by Katie Vack
Grayson sighed. So that was the story Sora had told. It was even worse than he'd predicted. He could have sworn she'd tailored it to be as embarrassing for him as possible. It wouldn't have surprised him. "Thief?"
"Yeah?"
"Back where you came from, did your kind marry?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Convenience, obviously. Survival over everything else. You married a partner who could best support your present and future family, whether with their body or their mind."
"Uh-huh." That explained a lot. If romance was an unknown concept back on Other Earth, the boy would have had no experience with it. And if his mind was filled with the tall tales of an ex-adventurer, people renowned for their exaggeration and fabrication, all he'd have to go on would be the over-romanticised stories of an old braggart. He'd have no idea they didn't transfer over into real life.
Now that he thought about it, it explained a lot. Him and Sora, the only male-female partners within their little band. If this was a story, that would have decided the matter with nothing else required. They'd fall in love. They would both deny it. Then he'd do something incredibly macho and heroic for her sake, and they'd both finally realise their true feelings.
Suddenly he felt a little sick after all. When you looked at it like that, it really did appear textbook. How embarrassing. And it wasn't like he could just explain what was really going on to the mutant- that he and Sora weren't lovers but mortal enemies, that he hadn't earned his injuries in a heroic act but that she had inflicted them upon him in an attempted murder.
If only she had told some other, less artistic, story he wouldn't have to deal with this now. The most theatrical part, particularly; him carrying her staunchly all the way back from the forest, in his severely wounded shape, halfway between life and death.
Grayson stopped. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.
"I carried her all the way back?"
"Damn right. Nothing less from my little bro."
Grayson didn't even notice the way he had been referred to, his mind suddenly caught up in an internal struggle. When they had hreached the hospital, they hadn't brought the bike with them. That meant that they hadn't ridden. They'd walked. And it had been ten miles. And he'd been unconscious. And bleeding to death. She must have brought him back.
His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. Ten miles. She must have carried him. Carried him with her broken arm, and her smashed-up face, and her leg which hadn't even properly healed yet. And tied off a tourniquet before moving him. And then got him back to the hospital in time to be stabilised. His mind reeled. She had to have run it. She'd run ten miles, in her state, carrying him on her back. Suddenly felt terrible. He, in his stupidity, had forced her into that kind of inhuman act. He couldn't have done it. No normal person could have managed it. And yet, in spite of all he had done to her, she had gone that far for him.
His face paled, his heart rate increasing. She'd done that for him, for a man who had broken her arm just to hear her scream. He closed his eyes, then forced them open again, then shut then once more. All this time, he'd never treated her as anything more than a depraved lunatic with a vicious streak. He'd treated her like a monster, in spite of his own unnatural bloodline, but in the face of all that she'd done this for him. Not only refraining from killing him, but putting herself through all of that pain for his sake. He couldn't even begin to imagine what she'd been through.
He blinked again, and again, and again, in an attempt to clear his mind. It didn't work. Of course it didn't. All that he really knew was that now he had to find her, and he had to have a private word. Because if he didn't, he was going to hate himself forever.
* * *
Karolus called a halt, the journey's end in sight, and the others slowly collected around him. They'd passed beyond the flat emptiness and into a rougher section. The scorched earth and stone were even more cracked and desiccated, and outcrops of the same strange rock had sprung up here and there. Looking for all the worlds like enormous fingers, they ranged from a little smaller than the average person to bigger than a house.
The cracks and splits underfoot had evolved into full-fledged chasms and ravines, ranging between a few metres wide to a few score, and so they had been forced to take a rather scenic route to the stopping point. There were a trio of metal rails a half mile away, arranged in a triangular formation and stretching out to either horizon. They looked to be thicker around than his chest. Away in the distance Grayson could make out the thin line of a monstrous ravine, presumably their cut-off point. He swallowed. Two minutes to make it to that faraway crack. He began to realise just how fast they'd be going- it wasn't just that he'd be killed in an instant, but that if he fell off this train there wouldn't be any pieces left to collect of him; just a splash on the ground, as though it had been hit by an enormous crimson raindrop.
He turned his wavering attention back to Karolus, catching hold of the latter half of his speech. This spot, under the fragile shelter of the overhang, was apparently where they would be staying. Not, he supposed, that there was anywhere better to do so.
"So," Karolus was saying, "this time is going to be different. This time I'm not leaving anything to chance. We know everything we need, and we're going to be in constant communication. No miscommunication, no going in blind." At his signal Karolus stepped up behind him in his smaller mech, carrying an open briefcase containing five earpieces.
Grayson walked over to them, picking one up and tapping it dubiously. A black, shiny rectangle, it would seem that it clipped into his ear. There was a speaker built into the inner side, and a retractable microphone. "Communicator?"
"Stein designed them himself; he sold them to me for sixty-three percent below market price."
"So they were cheap. Is that supposed to be encouraging?"
"Considering that they come out of all our pay checks, yes. But at least we can still communicate at distance."
Thief raised his hand questioningly. "I thought Stein was a doctor, not an engineer?"
"Well," Grayson explained, having spent enough time in the man's company, "he's actually a self-proclaimed mad scientist. So I think he just does whatever he feels like."
Karolus stepped forward again. "With these earpieces, we can easily talk and listen to each other at long range. But the downside with this is that they could be tapped somehow. We're going to go on the assumption that they already know our names."
The fact that Karolus assumed their opponents knew their names, Grayson supposed, was a sign of how well he had adapted from soldier to mercenary. For a soldier it was a mistake to reveal your identity, but for a merc it was almost a point of pride, and Karolus was assuming they had already done so. It was also nice to see the man had properly prepared this time, treating a straightforward mission as though he was expecting to be somehow intercepted, exactly as he should. Perhaps he'd just been out of practice last time. "So what are you saying?"
"We have call signs."
Completely without pause, Thief pointed straight at Crayton. "Tinman."
The vanis growled, the effect lost in no way by mechanical interpretation. "Boy."
Sora nodded in Grayson's direction. "Halfling."
He glared straight back at her, half in jest and half in irritation. "Psycho," He turned to Karolus, "and Angel."
Karolus frowned. "That's a girl's name."
Grayson fixed him with a cocky grin. "Yes."
There was a second's silence as Karolus tried to bring himself under control. He clenched his fists, unclenched them, and breathed out slowly. "Are you really going to do this?"
"Well," Grayson waved the question away, "do you have any better ideas? It's not like we have to use them to each others' faces."
The man glowered superiorly, and Grayson ignored him as he always did his superiors. The cogs of Karolus' mind were visibly grinding, trying to weigh up his current irritation against the argument he would start by putting an end to it. After a while he
exhaled heavily, the annoyance draining away. "Fine, then. Have it your way. Seth is..." he closed his eyes for a second, hunting for a title, "Scales. Now can you please just take the earpieces and shut up." The rest of the group, for once, actually listened to him. It was a nice change. "Now, I'm going to go over the plan one last time."
He crouched down, bringing up the map and pointing at a spot where the ground dropped away suddenly. "Grayson, Sora, and I will be stationed here. It's a shelf overhanging the track, and so we can drop directly down onto the train when it passes. We just have to get the angle right and hit it fast.
"Crayton will be positioned a mile before the chasm. He will have anchored his net to a number of stones, which exist in much greater proportions by the cut-off. The train will be derailed significantly beforehand, and it will come to a stop under the combined influence of friction from the ground, and the stopping forces of the net, the standing stones, and Crayton himself.
"Thief and Seth will be positioned five hundred metres ahead of Crayton, and with a safe distance between. The train will pass them, and once it has stopped it is their job to plant the demolitions charges. They're potent enough that we shouldn't need more than one every few cars. Hopefully we won't have to use them, but it's better to plant them in advance than under fire.
"Sora and Grayson will board and exit the train under my care, and once they have disembarked we will continue on to regroup. Our employers have a team on standby to move in and take over, so all we need to do is keep the train and its contents safe until then.
"The train has six cars, each one fifty metres in length, so it won't be an easy defence to set up. Seth will be stationed inside the cover of the rocks, known from now on as the 'forest', with a high powered carbine. Crayton will have repositioned to about halfway down the train, and will serve as a mobile anti-aircraft platform. Seth will be dealing with the infantry. Thief and I may be able to provide minor suppression as well, but to be realistic that's pretty much all we'll be doing with our weapons and at that range. As for Grayson and Sora, your tasks will essentially be over. If anybody gets within your striking range, we've already failed and will have blown the train.
"So, that about sums it up. It's not an enviable task, but we work with what we have. Everything needs to work like clockwork here, because a foot out of line and we're screwed. For the sappers and the boarders, time is everything. From the gunners, we can't afford a single missed shot. Am I understood?" The rest of the group nodded, shrugged, or otherwise grunted in affirmation. "Good. The last mission was one hell of a cock up, so this is our chance to make up for it. You've all earned your ranks in the past. Show me why."
The angel snapped his heels together, straightening his back and saluted sharply. Crayton and Seth responded in kind almost instantly, acting out of militaristic habit, and after a short pause Thief sloppily joined in for the emotion of the moment. Sora leaned back against the stone, picking at her fingernails with a knife and not deigning to look up. "Really?"
Grayson, tucking Thief's invitingly unguarded wallet into an inside pocket of his cloak, found that he shared her sentiment. "You lost me at 'go over the plan one last time'."
Karolus' face darkened, his scowl lines becoming suddenly more pronounced. "You-"
"The improv' at the end wasn't bad, I admit. A decent enough speech, if somewhat clichéd- I even tuned back in for it. But then you had to ruin it with the salute."
Karolus fought down his anger. "The salute is a deep-seated military tradition, occurring in just about every army of this universe, albeit in different forms. It is a display of discipline, in that you have the strength of will to carry out your role no matter what, and a sign of respect between warriors."
"And here I was thinking it was all about sucking your officer's-"
"Grayson," said Silvan pointedly, "Karolus used to be one of those officers."
"And a wonderful salute it is too." Grayson mockingly brushed his previous comment aside. "A great way of displaying respect and commitment. Why don't we salute after every talk?"
Karolus loomed over him, more than willing to emphasise their two foot height difference. "Are you patronising me?"
Grayson wondered whether it was worth pointing out that, while patronising was the wrong word, he had indeed been making the aetherial appear foolish. However, enough was enough, and he knew his limits. Instigating division was entertaining, but none of them could afford a full blown fight the day before such an intense mission. "Not at all," he answered, which was technically the truth.
Karolus glowered down at him for a few more moments as he tried to discern whether that too was a veiled insult, but eventually gave up. He turned his back, walking over to the shelter provided by the overhang. "It might be nice if we could have just one group talk without it spiralling into an argument."
Grayson shook his head. "There'd be nothing left to keep it interesting. You can be as good as you want with a sword, but words really aren't your thing."
"And there you go again."
"Don't mistake me, that wasn't an insult. All I meant was that we need something to keep us awake during the discussions. Besides, I don't think I'd recognise you if you weren't frowning at something or other."
Karolus sighed, massaging his temples. "You just used up the last of the respect you earned yesterday."
"I was never a fan of sickening emotion."
"Did it ever occur to you that you're normally the reason I'm frowning?"
The lumin grinned modestly. "I do my best."
Speed
The morning rose cool and dry, the sub-zero temperatures unable, in the parched landscape, to create any kind of frost of dew. Grayson found himself roused by the towering figure of a fully armoured aetherial, gold plates shimmering like blazing coals in the pre-dawn light. Once again he was struck dumb by the sense of sheer power the man was emitting. It was like being next to a demigod. Until he'd met Karolus, he'd never really had a close look at a fully armed and armoured shock trooper, and it didn't look to be losing its effect any time soon. He sure as hell wouldn't want to be on the other side right now.
He skipped up to his feet, stretching out the aches and pains. On his own, in this temperature, he'd have died in his sleep- but Crayton had decided to use one of his spare batteries to power an industrial heating unit, twice as effective as a fire and half as obvious. It was down to that device that Grayson attributed sleeping so well, rather than waking cold and soaked like he normally did in the wild.
He removed his cloak, wordlessly passing it over to the passing mech pilot. As much as he hated to be parted from it, a breakneck motorbike ride was one situation in which it would do more harm than good, and the mech pilot was probably the best person to be holding onto it. Standing there in his trousers and short-sleeved shirt, it occurred to him that he should have brought something warmer to wear. But it was too late now, and he wasn't going to beg to the others.
The rest of the camp was wide awake and alert, moving about their tasks with a quiet efficiency. Crayton stepped up into his larger mechsuit, a different model to the one he'd used in their previous engagements. This one seemed slimmer, slightly smaller, missing most of the indestructible armour the heavy mech had boasted. Instead a pair of enormous jet engines protruded from the shoulder blades, the air around them shimmering from the heat even in their dormant state, complemented by a dozen smaller jets around the wrists, elbows, and ankles. Whether this variant was intended for flight or simply rapid manoeuvring Grayson couldn't tell.
He caught a glint out of the corner of his eye, reaching out reflexively to snatch an object from the air. Opening his hand, he found himself holding a set of keys. Thief approached him, shrugging on a denim jacket and slipping his aviators into place. "Don't do anything stupid."
Grayson smiled at the greeting. "Aside from following this suicidal plan?"
Thief nodded, serious for once in his life. "Aside from that." He held out his fist expectantly. Grayson stared at it
uncomprehendingly, and the mutant sighed in a long-suffering manner. "You're supposed to punch it."
"Oh. Right." Grayson figured it was probably Thief's way of psyching himself up for the battle. He flicked his body around as he threw all his strength into the blow, twisting his fist and striking out with lightning speed. As the punch hammered out he noticed the mutant's body begin to tense before impact, but by the time he realised the boy might have wanted him to hold back it was too late to do anything.
Their fists collided with a thunderclap, and the rest of the group stopped what they were doing to glance over in their direction. Thief stumbled backwards, clutching his fist and howling like a maimed animal. "Aagh- goddamn- son of a- damnit!" He dropped to his knees, face contorted by pain. "What the hell was that?"
