Ferrum Corde

by Richard Fox

  “Who sent?”

  “Who do you think, boy-o? You made this all possible.” Morrigan flapped the back of her hand against the arm of an admiral and a gap opened for the two of them.

  In the middle of the laboratory was a glass cylinder holding a frozen young and bloody woman. She was in her mid-twenties, face locked in pain and despair as she reached for someone to help her. Her other hand clutched a red wound over her heart.

  Nearby, the Qa’resh probe recovered from the Ark floated in the middle of a glowing sensor suite.

  “She…looks familiar,” Roland said as Morrigan led him to a single seat on the inner edge of the crowd.

  “You don’t recognize Lady Ibarra?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow at him.

  Roland stopped behind the chair and put one hand on the back to steady himself. He’d heard how Stacey Ibarra had been badly injured, and her mind transferred to the silver body he was familiar with, but he never imagined that her flesh and blood had been preserved in such a state.

  “Huh,” he managed.

  “Bullet tore the outer wall of her aorta,” Morrigan said. “She was seconds away from passing out from blood loss when they got her into the stasis tube. There was no way to get her mind back into her body after all the Qa’resh probes destroyed themselves after the Ember War. And even if she could transfer…”

  “But now we have a probe and Trinia,” Roland said.

  “There you have it. Sit down before you fall down,” Morrigan said.

  “I’ll stand.” Roland fought a wave of dizziness but held on to the seat back.

  “Maybe a cane.” Morrigan sniffed. “Like old Colonel Carius used to carry.”

  “Did our Lady summon us here to watch her…final moments? Seems only one piece of the problem’s solved by the probe,” Roland said.

  Ibarran military within earshot cleared their throats then went quiet.

  “Don’t be macabre. Trinia has a solution. Surgical medi-bots with their own null fields. They should be able to heal our Lady before she’s…lost to us. The Aeon’s been such a boon to us since she arrived. Makes me ashamed that we failed to bring her back the first time we were sent for her. What the Toth made her do…”

  “She doesn’t have a problem working with us?”

  “Night and day. Martel’s been telling me about her plans for the next generation of Armor. We’ll need every advantage when the Geist come for us. Trinia saw what they are, knows we need her help against those soul thieves.”

  “Lady Ibarra used Malal to win the Ember War,” Roland said. “And that led to the fight against Bale and the Kesaht. We found the Ark to save humanity from the Kesaht and awoke the Geist in the process. It won’t ever end, will it?”

  “Only the dead have seen the end of war, boy-o. You’re still Templar, suit or no. You ever think you’d beat your Armor into a plowshare?” she asked.

  “No…”

  “At least we fight on the side of the light. And we did just win against the Kesaht. Hell of a lot better than losing, eh?” She gave him a nudge with her elbow.

  “I’m a little—” He touched his temple. “Sorry to be so dark.”

  “You’re a strong man, Roland. I can see what you’re going through, but I can’t feel it. For what it’s worth…Gideon deserved to die. He had more hatred than honor in his heart. I’m shite at touchy-feely. Maybe some time with a chaplain? Time in prayer?”

  “I’ll settle for not throwing up or falling over for right now,” Roland said.

  He looked over to Makarov, who seemed stiff and pensive, despite a world-class poker face and her hands clasped behind her back. She gave him a slight nod and some of his strength returned.

  Lady Ibarra walked through a door in the back of the lab, and the room snapped to attention. She went to Makarov and put a gloved hand to her arm.

  “I have need of your champion one last time,” Stacey said.

  “Of course. He will never fail you,” Makarov said.

  Stacey looked to Roland then crooked an arm.

  Roland swallowed hard and took a tentative step away from the chair. He felt the room staring at the back of his skull as he crossed over and put his arm in Stacey’s. She motioned toward Trinia and propped him up slightly as they went.

  “If there’s a fight to be had, you should’ve picked someone else,” Roland said.

  “If you can keep going…so can I,” she said quietly. “This procedure is risky. Several miracles have to happen in sequence. Medi-bots that can install an artificial heart without blowing the entire stasis field. A lobotomized probe that’s been hacked to make the transfer. My mind that’s…less than stable. The Geist did some damage that…my periods of lucidity are growing shorter. I have to do this now before there’s nothing left to put back in my old home. No matter what happens, I have one last wish for you.”

  She stopped them next to the stasis tube. Roland’s own heart ached to see Stacey’s true body locked in a moment of anguish.

  “I told myself that this shell is better,” she said. “That my mind trapped in metal is better than pain. Better than death. But immortality has its own price. One that’s proving too high for me to pay. I stay like this and I will come undone.”

  “Your wish, my Lady?”

  “Yes…let them keep their faith, Roland. They are stronger with it, and the Nation will need that strength, no matter how this day ends.”

  Roland looked over one shoulder to the Templar, then back to Stacey.

  “There’s more to Saint Kellen than miracles,” he said. “The Templar…have their hand on a rod of iron, guiding us…us away from hell. From the fate the Xaros and the Kesaht meant for us all. That faith will endure. Even after Saint Kallen stops appearing to the Armor.”

  Roland removed his arm from hers and faced her directly.

  Stacey tilted her head to one side slightly and Roland could sense the emotions behind her doll-like face.

  “With the war against the Kesaht over and Saint Kallen interred on Navarre…her spirit can rest now.”

  Roland worked his jaw from side to side and nodded.

  “What do you need from me?” he asked.

  She touched gloved fingertips to his cheek and Roland twitched at the chill.

  “Your face is…comforting. I want it to be the first thing I see when I live again, or the last before I die. Will you do this for me?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “I see why she cares for you so much. Take care of her.” Stacey withdrew her hand. “Excuse me.”

  She left Roland behind and went to the Qa’resh probe. Trinia spoke to her in Aeon, and Stacey reached out and grasped the crystal tear.

  Lights dimmed, then snapped back up.

  In the stasis tank, chrome wires wiggled out of the top and connected to Stacey’s chest and back. The space around the wires wavered then glowed with a dim blue light.

  “The medi-bots are functioning…poorly,” Trinia said from her workstation as she tapped hard against several different panels. “The stasis field is fluctuating more than I anticipated. The bots aren’t adapting as designed.”

  “Then end this!” Makarov shouted. “Don’t throw our Lady’s life away!”

  “She made me swear to see this through.” Trinia swiped up a screen and a golden lattice appeared in front of her face. “No matter the outcome.”

  A red tube sank through the tank and a needle tip punctured the side of Stacey’s neck.

  Light grew from within Stacey’s metal fist.

  “Consciousness transfer initiated,” Trinia said.

  Roland put a palm to the tank and looked into Stacey’s pain-filled eyes.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “Come back to us. Fight. Fight, my Lady.”

  A ragged breath came from Stacey’s true body and her eyes focused on Roland. Her bloody hand hit the glass, leaving a red streak.

  “Trinia? What’s happening to her?” Roland asked.

  “I don’t know! The probe took over the transfer
and—”

  The tube twisted open and Stacey fell into Roland’s arms. Hot blood soaked through Roland’s tunic and spread against his chest as he lowered them to their knees.

  “My Lady?” Roland moved her hair out of her face, and he smelled her copper-laden breath as she exhaled with a weak rattle. He put a hand to the back of her head and lowered her to the floor, her blood smeared across his uniform.

  Stacey’s bare skin was cool to the touch, and she grew pale.

  “Stacey?” Roland cupped her face and looked into her unfocused eyes. “Come back to me. You’re too strong to leave. We need you. Do you hear me? The Nation needs you!”

  Roland looked up as a medical team came through the crowd.

  A blood-slick hand grabbed him by the collar.

  Stacey coughed and took a shallow breath.

  “Stay back!” Trinia shouted.

  Stacey got an arm around Roland’s neck and clung to him as she fought to breathe. Roland held her gently, the smell of blood nearly overpowering.

  “You…” Stacey said, and Roland jolted with surprise. “You were never Ken Hale. Never.”

  “I’m sorry for that, my Lady.”

  “Never him.” Stacey looked up and Roland smiled.

  “You’re…okay?”

  She pushed him away weakly then prodded the bullet hole in her shirt.

  “I’m a real girl now.” She smiled and swiped bloody fingertips against the corner of her lips. “I feel again…air and—” she…” She smacked her lips. “Thirsty.”

  Trinia knelt beside them, her height dwarfing them like they were children. The Aeon ran a sensor up and down Stacey’s back.

  “I’m thirsty, Roland.” Tears ran down her face. “And…I feel awful. It’s wonderful.”

  “The medi-bots worked as intended,” Trinia said. “Your artificial heart is functioning well. I’ll need to monitor you. That is a one-of-a-kind piece of equipment in your chest.”

  “Ferrum corde,” Roland said. “You have an iron heart.”

  “Help me up.” She lifted her arms and blood dripped to the floor. Roland obliged as best he could, struggling to keep his feet planted in the red slick.

  “Ferrum corde!” Makarov shouted.

  The Templar went to one knee and began praying in unison.

  “Ferrum corde!” Davoust beat a fist to his chest.

  The room broke out in a chant.

  Ferrum corde. Ferrum corde. Ferrum corde.

  “See what you’ve done?” Stacey asked.

  “I didn’t mean to.” Roland shrugged.

  Stacey hobbled to her silver body, determination on her face.

  “I hate this thing. A prison for my own mind for so long. Every waking moment a reminder that I was going to suffer forever. Now…now I want to destroy it. Live life…no chance to escape time and death. But I can’t do that, can I, Trinia?”

  “The consciousness transfer can be done again,” the Aeon said.

  “Why would you go back to that?” Roland asked. “You’re free.”

  “Because I can’t control the Ark in this bloody bag of flesh and bones,” Stacey said. “The Geist are coming…the Ark will be the difference. I just don’t know if it’ll be enough. I spent most of the power when I destroyed part of their armada. I won’t…won’t sacrifice any souls to charge it back up. Still, the jump engines will be useful, and the Ark still has teeth.”

  Stacey hissed and leaned against Roland.

  “Something hurts,” she said through grit teeth.

  “Your adrenaline is wearing off,” Trinia said. “Your doctors can take over from here.”

  Roland waved the medical team over.

  “I’m so hungry.” Stacey smiled as medics helped her onto a gurney. “I’ve been waiting so long to eat a proper sandwich. Roland…thank you.” She kissed the back of his hand where she’d left her brand on him.

  Stacey waved to the officers as she was wheeled out of the room to their thunderous applause.

  Roland stayed with Stacey’s metal body for a moment. It was a statue now…and he could feel that Stacey’s soul was gone from it.

  “Well done,” Makarov whispered in his ear and took him by the elbow.

  Roland’s knees buckled for a split second. He looked down at his bloodstained tabard. The Templar cross gleamed red.

  “The fight goes on, doesn’t it?” Roland asked.

  “It does. And you and I will be there to win it.” She tilted her head and pressed her forehead to his. “Now…how about you get some rest.”

  “There’s an idea. Maybe pizza?” Roland turned around and paused as he realized the assembled senior officers and all the Templar were looking at him and Makarov.

  “Uh oh. I think they know,” Roland said.

  “They don’t matter to me,” she said. “Only you do.”

  Davoust stepped forward and looked Roland square in the eye. The marshal beat a fist to his chest in salute and stepped back and to one side. The crowd saluted Roland and cleared a path to the elevator.

  Roland set his face firm and tried to straighten up as he walked out on unsteady legs. Makarov stayed arm in arm with him until they made it to the elevator.

  The doors shut and Roland slumped against the corner.

  “How do you feel?” Makarov asked.

  “Worthy…for once.”

  Chapter 38

  Wind swayed trees around the cemetery. The rustle of branches and shifting bushes carried over an open grave, where the Iron Dragoons gathered around a tombstone. Aignar and Santos stood to one side, Cha’ril opposite the hole. A dull gray casket sat at the bottom of the grave, a broken Armor helmet set at the head.

  Cha’ril, in a Dotari dress uniform modeled after a void suit but done in fine fabric, shifted her feet in the loose dirt along the edge. Aignar and Santos, both their Class A’s with medals and ribbons, stood silent as they stared down at Gideon’s final resting place.

  “Forgive me,” Cha’ril said. “The custom is to spread soil over his…box?” She angled a foot, as though to kick.

  “Like this.” Santos picked up a fistful of dirt and held it over the grave. Dust blew out with a gust and his hand trembled. “Not just yet. Not yet.”

  Cha’ril scooped dirt into her hands and stood, holding it against her stomach.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “You bury him when you place it on his casket. It’s how you let go,” Aignar said.

  “The Dotari…we speak truthfully of the dead before they’re interned. It lets their spirit grow unburdened,” she said. “Even if that truth is…ill. As you say.”

  “I don’t think he’d be offended by Dotari custom,” Aignar said.

  “He was wrong,” Cha’ril clicked her beak and looked away from the grave. “He should not have attacked the Ibarran. Even if he’d succeeded…it was still wrong. They saved us on Kesaht’ka. Saved Earth. Despite it all, the scales balanced in the Ibarrans’ favor.”

  “Gideon could never see that,” Aignar said. “He was dishonored when his old lance defected without him…and he never got past it.”

  “I can envy a life without compromise,” Santos said. “The captain was true in his beliefs. Never wavered. Never faltered. We would have broken on Kesaht’ka without him.”

  “And you see where he ended,” Cha’ril said. “He could still be with us, still in his Armor. The Corps is in shambles. We are less without him because of his…fury.”

  “Strange to hear this from you, Cha’ril,” Aignar said. “I thought you hated the Ibarrans just as much as Gideon.”

  “What if it was me there?” She motioned to the casket. “What if I’d died in his place? For what? Vengeance? My hatchling would have grown up without a mother. What would Man’fred Vo carve on my grave to remember me to our child? ‘She died for her hate.’ That is no lesson for a little one.”

  “You think his life was wasted?” Santos asked, his face flush with anger.

  “Gideon was more than how h
e died,” Aignar said. “He fought through the Ember War. Fought for years in Armor, and like it or not…he saved that Aeon. And she brought an end to the Kesaht and the Vishrakath. Even if those bastards died under Ibarra guns, the war is over. Gideon helped win the peace—if that’s what we have now.”

  “I will miss him,” Cha’ril said and opened her hands over the grave, sprinkling dirt across the coffin. “I will speak of him with honor to my hatchling, and to the Dotari. And I will miss you both.”

  Aignar looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  “My egg is nearly ready.” She wiped a dirty hand across one side of her beak. “It is time for me to go home and…roost, you can say. Man’fred Vo wishes to move from being joined to a proper marriage. I accepted. I will not return to Earth. He and I will raise our child on Dotari Prime.”

  “But you’re an Iron Dragoon,” Santos said. “I think…aren’t you the lance commander now?”

  “It isn’t about the lance,” she said her quills bristling slightly. “My home world has had a number of…difficulties lately. Our population surged with the reintegration of those rescued from the Golden Fleet. The war against the Kesaht has made my people wary of the galaxy. There is a movement to withdraw from our Alliance with Earth. I—and other veterans—need to be home and fight against such cowardice. The Dotari owe a debt of honor to you. To Earth.”

  “Don’t.” Aignar shook his head. “Don’t try and hide why you’re going home. You have a child to raise. You can’t do that from Mars. I failed to be a father to my son. Be a mother. There is more honor in that than sticking around the Terran Union as we rebuild.”

  “Old guy’s right.” Santos shrugged. “Fighting’s over. Bastion’s gone. Ibarra put the fear of God into the rest of the galaxy with that Ark of hers. And I know what it’s like to have only one parent around. Kids deserve better.”

  “Would Gideon be so accepting?” Cha’ril asked.

  “Huh.” Aignar’s eyes narrowed. “He never talked family. Lost his like everyone else during the Ember War. All he had was his Armor. The Corps.”

  “Farewell, captain,” Cha’ril touched the plugs at the back of her head. “I leave…but I remain Armor.” She took a small nut the size of a golf ball from a pocket and held it out over the grave to Aignar. “For a garuuda tree. Dotari plant one with the deceased’s loved ones carved into the shell. This way, our spirits are always entwined. May I?”