Iron Truth

by S. A. Tholin

  The lights in the corridor blew out in an incandescent rain of sparks. Scarsdale swore and switched his suit lights on.

  "What do we do, boss?" asked the man with the Morrigan, sweaty fingers wrapped tightly round its black grip.

  You die.

  Cassimer lashed out, fist striking the man's bad leg. A tendon snapped with a loud twang, and the Morrigan clattered to the floor as the RebEarther screamed.

  Another two died before Scarsdale even had time to react. By the time he did, Cassimer was already at close quarters, Morrigan pressed hard against Scarsdale's jaw. Five more bullets cratered the Ereshkigal suit's surface. Scarsdale staggered backwards and an opportunity to kill presented itself.

  If only they hadn't taken my knife.

  No time to look for it, because Scarsdale was already recovering, and now the others took up positions and returned fire (save for the mild-mannered man, who was disappearing down the elevator shaft).

  Cassimer sprinted for the barricade, vaulting over it as his HUD flashed bright red with warnings. Overheating reactive plates. Damage to his suit's left knee joint. A broken shoulder; hairline fractures spreading down his arm. A notification that Rhys was on top of the injuries, administering the best possible remote aid.

  One second to breathe and get his bearings. Another to activate every single grenade the RebEarthers had thrown down the elevator shaft.

  Then up again, staying low as he dashed for the hole in the floor. The ship's viewports had begun to crack, dust drizzling down like ashen snow.

  A metal fist slammed into his back, and his HUD glowed angry crimson. Reactive plates down. Active protection field down. Another blow to his back and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His fingers scratched uselessly at the smooth edge of the hole in the floor. The hangar below was painted lunar blue by the lights of a Karon shuttle.

  But a shadow towered over him, red-painted and scorched where the Morrigan had found her mark. Scarsdale's boot was on Cassimer's back, bearing down hard. His HUD warned of internal bleeding, but the air had returned to his lungs along with a massive dose of stims and a rush of violence.

  He didn't need to see his target for his Morrigan to find it. But Scarsdale reached down, and his hand closed around Cassimer's, crushing his fingers around the Morrigan.

  Cassimer switched off his HUD. Didn't need to see the medical warnings, didn't need to read Rhys's concerned messages. The boot on his back pushed harder and his spine screamed with a pain that spiked through the veil of anaesthetics. But that was all right, because it made him forget how broken his fingers were. He squeezed the Morrigan's trigger, firing a burst of bullets up into the creaking viewports.

  The reinforced glass shattered into thousands of glittering pieces, winking in the air before Cato welled in, and all around him was ashen dust.

  ◆◆◆

  Commander.

  The word blinked insistently on his visor, the one light in the darkness. Rhys had accessed his suit remotely again, patching up injuries as best as he could and adjusting the levels of stimulants and analgesics. Good soldiers, both Rhys and Lucklaw, and he didn't want to abandon them; didn't want to leave them without their commander on this unforgiving world... but he was so damn tired.

  Commander, come in.

  The dust had swept him up and carried him away, but he could move. Maybe even stand. His suit seemed optimistic about the prospect, pragmatically informing him that the strength required was just within his capacity. But something else moved in the dust too. Hot enough to burn brightly on the thermal, large enough that it could only be Scarsdale.

  Commander, the ship is launching and we're ready to take off but the ramp won't open

  He barely had time to parse the message before another one appeared.

  please advise

  Stars above; advice wouldn't do it.

  On my way.

  He pushed through a mass of soft dust. Fluid trickled down his spine, and he could feel the creeping sensation of his suit deploying countermeasures. Thousands of nanites performed pre-programmed functions, or - if he was lucky - were directly controlled by Rhys. They dug into bone and marrow, fusing fractures and repairing nerves. Temporary measures, but for a little while, his spine would hold.

  A little while would do. A little while was all any of them had.

  The Ever Onward was wide awake now, fighting earth and age and the laws of physics. Engines bellowed and screeched as the architect ship battled the mountain, and sooner or later, one or both would yield.

  The elevator shaft was only a few metres away, flame-licked and spewing black smoke. Two RebEarthers lay sprawling, struggling to rise from the sudden landslide. One shot to the back of the head of the first. The second had time to turn and saw the end coming. Shouldn't have had that time, but pulling the trigger was difficult. Two or three of Cassimer's fingers had separated at their joints, becoming floating bits of bone and blood inside his gauntlet.

  The bridge was closed off by a wall of grey dust. Ripples on the surface revealed the thrashing Scarsdale's position.

  Cassimer ordered his suit to scan for explosives. The RebEarthers had been in possession of one thing which might prove useful and if it was still there...

  Missile detected, his HUD informed him, indicated its location with a flashing square. He waded towards it, stumbling over debris and bodies, and quickly dug the missile launcher out.

  Weapon slung over his shoulder, he pushed through the smoke towards the elevator shaft. The doors to the hangar were a glowing square of light approximately twenty metres down. Below that, the shaft was a smouldering inferno.

  He tried one of the improvised grappling hooks the RebEarthers had used to ascend. The wires seemed thick enough, their hooks sturdy enough, but -

  A cloud of dust rolled down the corridor as Scarsdale broke free, a snarling black monster in a haze of grey.

  Cassimer wrapped the wires around his good hand and dropped over the edge. The walls glowed with heat, sparks flying from exposed cabling. He could feel the heat and could smell the smoke. His armour had been breached and no longer kept the world at bay. The air he breathed was the same air that demons had breathed through the bodies of their vessels; tainted and impure.

  He pushed away from the wall and through the open elevator doors into the hangar. The ship was moving. He could feel it, and that was a bad sign. Ships the size of the Ever Onward took off seamlessly, quietly, so discreetly that it was only by the slowly changing constellations that their passengers could tell that they were travelling.

  He sprinted for the blue lights of the Karon, past the shadowy forms of ships that had deserved better, machines that should've skimmed suns and stirred virgin soil; past the Karon itself, the wedge-shaped shuttle that contained all that mattered.

  A crash at the other end of the hangar bay told him Scarsdale had made the descent, but Cassimer burned with the white-hot purity of focus. He ignored the approaching threat, lifting the missile launcher onto his intact shoulder.

  His HUD tried to interface with the weapon, failed, and complained; warned him that it would not be able to target assist, and that made him laugh, because if he couldn't hit the side of a ship with a missile launcher, no target assist in the world could save them.

  He pressed the trigger, felt the whoosh of air and streaking heat. The ramp tore open in the explosion, and he was in the centre of a whirlwind of competing forces; the shockwave of the blast pushing backwards and the rush of air sucking him towards the hole in the hull. He grabbed hold of a railing, steadying himself, and saw a blur of glassy mountain peaks through the breach. The Ever Onward was flying again.

  He sensed the danger before his HUD reacted, and dove behind the nose of an NGNEER shuttle. Blooms of light lit up the shuttle's hull as Scarsdale opened fire. A ricochet shot across Cassimer's chest. His reactive armour plates were back online, but not enough to fully mitigate the massive calibre impact. His ribs sang with tension, and his recently repaired sternum ache
d. He took a deep breath, forced his hand tight around the Morrigan and -

  get in get in get in

  The Karon came up fast from behind, one wing scraping the floor in a shower of sparks. The back ramp was wide open, slamming up and down. Cassimer ran, but the Karon was still moving and now its nose dipped over the edge of the gaping hole in the Ever Onward's hull. It caught there, briefly, on smouldering metal.

  Cassimer jumped, landing hard on his knees, and rolled into the shuttle with the rising motion of the ramp.

  A hail of bullets followed, spraying the interior of the shuttle. Scarsdale was racing towards them, fast in the Ereshkigal suit, laying down relentless fire. Cassimer grabbed the ramp and pulled it shut, but the Karon was not designed for combat. It wouldn't hold for long.

  "Better strap in, Commander." Lucklaw's voice, tight with panic.

  Most of the shuttle's lights had been blown by Scarsdale's assault. Smoke rose from electrical panels and in the middle of the chaos, his armour scraped and scored, Rhys cradled Joy. She was strapped into a seat, eyes open but unseeing, and foam bubbled around her respirator. Her shirt had been cut open, her pale skin ringed red with injector marks.

  Too much to handle, and he stumbled past the scene and into the co-pilot's seat just as the Karon tumbled from the Ever Onward. Up or down, he couldn't tell - all was grey and all was ash.

  Behind them, the Ever Onward groaned and wailed as she began to break apart. Her skewered tail-end tore loose from the mountain, cutting deep grooves as it was dragged across the crater floor, still connected to the Ever Onward by a gnarled spine of metal. A chain of explosions erupted across the ship's white hull.

  The Karon's ramp blew open and bullets streaked through the interior. The viewport shattered, a surge of dust-choked air flooding the cabin. Scarsdale stood at the opening in the Ever Onward's hull, one hand clamped to her side, firing wildly. Cassimer made to get up, reaching for his Hyrrokkin that Lucklaw had carried to the shuttle, but then he understood that intervention wouldn't be necessary.

  He sat back down and snapped the safety harness shut.

  "Rhys, strap in. Lucklaw, get ready. Ride's about to get rough."

  "About to?" The corporal paused, had obviously checked the rear view and seen what Cassimer already knew. The Primaterre power cell had given the Ever Onward more than ten seconds and twenty-one metres of flight, but now it had died. The ship, that three point six kilometre long mass of metal and human achievement, was crashing one last time.

  A rush of fire enveloped the Karon. Debris clattered against its thin hull, punching holes through the ceiling and the floor. When a jagged peak of fulgurite sprang black and sharp towards them, even the sensors couldn't have picked it up in time.

  Lucklaw's evasive manoeuvre was almost good enough. Far better than anyone could've expected from a rich kid who'd learned the ropes skim-riding through Augusta Rings, but a reaching branch of fulgurite speared the ship head on, sending it spinning in a fine mist of shattered glass.

  And then came the Ever Onward, tumbling, screaming, taking the mountainside with it. Explosions rolled like thunder, crackles of lightning caressing the shuttle, and there was nothing more to do but breathe and hope.

  ◆◆◆

  The Karon managed another couple of dozen miles before skidding nose-first into a dune. They dug their way out, silently, quickly, aware of the death looming on the horizon. When the Ever Onward's core went up, it would take a good chunk of Cato with it.

  Justice, Cassimer thought; the arc ship's final retaliation against the planet that had killed it.

  "Train station?" He tore Joy's harness loose and lifted her into his arms. His HUD showed her heartbeat, irregular and weak, but still there, and nothing else mattered.

  "Ten miles east. Was heading for it but got knocked off course." Lucklaw's voice sounded strange and it took Cassimer a moment to recognise the sound of tears.

  "All right. Let's go. Patch into the train remotely ASAP." He picked up his Hyrrokkin, shrugging the heavy rifle over his shoulder.

  "You in shape to carry all that?" Rhys, weary and leaning on his good leg, asked.

  "No," said Cassimer and stepped from the Karon into the wind-swept plains, where lightning painted the eastern dunes neon-blue.

  The first few miles were all right, his body running on adrenaline and stims, but with each step, the injuries began to catch up; with each step, the weight he carried threatened to sink him. By the time the silver archway of the train station came into view, he wasn't sure how he was even moving anymore.

  He made it inside the station, saw the train, and then his spine gave out and he fell to his knees, tiles cracking and breaking.

  "I've got her." Rhys took Joy from him and made for the train. Lucklaw stopped, but Cassimer waved him on.

  "Start the train." Even talking hurt, and he couldn't help it, he had to open his visor, had to spit blood on the ground and breathe deeply of real air. Through the windows of the train, he could see Rhys lay Joy down, her copper hair tumbling over the edge of a seat. Rhys wouldn't give up on her now, but Rhys also wouldn't leave his commander behind.

  So if he wanted Joy to live, if he wanted her to be the sole focus of Rhys's attention, he had to -

  "Get up." He shut his visor, letting the information on the HUD distract him from the weakness and the hot liquid running down his spine. Fifteen point six metres to the train car. "Get up."

  And then he was stumbling past what remained of Gaius Feehan, smelling the seething pyre that had once been Lockwood. His stolen suit of armour was slag and scum, and if any locals ever came this way, they'd be hard-pressed to even identify it. Good. Lucklaw had been thorough.

  Over the threshold and into a seat that bowed under his weight. The doors sealed shut and the train began to rattle down the bone-littered tunnel. Cassimer removed his helmet and leaned his forehead against the window, the touch of the glass cooling his skin. Fatigue was setting in, spreading from broken bones, aided by the flow of soothing anaesthetics. Almost enough to put him to sleep.

  Couldn't risk it, though. Not while things could still go wrong. Not while he might still wake up to find Joy dead. He had to be there, had to be awake and in control of all that was within his power.

  Rhys took off his helmet and rubbed his weathered face, long and hard. "I've done what I can, Commander, and she's still breathing. A bloody miracle all things considered. A medal-worthy effort should anyone bother pointing it out to Bastion."

  "More than one. Lucklaw - outstanding work."

  The corporal stood in the aisle, helmet tucked under his arm. No longer crying, but his eyes were red-rimmed and a quiver pulled at his upper lip. He looked like he'd aged five years in the span of a few hours, but this was when the true test would start - not in the heat of battle, but in the quiet hours afterwards; in the long darkness when sleep wouldn't find him. It was a gauntlet not of the body, but the mind, and once at the other end, Lucklaw would either quit - or have become a soldier. Previously, Cassimer would've put his merits on quitting. With his privileged background and guaranteed golden future, it would be easier than for most for Lucklaw to give up and run back to his pampered existence.

  But being outwitted by Duncan had brought about a change in the young corporal; a drive to not just rise in rank and reap rewards, but to do better. To be better. To earn the life Joy had paid for with a bullet and her soul.

  "Thank you, Commander. Can't help but feel Copenhagen would've done a better job, though."

  "Copenhagen would've flown us straight into the nearest cliffside." Rhys lit up a cigarette. The smoke curled hazily in the air. "Our little mermaid was a bloody genius when it came to computers, but if you'd ever seen her fly, I'm telling you, staying on the Ever Onward would've seemed the better option."

  "Been a while since we had good options," Cassimer said.

  "And yet somehow you brute-force our way out of every shitty situation. You know you're going to get a medal too, Commander. Going
toe to toe with not one, but two, RebEarthers in Ereshkigal suits? Reckon they'll have to invent a whole new award just for you." Rhys hacked with laughter and smoker's cough.

  "Scarsdale got the better of me." He didn't care for boasting and cared even less for being the topic of conversation. Again Rhys inched too close; closer than he wanted to let anyone.

  Anyone who wasn't Joy.

  "If he had, you'd not be here to tell us about it." Rhys shrugged. "But yeah, I can tell that your hand's going to be a bastard to put right again. Can't stand working with finger bones. Let me finish my smoke and I'll see what I can do. Pain levels okay?"

  "Manageable."

  "All right then. Why don't you come on over here and make sure the girl doesn't fall off the seat? I need to stretch my leg before it heals all wonky."

  Joy's quiet face was a difficult reminder of the things he couldn't control, the problems he couldn't solve. Inaction chafed, more so with her every laboured breath, but while he could save her from Scarsdale, he couldn't save her from this. To him, this picture made no sense, and he had none of the pieces. All he knew was that he wanted her to live. He was ash and could never be to her what she was to him, but as long as she breathed, there was light in the world.

  You feel this, don't you?

  He remembered her words as pinpricks of starlight; remembered his own shock, the jolt of lightning coursing through his body. Agonizing. Astonishing.

  You can.

  Brighter than pinpricks, those words, hotter than suns. He couldn't be sure what she had meant, but as he removed his gauntlet and took her hand in his, holding it so tight he could feel her faint pulse, he was sure it was the right thing to do.

  "Re-established connection with the Karon. Accessing video link." With something distant, mechanical and utterly safe to focus on, Lucklaw's voice had steadied.

  As the train burrowed its way around Cato, the team watched the death throes of the Ever Onward through the Karon's eyes.

  Decades of construction, a century of sleep, and now she burned in a desolate landscape light-years from her destination. The engine core failed, and the cascading explosions reached a climax. The Karon survived the initial shockwave, but its eyes caught only snippets of what came next. A roar of fire, chunks of mountainside streaking across the night sky like shooting stars. The footage cut out, the final image blinding brightness.