him. But I can’t do it alone. I need a…a man, a fighter. Someone like you.”
“A wreck of scars and cybernetics?” said March.
She gave him a little smile. “There are a lot of muscles under those scars. You might be more attractive than you think.”
“A Calaskaran noblewoman should not be sleeping with former Iron Hands,” said March.
“A lover or two before I find a proper husband would not be the end of the world,” said Roanna. “It’s quite common.”
“No,” said March, letting go of her and stepping back.
It cost him more than he would have expected.
For a moment pain went over her face, then she made herself smile. “You’re lying. You want to do this.” Her eyes flicked below his waistband, where the loose exercise pants made it impossible to conceal his physical arousal.
“What I want is immaterial,” said March. “I have my duty. My orders are to get you and your brother to Antioch Station, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He stepped away from her, picked up his shirt from the treadmill, and pulled it on. The chill of the sweat-sodden shirt helped cool his ardor.
She stared at him for a moment. “I believe you. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
“Best thank God for that,” said March.
“Do you believe me?” said Roanna.
“I think so,” said March, stepping past her towards the door. “I’ll find out in three days, won’t I?” He looked back at her. “Enjoy the treadmill.”
March stepped back into the dorsal corridor, the door to the gym sliding shut behind him.
A moment later he heard the dull, rapid thud of her footsteps upon the treadmill.
“Jesus,” muttered March.
He went to his cabin, used the sanitation booth to clean himself off, and went to sleep.
###
March had not been able to finish his workout because of Roanna’s interruption, but he slept better than he expected. At 05:30 he awoke and checked in with Vigil, despite the lack of notifications. There had been no unusual activity in the night, and no one had approached the ship. March rose, dressed, and walked down the dorsal corridor to the galley.
The galley was a small rectangular room, dominated by a steel table and a pair of benches. One counter held a variety of food-making equipment, and a flatscreen display hung on one wall.
Samuel Heath sat at the table, staring into his coffee.
“Lieutenant,” said March, stepping past him to head for the co
ffeemaker.
“I heard you and Lady Roanna last night,” said Heath without preamble.
March poured himself a cup of coffee, wondering if Heath would draw his gun. “Do you often make a practice of eavesdropping?”
“No,” said Heath, still staring into his coffee. “I…was on the intercom. I heard her get up and go to your gym, and I turned on the intercom, hoping to talk to her. I heard you instead.”
March grunted. That had been an error on his part. The intercom system was nothing but speakers and wires and microphones, and Vigil wouldn’t have turned it off unless he had instructed her to do so.
“I heard everything,” said Heath.
“For God’s sake,” said March.
“Why didn’t you sleep with her?” said Heath.
“For God’s sake!” said March, his temper slipping. Heath looked up from his coffee, momentarily frightened out of his brooding. “This is a matter of life and death, and I am burdened with two children who have more hormones than brains. People are going to get killed, and you two are preoccupied with your damned soap opera.”
He rebuked himself, restraining his temper. That little outburst had accomplished nothing. Truth be told, he was not annoyed with Heath. March was annoyed with himself, for letting Roanna get to him, for letting himself be attracted to her.
“That…is not undeserved,” said Heath.
March sighed and sat across the table from the younger man.
“If you must know,” said March, “I didn’t sleep with her because it would have been an extraordinarily bad idea. Perhaps that is advice that you should take.”
Heath snorted. “I know you and Bishop think that I am a fool.”
March almost said yes, but he stopped himself.
“What has brought you to that conclusion?” he said instead.
“Because I have acted like a fool,” said Heath. “I abandoned my post and helped Lady Roanna to Rustbelt Station on this mad errand. And, yes, I have fallen in love with her.”
“I am awaiting the part,” said March, “where you explain that you are not a fool.”
“It wasn’t just about her,” said Heath. “Are you familiar with the twisting fever?”
“It’s a viral disease native to Calaskar,” said March. “It causes uncontrollable muscle contractions and organ failure. Every few years there is an outbreak, and it always takes some time before the doctors can formulate a vaccine for the latest variant of the disease.”
“My family has always worked as gas miners,” said Heath. “We lived in the swamps of Toridex Peninsula on Calaskar, and the fever always festers in the swamps. When I was a boy, the fever broke out among us in a bad way. We would have died, but the Earl of Sundrex spent a fortune forcing the vaccine development along faster. His wife was from the Peninsula, and he had an interest in it that many of the other nobles did not. A lot of people would have died of the twisting fever if not for the Earl’s help.”
“Roanna’s father,” said March.
“Yes,” said Heath. “I should have been an enlisted man in the Royal Calaskaran Navy, but I got into the Academy on a scholarship from Lord Sebastian. When I heard that Lady Roanna Vindex would inspect the RCS Raymond before we set out on our tour, I was excited. Then when she told me about her troubles, I thought I had a chance to repay Lord Sebastian, even if he would never know that he had helped me.” Heath let out a long breath. “I’m afraid…”
“You fell in love with her on the trip,” said March.
“Yes,” admitted Heath.
“Can’t blame you,” said March. “She’s a beautiful young woman. She’s also very used to getting her way.”
“Yes,” said Heath again. “When I heard her talking to you…it ripped me up. Then you refused her…God, in your place I wouldn’t have lasted a second.”
“I’m not so besotted with her that I went AWOL from the Royal Calaskaran Navy to follow her,” said March.
Heath opened his mouth, closed it, and then sighed.
“Look,” said March, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “I’m not good with clever words, so this is going to sound harsh. But what the hell do you think is going to happen? That she’ll see how helpful you were and fall in love with you? That she’ll abandon her position and family to marry you? Her father would disown her for that.”
“He might not,” said Heath.
“Maybe,” said March. “But you’d still be thrown out of the Navy, and you’d be the disgraced son-in-law. No. You might have a dalliance with her, but once she gets back to Calaskar, she will probably cut you out of her life very gently and politely. If we live through this, she’s going to marry either a powerful nobleman or a wealthy man. That’s a very determined young woman, and she’s good at getting what she wants.”
Heath scowled. “You make her sound like some…conniving seductress.”
“Do I?” said March. “I doubt she’s ever been with a man. Else she would have slept with you already to get you under her thumb. She’s a determined young woman who loves her family. That’s why she’s out here, to save her brother. She likes you, but she loves her family, and they matter more to her than you do.” March shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. Just the way it is.”
“You were right,” said Heath. “That was harsh.”
March shrugged and took a long drink of his coffee. It was too early for this kind of crap. “It’s the truth. Take it or leave it.”
“It is nothing that I have not said to myself a dozen times in the last week,” said Heath. He sighed again and rubbed his face. “I’ve been a romantic fool.”
“Yeah,” said March.
“You have a gift for blunt speech,” said Heath.
“Gift or not, it’s how I talk,” said March.
“What are you going to do now?” said Heath.
“Investigate Ore Complex 5,” said March. “If the exchange is supposed to take place there, we might learn something useful. Or we might have the chance to set an ambush for the kidnappers.”
“Let me help,” said Heath. “At least I can do something useful. I was a security officer aboard the Raymond, so I know how to handle myself in shipboard combat.”
March started to refuse, and then changed his mind. Heath had a point. It never hurt to have someone to watch your back, and March would be able to determine in moments if Heath actually knew how to handle himself. March could have asked Bishop to watch his back, but Bishop would be more useful at the Emperor’s Rest.
And it would get Heath away from Roanna. That would only be a good thing. Maybe March was going soft…but he had to admit that this seemed the best plan for now.
“All right,” said March. “I need to call Bishop, and make sure that Roanna stays on the ship. Get your weapons and get ready to go.”
Chapter 6: Ambushes
March walked down the silent corridor, Heath following him, the few lights in the ceiling throwing a flickering, dim light over the rough rock walls.
Rustbelt Station’s maintenance standards were not high, but the abandoned levels and domes that housed the ore processing facilities had fallen into total disrepair. Wires hung loosely from the ceiling and the walls, and doors stood half-open, revealing rooms of rusted equipment. Dead maintenance drones squatted against the walls, their repair and cleaning arms askew. The residents of Rustbelt Station had begun using the abandoned ore complexes to dispose of trash, and piles of junk and bags of garbage rested against the walls. Evidently dumping things here was cheaper than paying the fee for the station’s recyclers and organic decompilers. March suspected that sooner or later they would find a corpse or two tucked into a quiet corner.
The air was stale and smelled as if no one had been down here for some time. March had been surprised to learn that the life support and gravitics were still working. Bishop said that Rustbelt Station’s life support equipment was antiquated and that Heitz and the station administrators could not turn off life support to any individual portion of the statio
n without crashing the entire system.
This did not fill March with confidence, so he carried a breath mask at his belt, and had a radiation sensor clipped to his collar. So far, though, the atmosphere hadn’t failed, and the sensor hadn’t detected any dangerous radiation, which surprised him.
Samuel Heath’s competence also surprised him.
The naval lieutenant knew his business, and he had been trained well. He did not waste time with unnecessary questions or chatter. What was more, he moved with the fluidity of experience instead of the rigid predictability of a newly-trained man. March could tell that Heath had been in a few firefights, and away from the emotional influence of Roanna Vindex, he became collected and competent. He moved with the smooth motions of a professional accustomed to violence. Based on his behavior around Roanna, March had expected Heath to be a babbling fool. Clearly, that assessment had not been completely accurate.
His earpiece beeped. March looked around and beckoned to Heath, and the younger man followed him to a side room. The room looked as if it had once been a break room for the ore workers. Metal tables were bolted to the floor alongside benches, and a row of empty vending machine and dead cooking devices filled one wall.
“Watch the corridor,” said March, and Heath nodded, stepping into guard position. March reached up and tapped his earpiece. “This is March.”
“Jack,” said Bishop. “I’ve pulled the last few years’ worth of work orders and construction permits. No one has touched Ore Complex 5 in decades. Of course, this is Rustbelt Station…”
“If someone is hiding out in Ore Complex 5, they’re doing it off the books,” said March.
“Undoubtedly,” said Bishop. “Lady Roanna has been kind enough to go through the ship departure and arrival records.” March had suggested that as a task to keep Roanna busy, safe aboard the Tiger, and out of their hair. He had set her up with a laptop in the galley, and Bishop had transferred the appropriate records to Vigil.
“Has she found anything interesting?” said March.
“As it happens, yes,” said Roanna, her voice cool and calm. It sounded very different from the young woman who had tried to seduce him last night, and March stifled a laugh. “There are no freighters or any other craft scheduled to arrive at Rustbelt Station for the next five days.”
Silent Order: Iron Hand Page 10
