Driftmetal III

by J. C. Staudt

  Sable went to him, throwing me a stare as she walked past. She put a hand on his chest, whispering softly to him. “Tell them to let him go,” she told me, without turning around.

  Again I wanted to object, but I found no words. This man I despised was like a father to her; there was nothing I could say that would’ve done any good. The rest of the crew had seen Angus’s folly, but it wasn’t as if I could snap my fingers and make Sable stop loving him. She was the kind of woman who could overlook a person’s flaws as soon as breathe. The heavens knew she had done that for me. When it came to her Uncle Angus, perhaps not even the most serious transgression would ever be enough to sway her.

  Still, I would never divulge Angus’s secret, no matter how much I hated him. I wanted to, so badly in that moment that I had to bite my tongue to stop myself. I would’ve liked to believe it was about the principle of the thing; not getting involved in a situation that was none of my business. But the plain truth was this: I was afraid that even if Sable found out Angus had abandoned her, she would forgive him.

  “Evelyn One,” I said. “Evelyn Two. Unhand Angus Brunswick.”

  They let him go.

  Angus faltered on his feet and nearly fell into Sable’s waiting arms. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” he said. He placed a tender kiss on the bruise he’d left above her eyebrow. “I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t think me a savage. You know how much I love you.”

  Sable smiled, her eyes welling with tears. “Of course I do,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

  Angus shook his head in contrite agreement.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I resisted a second urge to punch Angus in the temple and see how he liked it. If it was as easy as saying I was sorry after the fact, I figure I could’ve gotten away with it.

  “You can’t be serious about going through with this… this whole rebellion thing,” Sable was saying to him. “This isn’t you, Uncle.”

  A look of anger flashed across his face. “It is me, and I do mean what I’ve said. It’s the synod’s destiny to govern this world. If this revolt fails, there will be another. And another after that, until victory is ours. The synod’s power is ultimate; its reach, limitless. What I’m doing may sound extreme, but trust me, my sweet. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. For all of us. So we can be together, as we always have. Let’s be together again, my dear. I don’t want to miss my sweet little Sable anymore.”

  “You’re the one who made the choice to miss her in the first place,” said a voice. I hadn’t heard Ezra’s footsteps approaching on the padded purple rug, but there he was, standing less than a dozen yards from us, his gaze full of contempt.

  Angus let go of Sable and stood on his own, turning to face his father. “The business of my ship and its crew is none of yours.”

  “Maybe not,” said Ezra, “but the business of our family is.”

  “What are you talking about, Grandpa?” Sable asked.

  Ezra flexed his mechanical fingers and looked at me. “I ought to give my son a chance to explain himself. Oughtn’t I?”

  I hesitated, then gave a nod.

  “Well?” said Ezra. “Why don’t you tell Sable what really happened, son?”

  Angus’s breath quickened. He tensed up like a caged animal, looking as though he might be considering every possible alternative to talking. Finally, he took a deep breath to calm himself down. With one last, long look at Sable, he took off running for the throne room door. Whether it was to warn the synod of my betrayal, or just to avoid having to come clean to his niece and his former crew, I’ll never know.

  “Evelyn, stop Angus!” I shouted.

  The automatons—the ones who’d been chasing the royal family before I called them off—were standing in the doorway. They converged on him, making grabs and swipes, quick as lightning. Angus had already been halfway through their midst by the time I gave the order. He was not a young man by any stretch, but with a little ducking and swerving, he evaded the rest with the nimble grace of someone half his age. He was still their second master, so their programming prevented them from using the stun setting on their weapons to halt him.

  “We’ve got to get out there and stop him,” I said, breaking into a run. I rushed into the foyer just as Angus was disappearing through the palace doors and out into the night, the Evelyns racing to keep up. Sprinting after him, I closed the distance as fast as my heavy legs, with their disabled hydraulics, would carry me. I threw myself down the steps and into the yard, calling out to him as the Galeskimmer’s turbines whined to life. “Angus, stop! Don’t go up there!”

  The last time I ever saw Angus Brunswick, he was staring at me with a look of utter scorn. There was a prideful satisfaction in that look; one that spoke of triumph, as if he’d just escaped from the most arduous trial of his life.

  Angus released the clinkers, and the Galeskimmer rocketed up into the night sky.

  9

  I pulled out my remote and fumbled for the call button. Mashing it down, I began to shout the names of the various gun batteries encircling the palace, activating their receiver modes and readying them for my command. I stumbled for one precious moment, trying to remember the names of every last one. It was too late.

  Angus’s remote was lying on the throne room floor, smashed into a thousand pieces. He had taken off in the Galeskimmer without remembering to call in his clearance. The gun emplacements were programmed to shoot down every uncleared craft that entered our airspace.

  “Cease fire,” I yelled, after having recited the names of as many groups as I could remember. “Cease fire.”

  The artillery arrays had detected the Galeskimmer the second it hit the skyline. By the time I gave the command, projectile death was already on its way. I looked up to see the first barrage strike the boat’s undercarriage. The left turbine ignited in an orange ball of flame that lit up the ground like a firework. I let out a gasp, a sound even I couldn’t hear above the tumult.

  Another barrage hit from the rear. A beehive of explosive whirlybirds ripped through the hull, swarming over the ship’s aft and devouring it whole. The runners faltered. The right turbine went up in a blast of hot lead, splintering the remains of the hull and scattering the compressor blades like white-hot flower petals.

  As the ship crumbled and fell away, its runners shot up into the night, tearing through the flaming debris and knocking it asunder. I had grown to appreciate that little boat, modest though it was. Seeing it vanish in the blink of an eye was a shock. Not only had Angus been aboard, but so had the three-hundred and fifty-thousand chips I hadn’t buried—the ones I’d brought with me to buy his release from Maclin.

  Perhaps the worst loss of all—the one that broke my heart more than anything else—was Nerimund. He’d come along on the invasion, and there was no doubt in my mind that the little duender had been aboard. No amount of instantaneous Grove Magic could’ve held that ship together this time.

  Pieces of the boat began to rain down around us. Sable, Ezra, Thorley, and Eliza were watching from the palace steps, standing amidst a crowd of Civvy guardsmen who were gazing upward in stunned silence. Chaz, Blaylocke, Thomas, Rindhi, and the royal family looked on from the deck of the Highjinks. When chips began to ping and patter on the metal deck plates, they crouched and ran below, covering their heads. I didn’t want to think about what a falling coin could do to a telerium skull, let alone one of the primies’ collagen ones. Thankfully, everyone made it inside before they found out.

  I took a step back an instant before a scorched sliver of engine titanium knifed into the ground and wobbled there, right where I had been standing. What an unimaginable disaster, I thought, shielding my own head as I jogged toward the palace. “Everyone quit gawking and get inside, unless you want a flaming chunk of boat-scrap to the face.”

  “We’re not allowed inside the palace,” said one of the Civs.

  “You’ve been doing a horrendous job outside. If you’d rather stand out the
re and protect the lawn from pieces of the ship, be my guest.”

  “Sorry, but we’re to stand exterior watch here on the palace steps—no exceptions.”

  I slapped one of the Evelyns on the back, making a loud, hollow clang. “I can have one of these gentlemen escort you inside if that’s your preference. I promise you, it would be no trouble at all.”

  The guardsman frowned, eyeing the robot with cool apprehension. “You heard him. Get inside, the lot of you.”

  I had intended to herd everyone back toward the throne room, but Sable didn’t make it halfway there. Stepping around behind one of the hallway’s tall marble columns, she slumped to a seat and began to sob. I felt something then, like a hairline crack working its way into my soul. I think they call that empathy. It felt like something more than empathy, if that’s possible; a sense of oneness, as if every ounce of her sorrow and grief had suddenly fallen onto my shoulders, too. Not because I’d taken on the weight by choice, but because it was impossible not to.

  I sat beside her, wanting to comfort her physically but knowing that might not be the best thing right now. Angus is dead, and good riddance, I thought. But Sable is hurting, and there’s nothing worse in the world than that.

  We sat there for a long time. The guardsmen and the crew wandered the hall while the Evelyns stood watch. Now I truly didn’t know what I was doing anymore—with Sable, or with this heavens-forsaken invasion I was trying to lead. I had believed the synod when they told me I was meant for greatness, but this didn’t feel so great anymore.

  Retrieving the medallion from my pocket, I held it between my thumb and forefinger, watching the palace’s electric lantern light reflect off the green gems and tilt around the metallic rim. I couldn’t help but think of the war going on outside, as faint and faraway as it now seemed. Had the people learned their lesson and stopped trying to fight the robots? Or had they won? If so, they might already be on their way here to save the Regent.

  “Do they really love him that much?” I whispered aloud, without thinking.

  Sable glanced up at me, her eyes pink and puffy. “Who?” She sniffed.

  “I’m sorry. The people. The Roatheans. They’re out there battling the legion with rocks and broomsticks, like some kind of guerilla liberation force. I thought we were here to do the liberating. But instead, the people see those robots out there as the villains. Not that I have any problem with villains. I just thought I was being the good guy this time.”

  She smiled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief from her pocket. “You know what they say about good intentions.”

  I heard the palace doors open. Blaylocke entered the hall and wove through the crowd toward us. “I’ve been trying to bluewave you. We’ve been monitoring the legion’s activity from the Highjinks’s comm room. Things in the streets are getting crazy. We’re all out there wondering what the next step is in your master plan.”

  I sighed. “There’s no plan. I thought we were here to free the people from tyranny, but all we’re doing is stirring the hive.”

  Sable blew her nose and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter what you do. There will always be people who hate you for it. Even the poorest people in the stream—the primitives who live in squalor and are shunned by just about everyone—even they might give you trouble if you pushed your way into their lives and shook things up. People get used to the way things are, and the thought of disturbing that scares them.”

  Blaylocke scowled. “Personally, I wish you’d disturb things a little more.”

  “That’s exactly why I wanted to take Roathea in the first place: things need to be disturbed. As it stands, the few have power over the many—and way too much of it. I find it hard to believe that all those people out there actually want to live that way.”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” Blaylocke said. “Being told what to do is easier than thinking for yourself.”

  “Yes, I know that, but how do we fix it?”

  Blaylocke shook his head. “You can’t.”

  “I’m not ready to give up just yet. We need to find a way to let the people rule themselves. That’s how I’ve always thought it should be done.”

  “People are too lazy to rule themselves,” Blaylocke said. “Lazy, and stupid, and selfish. Every day would be just like what we’re seeing out there tonight.”

  “I wish I didn’t agree with the likelihood of that prediction. But intelligence isn’t the governing characteristic that allows a person to lead his own life. It’s desire. It’s incentive. They have to want it.”

  “So you’re going to make them want it?” Blaylocke asked skeptically.

  “As much as I hate the way Maclin does things, I think they have the right idea with that synod of theirs; a group of individuals who all have a say in the decisions they make. What we need is our own synod, with a representative from every floater in the stream, primie and techsoul alike.”

  “Unless we stay segregated, the techsouls will breed us out of existence,” said Blaylocke.

  “Techsouls have been breeding primies out of existence for hundreds of years,” I said. “We’re genetically dominant. That isn’t going to change just because we start including you in our government. Besides, shouldn’t everyone be allowed to decide who they have children with—primie and techsoul alike? I may be anti-Regency, but I’m not against giving everyone a chance to be who they want to be.”

  “Haven’t I told you I don’t like politics?” Sable said, laughing. “This is so boring.”

  I nodded. “Tell me about it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don’t want to rule the world.”

  Sable put her hand on mine and gave it a squeeze. “That’s alright. I kind of like you better that way.”

  Her touch made me tingle, and I had to bite back a wave of yearning. Heavens, what is happening with me lately? I’m going as soft as a sponge. I stood and adjusted the sling, trying to find a comfortable position for my arm. “We still have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

  “All I want to do is go home,” said Blaylocke. “Chester and I can’t do that as long as Yingler has the Regency behind him.”

  Sable nodded as if to agree that she, too, wanted to go home. Then, realizing that her home was spread out across the palace lawn in a million pieces, she burst into tears. This time, I did the best I could to comfort her.

  “Yingler is a prick,” I said. “Screw that guy.”

  “Agreed,” Blaylocke said, nodding.

  “Also, changing the world is overrated.”

  Blaylocke shrugged and let out a grunt.

  “Bring the Regent back inside the building. I want everyone in here except his wife and kids. Lock them up in the Highjinks’s brig. We’re going to give this whole synod idea a dry run.”

  A few minutes later, I was ascending the royal dais to the Regent’s marble throne while everyone gathered around. Instead of sitting in the high seat, I stood on it, surveying the faces of my friends and acquaintances, my half-severed arm throbbing like a bell with every heartbeat. “Okay, people. Everyone shut up. This has been quite an adventure, but we’re up a creek and we’ve got to do something about it.”

  “I suggest you leave Roathea at once and relinquish the throne to its rightful owner,” said the Regent.

  “You’re a prisoner of war, Max. You don’t get an opinion. You’re in this room for the sole purpose of being where I can see you.” I shoved two fingers toward my eyes, then pointed at him. “I’m watching you, Maximilian.”

  “Maxwell,” he corrected.

  “Wrong. Your name is Maximilian. You know why? Because your hand-picked guardsmen are too scared of my automatons to protect you from them. Meanwhile, the peasants of this city are picking fights with my robots left and right. How does it make you feel to know your men are more cowardly than the unwashed masses?”

  The Regent folded his arms over his stained clothing and glowered up at me. “Will you get on with it, already? If you came here to carry out an executio
n, I wish you’d stop dallying. That is Maclin’s aim, isn’t it? To take my throne and murder those who serve it?”

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, I wanted to say. The automatons were meant to defend the people, not to kill them. “I’m trying to save your life here, Max. The synod wants to rule in your place. I know they’ve got something else up their sleeve, I just don’t know what it is yet. And now that Angus—” I stopped myself, glancing at Sable, “—we don’t have any inside information about their plans. I can’t just withdraw, or fly my ship away, when they might shut everything down at any second and send us all plummeting to our deaths. Regardless of Maclin’s intentions, I came here to end your rule for good. You’ve continued a tradition of discrimination toward primitives—” I gestured toward Chaz and Blaylocke, “—oppression of the lower classes—,” I indicated Thomas and Rindhi, “—and support of a ruling nobility full of spoiled incompetents who don’t know the first thing about managing their jurisdictions.” With this last point, I shoveled my hand toward Ezra, who nodded his agreement.

  “That’s quite benevolent of you, to care so much for the little folk,” the Regent said with a sardonic smile. “Now, tell me… who among you has ever attempted to collect taxes from vagrants who live aboard flying vessels, never making their homes on Regency territory but draining its resources nonetheless?”

  “You’re talking to several of those vagrants right now—myself included,” I pointed out.

  “Quid pro quo,” said the Regent, “which of you is planning to break the news to the lesser lords that their estates are being repossessed as a symptom of this new world order of yours? That the ancestral inheritances given them by birthright are now as superfluous as the laws they were founded on? Will you take their fortunes from them? And what of the commoners? How do you suppose they’ll respond when you tell them they’ll no longer be under their lord’s protection? That anyone who wishes to drive them from their homes might come along and do so at a moment’s notice? If you’ve found an equitable solution, then by all means… the throne is yours. I think you’ll find the activities of governance far more perilous—and indeed, more complex—than simply telling people what to do.”