Lonely Castles

by S. A. Tholin

  Up ahead, crimson light streamed through a grate. The sewer reverberated with the sound of humming engines. Occasionally, voices drifted down from above, stretching into echoes in the tunnel.

  "Stay here," Cassimer told the Kalevala citizens. A sorry group to begin with, and sorrier now, their clothes soaked and their faces smeared with filth. "Stay quiet."

  "The sewer's flooding," Ruotsi protested. The water had been ankle-deep less than five minutes ago. Now, it lapped his knees. "We stay here, we drown."

  "And if you go up there, you get shot. Okay?" Hopewell shook her head. She sat on Rearcross's shoulders, one hand holding onto the grate, the other carefully manoeuvring her rifle into a position where its sensors could get a good look at the landing pad.

  Two ships, as Kiruna had said. The shuttle looked deserted but for two RebEarthers sitting outside. On guard duty, presumably, though that wasn't stopping them from knocking back cans of beer. Kivik's gunship, however, had a crew onboard, Hopewell's rifle counting thirteen contacts. Lucklaw stood ready to jam their comms, but if he blocked them for too long, someone would notice.

  This would have to be quick, and it would have to be silent.

  * * *

  Cassimer slipped in through the gunship's airlock, his thermal knife's blade slipping as quietly into the first hostile's neck. He dragged the dying RebEarther inside, one hand clamped over the man's mouth, blood and spittle steaming off his armour's reactive plates. Hopewell and Rearcross continued aftward into the gunship, neither gunner comfortable with the silent approach, but both of them able enough.

  Music played over the ship's announcement system; some form of squealing electronics that was the sort of thing Cassimer expected Tower to use as aural torture. Unpleasant, but useful. The RebEarthers wouldn't hear their death coming.

  Perhaps they didn't even feel it. Cassimer caught two outside a store room, elbowed one in the face and slit the other's throat. When he kicked the first one over, he found that his elbow had been enough to drive the man's nasal bone into his brain. Quick deaths, quicker than any death they would have granted him.

  He stopped outside the ship's cockpit. There were six men in there, laughing and chatting. Too many for him to handle silently, and so he waited for his gunners to join him. His visual link to Lucklaw showed the lieutenant and Tallinn take care of the guards outside the shuttle with suppressed shots.

  Commander. Hopewell appeared from the shadows, Rearcross close behind.

  We go in. Suppressors, and make your shots count.

  * * *

  "Who put a round in the altimeter?" Lucklaw disapprovingly surveyed the cockpit. "And whoever killed this guy..." He nudged the former navigator with his boot. "...could've tried not smearing his brains all over the instrument panel."

  "You're welcome," Hopewell said. "I do hope you didn't pull a muscle taking out that one guard all by yourself. Or did Tallinn get them both? I bet she did."

  "And I bet you're going to regret your carelessness once this ship takes off. I guess we've just got to hope you didn't hit anything important. Like, I don't know, life support."

  Cassimer glanced out through the viewscreen. No sign of movement. No sign of Kiruna or Daneborg either. His visual link to the snipers showed blurred walls and the occasional glimpse of a freed hostage. The rescue had gone smoothly and only the extraction remained. Once they made their way through the labyrinthine residential complex, they'd have to cross the landing pads to reach the gunship.

  The wind-swept tongue of rock that accommodated the landing pads provided little in the way of cover. High railings surrounded the edges, beyond which lay nothing but a long drop to the sea. There were two entrances to the building complex: one was a rock tunnel not far from the sewer grate, intended for the transport of goods. The other was through a gate in a chain-link fence, overlooked by the wall that protected the complex. The residential building peeked over the wall, dozens of windows presenting perfect lines of sight. Tallinn, evaccing Kalevalans from the sewer, was constantly looking over her shoulder.

  "Ready the ship for take-off," Cassimer said. Kivik had offered them the shuttle, which was all the reason he needed to take the gunship instead. "When Kiruna and Daneborg get here, we evac ASAP."

  "Yes, Commander," said Lucklaw. "I–"

  "King's Ransom, do you read?" The ship's comms systems crackled, the transmission filled with static – too much for it to be natural interference. Too much for it to be caused by anything but a random-noise jamming field. In a matter of minutes, it would blanket Velloa, making the planet a dead zone. Cassimer knew of only one thing that could deploy such a field. "We've got incoming. Looks like..."

  The transmission cut out, but Cassimer could finish the sentence.

  "A fleet. Somebody heard our call."

  "...more incoming," the transmission continued. "Kivik, do you read? We've got... oh fuck... we've got a Heptarchy armada and what looks like a dozen Rusalki freelancers. Kivik, we–"

  "Nice," Hopewell said. "And about bloody time."

  Yes. Nice. Except, with death bearing down from above, Kivik no longer had the luxury of besieging his enemies. He'd breach, and the proximity charges they'd set would go off, but when the dust cleared, he'd know that the basement was empty.

  "He'll be coming for us." Cassimer drew his Morrigan. "Lucklaw, you're in command of the ship. I'm going to get Kiruna and Daneborg."

  * * *

  He found the recon men in the courtyard between the defensive wall and the residential complex, quickly but warily escorting their freed prisoners across open ground.

  "Clear on my side," he said, panning his Hyrrokkin across the upper storeys of the complex.

  "Clear," Daneborg reported from his side, and then the recon man began to move. A tail of rescued hostages followed him; Kiruna last, Captain Baltimore leaning heavily on her shoulder.

  "Straight ahead," Cassimer directed Daneborg. "Gunship at the far landing pad."

  He counted the hostages in. A few more of the high-value targets, and the entire flight crew. Good. He'd want to see the visual logs from the recon men later; the rescue had to have been impressive.

  "Commander." Baltimore, hanging off Kiruna, gave a wan smile. The captain was pale, his flight suit dark with blood. "Apologies for the extra trouble. Though I must say, I've never been so proud to be Primaterre as when your men swooped in to free us. Never seen anything like it. Didn't see most of it."

  "That's the trick," said Kiruna. "Skim the waves and the current can't catch you."

  "Don't understand a word she says," Baltimore said, groaning as he shifted his weight from Kiruna's shoulder to Cassimer's. "Blood loss, or is she always like this?"

  "Always like this. Always excellent."

  "Commander!" Kiruna smiled, flashing pointed canines. "How kind. How unexpected. To the ship, then, and I'll cover you and the captain most excellently."

  A hundred metres to cross the courtyard where windows gaped dark and threatening. Fifty metres to the gate in the fence. Another hundred to the ship. Not so far. Not so bad; just two hundred and fifty metres between them and escape, just two hundred and fifty metres between Cassimer and a chance to see Joy again. Her name was in the rhythm of his blood, in the pace of his pounding boots. On Velloa, the sun was setting, but elsewhere, it would be rising. Elsewhere, the sun was in the glow of copper hair and the warmth of honey eyes, and there were less than two hundred and fifty metres between him and that sun now; less than that between Baltimore and the navigator who kept glancing over her shoulder at her captain.

  He thought of Joy as he ran, and when his HUD warned of incoming projectiles. He thought of her as his APF flared, and Kiruna's Ratatosk rifle began to bark behind him.

  And when a Kalevala scientist took a round to the head in front of him, he allowed himself one last thought of Joy.

  "The ship – you can make it. We'll cover you." He shoved Baltimore forward and wheeled around. RebEarthers were pouring from the rock tunnel. Kiruna
had them diving for cover, but sniper fire was coming from the residential rooftop. Cassimer pulled the Hyrrokkin rifle from his back and raised it to his shoulder.

  Find a target. Pull the trigger. Chamber another round. Repeat. A simple rhythm, more familiar than the song of Joy, and he continued even as the ground around him was pitted with rifle fire. Not every shot of his was a hit, but enough for Kiruna to make it to the landing pad gate. Enough for Daneborg to join him and return fire.

  "Commander, seven o'clock!" Hopewell's warning came quick enough for him to turn and see the RebEarthers coming from behind the shuttle, cutting him and half the hostages – including the limping Baltimore – off from the gunship.

  His APF flared. Next to him, sparks burst into the air as Daneborg's failed. Plasma spattered the ground as bullets evaporated against armour plates. No cover. Nothing but open ground and a cliff's edge. Hostages fell to the ground – some dead, some smart. Others ran; the lucky ones straight back into captivity.

  And then the King's Ransom rose into the air. It hovered a few metres above the ground, scorching the landing pad, and opened fire. Searing blue lightning struck the building where the snipers hid; searing blue flame rolling through the upper storeys. Windows melted, brick walls crumbled, the thunderous sound amplified by the cavern. Rock tumbled from above, great zigzagging cracks opening in the ceiling. Dust washed over the landing pads, shot through with the firefly barrage of the King's Ransom's chain guns.

  Cassimer ran towards the ship. Shot one RebEarther, broke the neck of another; picked hostages off the ground and pushed them towards the King's Ransom. Some of the Kalevalans were too terrified to run, and he let them fall. Couldn't save them if they wouldn't save themselves. The flight crew had enough clarity to get up and run when he shouted at them. The navigator made it to the King's Ransom first, where Hopewell reached down from the open airlock to pull her in.

  "Baltimore." He grabbed the captain's shoulder. The man had taken a bullet to the thigh – nothing too serious, but he wouldn't make it to the ship without help. "Hold on."

  "Starting to feel personal," Baltimore said, coughing, as Cassimer heaved him up. "Like RebEarth's got something against me specifically."

  "Not yet. Make it to the ship and give them reason to hold a grudge."

  "Now there's something worth living for."

  Yes, but not worth as much as the navigator waiting behind Hopewell in the airlock. Not worth as much as the relief on her face when Cassimer and Baltimore came running through the smoke. Not worth even half as much as her hands, clasped to her face, obscuring a tearful smile. Less than ten metres from Baltimore's sunrise, and–

  –the King's Ransom's guns died. Its crimson lights went out, the phoenix on its hull beating its wings one last time before going dark. It crashed to the ground and the rock trembled dangerously.

  The RebEarth gunfire petered out. Only the sharp barks of Ratatosk rifles broke the silence. Daneborg was retreating. Kiruna was–

  "Hold your fire!" Leo Kivik's voice boomed across the battlefield. He stood at the landing pad gate, his homemade APF flaring brightly. A group of hostages had been rounded up in front of him. "Did you think I'd leave my Ransom for any thief to steal? She goes nowhere without my say so, Commander Cassimer. Take another step towards that ship, and I will trigger her self-destruct. You can–"

  A Ratatosk barrage interrupted him, electricity forking from his helmet as plasma-licked rounds slammed into it. Kivik stumbled to the ground. The Primaterre hostages seized the opportunity and ran, and so did Kiruna, loping along the chain-link fence. She was a wolf, she was shadow and she was smoke, but her attempt at Kivik had also made her a target.

  On his HUD, Cassimer saw the readings as a round from a distant anti-materiel rifle found her leg, defeating her tired armour plates and shattering bone. A RebEarther caught up with her, tackling her hard into the fence. Chain link rattled, flashes of lightning arcing up and down the metal.

  Kiruna drove a fist into her opponent's temple. Enough to shake him off, but a second man smashed the butt of his rifle into her visor. Through her eyes, Cassimer saw the visor crack in starbursts, blood spattering its inside. His finger tightened around his Hyrrokkin's trigger, but RebEarth had advanced through the smoke to surround the King's Ransom. Thirty-six, his HUD counted, their weapons trained on him or Daneborg.

  Death or surrender. A difficult choice.

  He laid his Hyrrokkin on the ground. Daneborg followed suit.

  "Kivik. We've put down our weapons," he shouted across the landing pads. "Call your men off."

  A crowd swarmed Kiruna, pulling and grabbing and kicking. So many of them, and Cassimer knew what that felt like, knew the heat and the terror and the gasping breaths.

  "Kivik!" he shouted again. Kiruna's helmet had come off, and they were dragging her now, long hair trailing in the dirt as her braids came undone. Wheat-blonde waves, bright as the sun against the ash-smeared ground.

  "Commander," Baltimore mumbled. "The ship. Your man in charge of it – connect me to him. I might be able to release it from Kivik's control. The Shipwrecker's not the only one with a trick or two up his sleeve."

  All right. All right. Cassimer forced himself to breathe deeply.

  The facts were these: the primer data and samples were onboard the King's Ransom, along with the Kalevalans rescued from the lab and most of his own men. He and Baltimore could make it onboard; maybe Daneborg too. If the captain could gain control of the ship, they had a good chance of making it off Velloa – mission objective achieved.

  But they'd be leaving Kiruna and the remaining Kalevalans.

  Unacceptable.

  Step one: secure their exit.

  "Lucklaw, patching Baltimore through to you. See what you can do."

  Step two... He couldn't quite put all the pieces together, but refused to accept that there was no satisfactory outcome. So step two, no matter how distasteful, would have to be to buy time. To talk.

  "Kivik! Call your men off or I destroy the primer research."

  * * *

  Kivik's helmet was cracked and pitted with craters. Plasma ran down his neck, coating the baying hounds on his pauldrons. One arm locked around Kiruna's neck, his other hand firmly gripping a thermal knife that grazed her exposed throat.

  "I'm a generous man, Primo. My offer still stands. You can have the shuttle, and you can have your people. Just give me what I want, and we can all leave this planet before it's firebombed."

  "Let her go first."

  "No." Kivik ran the blade across her cheek, peeling flesh from bone. Kiruna turned her head sharply, spitting blood on the floor. Her lips curled, exposing sharp canines.

  "Let her–"

  "I'm tired of talking to a brick wall, Commander." Kivik pushed Kiruna forwards. She stumbled, taking a tentative step towards the landing pad.

  Only a hundred metres, Kiruna, Cassimer thought, only a hundred metres and you are safe.

  Another step, and then Kivik's blade swept through the air in an upwards arc of blinding heat. The point caught under her shoulder blade, driving inwards and upwards, deep enough to dent her cuirass outwards. She hissed with pain as Kivik, hooking her on his knife, reeled her back into his grasp.

  "See what happens when you bore me, Commander? Now, let's restart the negotiations. Let's see if you understand the situation better."

  Cassimer did understand. A hundred metres had been replaced with a smaller number. Fifteen centimetres. That's how far away his Hyrrokkin was from his fingers. That's how far he'd have to reach to kill–

  "I am fourteen systems," Kiruna said, her voice tight and strained. "I am twenty-seven worlds and one nation. I am Earth. You can't kill me, Shipwrecker."

  "I beg to differ." Kivik twisted the knife ever so slightly.

  "RebEarth think our souls go back to Earth when we die, yes?" She turned her head to glance at him. "Earth is ours. And when you die, we will be there waiting. I will be there, waiting. Snapping jaws in the dark. You
won't make it to Earth, Kivik, in this life or the next."

  "That's how it used to be," Kivik agreed. "But now the Bright-Winged One fights with us, and his reach is as deep as it is wide. He gleams between Cascades, catching Primo souls in his net of moonbeams. I kill you now, Primo, you'll be his plaything in the darkness."

  Damn Kivik and damn Skald. They had found a way of unsettling even the most veteran Primaterre soldier. There were plenty who did not fear death, but few who didn't fear demons. To exploit that fear, to turn it against them... Cassimer could hardly breathe for the hate he felt.

  "So?" Kivik asked. "What will it be, Commander?"

  It's all right. I will outrun the demon. I will play hide and seek in the stars. Kiruna flashed a small smile as she texted him. I will wait for a wave to cleanse the dark in-between. I will wait for you, my Commander. You can let me go.

  He could, but the world had begun to make sense, the pieces angrily shunted into place. Hopewell, still at the Ransom's airlock, had a line of sight to the shuttle. A quick note sent her way, and the gunner backed up, readying her missile launcher. The explosion would take out some of the nearby RebEarthers; the rest would be stunned enough for Baltimore to make it to the ship with the help of Tallinn, who stood by to run, her APF on full.

  Daneborg would take out as many RebEarthers as he could, providing covering fire for any hostage smart enough to run. And Kiruna...

  Kiruna, he texted, your grenade pack. Remote activation, low charge. It's going to hurt.

  Hurt, but if his experience and assessment of her armour were correct, not kill her.

  On Hopewell's mark. I'm coming to get you, Kiruna.

  Just a hundred metres. Just–

  "Hey!"

  One word, and the pieces scattered.

  Southgate ran from the Ransom towards Kivik. Control, utterly lost.

  "Hey!" Southgate stopped, RebEarthers closing ranks around him. "Your offer still stands, Kivik?"

  "The five million's yours, if you've got what I want."

  "Don't care about the five million." Southgate raised his arms high, showing the darkly gleaming tubes of primer samples in his hands. "We just want our people back and safe passage off Velloa. Domanska said you were a fair negotiator. Domanska's dead now, but maybe she wasn't wrong."