by S. A. Tholin
* * *
They were a mile from the exit when thin streams of dark red mixed with the brown waste water.
"Blood," Tallinn said, and her whisper echoed, the word lengthened and amplified by the tunnel walls.
The team cast long shadows on the walls. Rearcross tightened the grip around his rifle, squeezing too hard. If a target presented itself, the gunner's rigid hands would ensure a miss. Juneau stuck close to Cassimer – irritatingly close, practically a shadow herself.
He reminded the team of purity and wished that he could tell them that the shadows did not have claws. He wished he could tell them that, and that he could believe it himself.
When they found the first body, it was almost a relief. It lay nude, face down in the channel. Headshot, execution style. Heavy calibre, leaving little by which to identify the corpse. It was death, familiar and simple, delivered in a form that they were equipped and trained to handle.
Everyone except for Juneau. She staggered backwards, slipping, only barely managing to avoid falling into the slimy channel. Pale-faced, shivering, about ready to give up – but as Cassimer started towards her, about to deliver another reminder of purity, she straightened her back.
"Let's see what we've got here, then." Juneau stepped up to the corpse.
"Male," said Tallinn, already examining the body. "Early thirties, Kalevala judging by the swan-wing tattoo on his arm. Not sure what the symbols below it are. They look military. Rank insignia, maybe? Anybody know?"
Three swords underneath a hussar's steel helmet. The Primaterre hadn't faced the Kalevala in battle since the first siege of Vainamoinen, long before Cassimer's time. None of the soldiers present would have had cause to learn anything about the increasingly insignificant faction. Only on the verge of becoming history had the Kalevala managed to claw their way into relevance.
"He's been dead about ten hours. I'd tell you the cause of death, but I feel like that would be sort of insulting, given, you know..." Tallinn gestured across the smear that had once been a head.
"He was not a vessel." Juneau lifted her hand from the man's neck. Her h-chip scanning tech integrated with her armour, requiring physical contact via her lightweave gauntlets. The scan took only seconds, but the proximity requirement was a strong negative. Identifying a vessel after the fact was all but useless in a combat situation.
"How accurate is the scan?" Cassimer asked.
"In the lab, the test has so far seen a 100% sensitivity rate. We've seen no false negatives at all. If a person ever had a chip, the scan will find it, or trace of it, without fail."
Twenty-six more bodies lay slumped in the channel, the waste water slowly carrying them down the sewer. None of them were vessels; all of them had been shot, stripped and dumped.
Kiruna and Daneborg waited in the striped shadows cast by a sewer grate. Daneborg watched the grate, their intended egress, while Kiruna knelt by the naked body of a woman. The corpse's hands were roughly taped behind her back. Her head was submerged, obscured by dark hair fanning the water's surface. Good, because Cassimer didn't want to see her face. It was bad enough to see her stiff limbs, unnaturally contorted, and the blood caking her thighs. Bad enough to make the shadows dance and his thoughts scratch.
"Throat slit," Kiruna said, looking up. "Different from the others. Crueller."
Much crueller. And it meant that whatever was waiting up top, it wasn't what he'd expected. RebEarth weren't besieging a secure compound. They'd breached, and this woman had borne the full weight of their impurity.
Velloa needed a purge, and Cassimer would gladly provide the fire.
11.
CASSIMER
The sewer grate opened up into a courtyard, as per the intel provided by the Kalevala, but the force field meant to protect the compound was nowhere to be seen, the view of the cave ceiling and a sliver of mauve sky unobstructed but for a billow of black smoke. Bullet holes pitted the white-washed walls, blood trails leading towards a gate. Weapons lay discarded on the ground.
A surrender had taken place here. Cassimer pictured the dead woman, kneeling next to the sewer that had become her grave. Frightened, quivering as she dropped her weapon. Perhaps begging for mercy, but she'd received none.
It was hard to focus with such thoughts running through his mind. Hard to breathe when, in his imagination, her pleading voice sounded so much like Joy's.
Joy is on Achall, he reminded himself, Joy is safe.
But sooner or later, she'd wear a Primaterre uniform, and sooner or later, she'd face enemies who did not know the meaning of mercy. That was fact, that was truth, and something churned behind his ribcage. A feeling of being trapped, of being in the wrong place entirely. A whisper, slithering up his spine, telling him to retreat and go home before it was too late.
But he couldn't, and he forced his lungs to accept a deep breath, willing himself to focus.
The Kalevala compound had been built with practicality in mind, no creativity or beauty to its straight lines and corners. A square perimeter of walls surrounded the compound, solid enough that, along with the force field and other security measures, it would keep any intruder out for weeks, the Kalevala had said.
The next layer of defence was the residential complex, a square of linked buildings protecting the compound's innermost courtyard where the laboratory and manufacturing plant were located. The residential complex also had force field capabilities and housed security guards – but it lay dark and silent.
"It would take an army," the Kalevala representative had said at the briefing. So smug, so self-assured, so completely oblivious to the fact that RebEarth had brought an army.
Cassimer took point across the glass-strewn outer courtyard. Rows of broken windows stared down at them from the blocky residential complex. Smoke poured from the fifth floor, but there were no contacts on his sensors.
He slipped through a ground floor window, his APF sparking against long teeth of glass, and entered a kitchen where fluorescent lights fizzed and popped with arcing electricity. Stainless steel sinks were piled with dishes and food. An opened tin of tomatoes had spilled across a countertop, an orange scattering of sliced carrots on the floor. There was blood, too, but no bodies.
The team moved through the building. Smoke hung heavy in the air and an alarm blared nearby, loud and insistent. Gunfire popped occasionally, but the fighting seemed to have ceased. The plate glass windows of a third storey office provided a perfect vantage point over the inner courtyard. Cassimer and Kiruna approached, their suits shifting colours to match the surroundings.
The manufacturing plant burned. Window frames spat shards as heat made the glass burst. Pillars of smoke towered above the courtyard, gathering like a storm cloud against the cave ceiling. A squad of RebEarthers struggled against the blaze in vain, aiming water hoses meant for gardening at flames that didn't even flicker.
A skywalk connected the laboratory building to the manufacturing plant. Its glass walls were warped and blackened, but heavy security doors kept the fire from reaching the lab.
RebEarth forces had assembled outside the laboratory's main entrance. Behind a shimmering force field, automated turrets whirred and snapped, tracking the intruders, daring them to come into range. The lab was still secure – but likely not for long.
Because RebEarth had taken prisoners, and RebEarth were not treating them well.
Blood soaked through uniforms with swan wing patches. Tape dug deep into pale skin. One man, slumped over, coughed dark mucus, his feet thrumming against the courtyard's black and white paving stones.
Twenty-three hostages in total, kneeling in a row just outside the turrets' range. Cassimer's HUD flashed with identifications as facial recognition matched them against the list provided by the Kalevala. Support staff, mostly, with a handful of researchers and three security officers. Irrelevant, really. What mattered were the RebEarthers.
Ninety-seven contacts in the main force. Their red-and-black armour ranged in quality from basic pro
tection to sealed suits that looked comparable to banneretcy armour at first glance. He very much doubted they'd stand up to the test, however. RebEarth were all about getting their visors to glow menacingly crimson and for phoenix wings to gleam on their cuirasses. A terrifying appearance, Cassimer had found, usually meant that the RebEarther in question had skimped on boring things like shock absorbent foam or fire retardant coating.
The mood was relaxed, most sitting down to eat a meagre lunch of rations. Patrolling guards swept the perimeter, while others kept watch at the compound's main entrance. The gates were wide open and undamaged. RebEarth hadn't breached, after all. Somebody had let them in, perhaps to save a hostage. No doubt the fool was paying for their mistake now.
Fortunately, whoever was inside the laboratory had better sense.
A tall man walked along the row of kneeling Kalevalans, the tip of his combat knife grazing the hostages' necks.
"Drop the force field." The sloping brim of a helmet obscured the RebEarther's face, but where the shadows ended, feather tattoos glowed like embers along his jawline. Black plate armour encased his body, and when he moved, joints shifted to reveal stripes of gold ballistic material underneath. His pauldrons were embossed with baying hounds, his greaves and vambraces decorated with a scrollwork of vines and feathers. Centred on his cuirass, a stylised Earth glowed crimson red.
When the force field remained steady, the man shrugged and pulled a female hostage to her feet. He held her tight, in an almost familial embrace. The static from his armour made her blonde hair rise like a golden halo. Her top lip was swollen, her front teeth missing. She'd been crying, but stopped now, making a choking noise.
"We didn't come here for blood," the man said, looking up at the laboratory. "Your guards chose to fight, and so we gave them the death they sought. Their spirits have fled back to Earth, and their bodies have been delivered to the sea. Fair treatment, considering they were trying to kill us. And this woman..."
He clamped a gauntleted hand around her white lab coat, tugging it upwards to read the name tag.
"Miss Linna."
"Doctor Linna," the woman spat, her voice thick with tears and blood.
The RebEarther laughed and let go of her coat.
"Doctor Linna earned her new looks by being defiant. Wouldn't drop your gun, would you? Wouldn't surrender. Killed one of my men and winged another. But we understand. We wouldn't punish her for protecting what is hers." He nodded and one of his men approached, med-kit in hand. "Now we will treat her and take away the pain. The rest will be fed."
Another RebEarther began to walk up and down the line, handing sceptical hostages ration bars and canteens.
"Once Doctor Linna feels better, she may eat, too. What about you in there? I doubt there's food in the lab. Do you even have water? Drop the force field and surrender, and you will receive the same fair treatment as your colleagues."
"Yeah right," Hopewell muttered. "Trust the terrorist in the doodle-scribbled armour. Bet you anything his definition of fair can't be found in a standard dictionary."
The lieutenant was correct, but the people inside the lab were trapped with no comms, afraid and confused. Eventually, trusting a RebEarther's word would seem a risk worth taking.
But apparently not yet, because the force field remained in place.
The RebEarth leader sighed.
"Maybe you don't trust me. Maybe you saw the unfortunate incident earlier. The woman who..." He trailed off, shaking his head with distaste. "My crewman shouldn't have done that. It isn't our way, and it won't happen again. As a token of trust..."
Guards dragged a struggling man in red-and-black towards their leader. He fought, clutching the ground, his armoured fingers scraping sparks against paving stones. He kicked and spat and cried for help, but no one came to his aid. He pleaded for mercy:
"Won't happen again, Captain, I swear it. It was a mistake–"
A gunshot interrupted him. He fell backwards, blood spurting from his chest. One twitch, two, and then no more. The RebEarth leader holstered his sidearm and turned his attention back to the laboratory.
"I'm a man of honour, a man of my word. I'll give you time to discuss your options. Now that we've straightened things out, I believe you will make the right decision."
"A man of honour." Rearcross shook his head. "A true man of honour doesn't need to announce himself as such."
"It's fake." Tallinn had approached the window, one lightweave-gauntleted hand touching the glass. Her voice was whisper-soft. "The blood, I mean. I can tell from here. And the man's vitals are coming through strong."
"A trick?"
"Yeah. But the woman in the sewers was no trick. There was enough biological evidence left on her body for me to know that more than one man needs to be shot."
"Bastards," Hopewell hissed under her breath, and Cassimer refrained from chastising her for the impure language. It seemed like the sort of thing that had to be said. Keep it bottled up, and someone might do something even more stupid. He took a deep breath, willing his fingers away from his Hyrrokkin's trigger.
"Any DNA matches from the biological evidence?" he asked. It would be good to have a target. It would be good to know who to hate.
Tallinn shook her head, and he supposed he would have to make do with the RebEarth leader's feather-framed face.
"Good news though." Kiruna took a graceful step back from the window. "The Kalevala men inside the lab are alive and in possession of the primer research."
"Yeah, there's a silver lining for you," Hopewell said. "Mostly civilians, right? They're going to crack. Give it another fifteen minutes, and I bet that door'll open wide as you like for the idiot in the helmet."
"It won't." Lucklaw's mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes bright metallic discs. "The clearance codes provided by the Kalevala allowed me to slip inside their security system and seize control. They can't open the doors now, even if they wanted to."
"Good work," Cassimer said. "Can you get us inside?"
"There's a fire escape round the back. If we can evade the patrolling guards, I can unlock it and drop the force field for a few seconds."
Risky, but their options were limited.
"Kiruna and Daneborg, scout ahead and secure a route. We–"
He paused as a mail notification flashed on his HUD. The message's subject line read:
I CAN SEE YOU
He hesitated. It felt like another trick, but what choice did he have?
He opened the message.
HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING VELLOA
HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING THE WAVES
BECAUSE THIS IS WHERE YOU DIE
12.
CASSIMER
Cassimer cursed, and his team looked at him in shocked surprise.
"Everything all right, Commander?" Lucklaw's eyes shifted from silver to blue, his nose twitching nervously.
"No." He shared the message with the team. No sense keeping them in the dark.
"Earth have mercy." Rearcross's visor fogged as he muttered a mantra under his breath. "The demon must have found us in the sewers. The corruption–"
IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY, Hopewell texted. When Cassimer quietly chastised her for the caps, she acknowledged the reprimand and added, meekly: how many times do i have to tell you
"Perhaps we triggered some alarm." Kiruna looked almost pained to admit that she might have made a mistake, but Lucklaw shook his head.
"The message was routed via the Cascade. That's, what, eight light-hours from here? It was sent long before we even entered the sewers."
"But how could it know?" Rearcross looked between his team mates, his thoughts writ clear on his wrinkled forehead: one of you. Anyone of you could be a demon.
"Any number of ways. The Kalevala could have been compromised. Bastion Command could be compromised," Juneau said.
"Or Oriel." Hopewell crossed her arms, giving the major an arched look.
"Speculation is pointless. All that matters is what we do about it."
No, all that mattered was what Cassimer did about it. He took a deep breath, reminding himself of his purpose, and cleared his mind of all irrelevant thoughts. Skald might know that a Primaterre team was en route to Velloa, but the entity couldn't know their current position. All it knew was that they were coming, and – oh mercy – how they were coming.
"Captain Baltimore, do you read?"
"Loud and clear, Commander," their pilot responded.
"We have reason to believe RebEarth are aware of our presence. They'll be on the lookout for a shuttle. You need to take precautions."
"Affirmative, Commander. We may need to move to another location. Is that acceptable?"
"Whatever it takes. Stay safe, Captain."
* * *
Safe was not an option for the banneret men, nor their tag-along Oriel officer. They moved across the courtyard on Kiruna's signal, as quietly as possible, as camouflaged as their suits could manage, but fact was that they were moving across open ground overlooked by dozens of windows.
Any second could be their last, any moment one that couldn't be undone. Stims coursed through Cassimer's veins, though he hardly needed them. Every brick in the courtyard glowed in stark relief; every sound was as loud as an earthquake. Data scrolled on his HUD, reducing the world to relevant facts and figures. He felt good, better than he'd felt in weeks.
"Door unlocked." Lucklaw moved up to the force field, close enough for it to send tendrils of blue to arc against his suit's own active protection field. The fire escape was a steel door two storeys up, accessible via a ladder. "Dropping the force field now."
Cassimer was halfway up the ladder when RebEarth cheers came from the other side of the laboratory. He was through the door, bracing to allow his team past, when gunfire erupted. The noise was ceaseless, a loud, weighty hammering fizzing with heat.