by S. A. Tholin
"My HUD says yes. My interpreter and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now."
"Oh, well, that's encouraging. I'm really looking forward to breaking into a high-security military facility with two school children having a spat. What did he do, steal your lunch money?"
"He tried to defect mid-mission. I stopped him, but not before he stabbed me." It felt weird saying it out loud. A stabbing might be a mundane event to banneret men – Constant had just kind of shrugged when she asked about his leg injury – but to her it had been such a shock that she was fairly sure the trauma hadn't even begun to sink in yet.
"Stabbed you? What the hell kind of an operation are they running? And he's still on the team? Still fucking breathing?"
"It's a complicated situation. He's a complicated person." She gave dismissive wave, smiling to stop unpleasant feelings from surfacing. "Don't worry about it. I handled the situation."
"I'm sure you did, but who handled your treatment? Danger's one thing, but you ought to be facing it with a proper medic on your team."
"If all goes well tonight, maybe I will. You come up with a good excuse yet?"
Wideawake had gone over the details of their failed mission and had come up with a less risky plan. Instead of targeting the primer locks, Elsinore had written a program that would prevent the activator from putting additives into a single vial. She had to get into the vault so that he could proximity-hack it, but after that, all they had to do was make sure that they get their hands on the vial – which was where Rhys came in, much as he disliked the idea.
"Do you know how incompetent something like this makes a medic look? I'd rather be caught skimming pharmaceuticals – at least they'd expect that. Lose a primer vial, and I wouldn't be surprised if Vysoke-Myto starts hinting that maybe retirement wouldn't be such a bad idea." He grimaced, fishing a crumpled cigarette pack from his breast pocket. "To gain access later, I might as well tell the night manager I forgot to top up my sedatives. Lay some forgetfulness groundwork."
"I'm sorry," she said, and was. Rhys was used to risking his life; his reputation less so.
"I'm not. What we do isn't always what we want to do, princess."
"That's for sure." This time, the plan had to work; for Constant's sake if not her own.
"Relax, Joy. If you could handle the Host Fetter, you can handle this. Forget about the mission for now," Rhys said. "I've got a banneret man in intensive care who I've been meaning to visit. You should come along, to keep me company and yourself distracted."
* * *
The med-wing elevator arrived, its doors opening to let a dark-haired woman out.
"Major Juneau." Rhys greeted her and stepped aside to make way.
"Captain," the major acknowledged, ignoring Joy entirely. She had introduced herself a few days ago as Major Generosity Juneau but hadn't said so much as a word to Joy since. The major seemed like the kind of person whose mind was never still, whose curiosity could never be satisfied, but while she regarded everything from the stars to the meals served in the mess with fascination, she treated Joy with utter indifference.
"Excuse me, Major Juneau. You're a biologist, right?"
"Senior Research Scientist, Specialised Genetics."
"I used to work in a botany lab, and–"
"Then I'd rethink this recent career move if I were you. You rather strike me as a girl more suited for pretty flowers than anything serious."
Wow. Okay. Joy glanced at Rhys, who shrugged and sent her a quick text.
No idea what's crawled up her arse. Don't mind her.
Good advice, but one more try couldn't hurt.
"I've been thinking about how to stop Skald. Maybe we could talk later? While Commander Cassimer has been doing excellent work, perhaps a biologist and a botanist could find a way to eradicate the demon once and for all."
"By attacking its roots? Oriel is already working on solutions, and if we need advice, we won't be turning to someone who presumably got their botany degree out of the same cereal box as their rank, Captain Somerset."
Well, turned out one more try could in fact hurt. Juneau walked away, and Rhys shook his head.
"I haven't had the pleasure of interacting much with the major. Didn't care for her choice in pet, and can't say I care for her social skills either. That said..." He patted Joy's shoulder, where her captain's insignia shimmered a faint grey. "It's not doing wonders for this veteran's self-esteem to see three rays on you quite so soon."
* * *
Sergeant Alexander Valletta lay still and silent in a room identical to the one where Joy had spent day and night sitting with Constant. It was the same corridor, only a few doors down, and she couldn't say that she was glad to be back. Hospitals were familiar places, but she had always been the patient – never the worried loved one. She could have done without that experience. She could certainly do without repeating it.
Constant's room had filled up with cards, flowers and assorted gift baskets. By the time he'd been released, it'd been hard to move around in there. He had paid none of it the slightest bit of attention, but she had insisted on him reading the cards from his banneret company. It was important to her that he understood that they cared.
Valletta's room was significantly emptier. A dozen cards were neatly placed on a desk, most from Scathach's stationary shop, with the same Primaterre sun print on a grey backdrop. They contained generic get well soon phrasings, along with the odd wry joke. One, embellished with colourful scrollwork unmistakably by Hopewell's hand, contained a long message that seemed too personal to read.
The only card that wasn't Bastion issue had a picture of two kittens in a basket on its cover. The inside read WE ARE THINKING OF YOU, LOVE MUM AND DAD in scratchy pen.
"Looks like they want to keep him under for another two weeks. It'll give his brain time to recover, and them the time to do the augment upgrades he's requested."
"Requested? He's in a coma." A metal shell encased his head, cables and filaments connecting him to an array of machines and monitors. She could see only glimpses of his face – tanned skin, auburn hair, long dark lashes.
"Soldiers often add augmentation requests to their medical files, especially for the deeper kind of augment that would usually put them on med-leave for a few weeks. This way, they can have the work done while they're already in the med-wing. Valletta's looking to get improved visuals and quicker reflexes. That'll require brain surgery, and well, no better time to have that done than when your head's already cracked open." Rhys pulled up a chair and sat down, lighting a cigarette. "Expensive, though. He's going to wake up to a nice chunk of debt – the lifer kind. Funny, really. You think lifers would be easy to spot, but it's always the ones you least expect. Valletta, he's a good guy, a real life of the party. He'd do well in any setting. But here he is, selling himself to Bastion, while at the same time the commander is looking to get out. Nobody could've seen that coming."
"No doubt they both have their reasons."
"No doubt." Rhys smirked. "I saw you in the mess earlier. Not a hair out of place, uniform perfectly ironed. Yet here you are a few hours later, skirt wrinkled and jacket creased, your hair come undone. If you're wondering why I haven't asked how the commander's doing, it's because he's obviously doing very well. A hell of a lot better than most of us, that's for sure."
"Rhys!" Self-consciously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and straightened the collar on her jacket. "Should you be smoking in here, anyway? Valletta–"
"Valletta comes knocking on my door to bum a cigarette whenever he's too cheap to buy his own. If anything, he's probably appreciating the second-hand smoke. Besides, I'm not letting you change the topic that easily. The way you're blushing, there's got to be some saucy details to share. That's the kind of relationship we have, isn't it?"
"It's the kind of relationship you have," she said, half-grimacing, half-smiling. "I think I'd better keep the details to myself – for your own safety, you understand."
"Angry glares or reprimands might be encouraging at this point. The commander wasn't doing too well before, and I doubt his stay with RebEarth slavers did him any good."
"Strange as it may sound, maybe it did. Physically, he's fine. Mentally... he seems to be heading in a positive direction. And he's not the only one – on the Host Fetter, you said you've stopped drinking. Is that true?"
"Haven't touched a drop since Cato."
He sounded sincere, but that didn't gel with the psych report Hammersmith had given her. If Rhys wasn't struggling with dependency issues, then what about the other reports?
"See, I gave the commander this whole speech about how truth is something that has to be faced, no matter how much it hurts. Figured I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if I held my own truths at bay with drugs and alcohol. Smoking's the only vice I've kept; mostly to keep my hands busy."
She told him that she was pleased for him, encouraging his decision, but all she could think about was what she'd read in the other reports. Lucklaw, Hopewell, Constant – had it all been lies? Had Hammersmith deliberately made her believe the man she loved was on the verge of suicide? As Rhys's cigarette smoke filled the room, she remembered how Lutzen had smoked the same brand – the same awful, cheap brand. Had that been a trick, too? A nudge, intended to make her trust him?
"Rhys," she said, touching her fingertips to the cool glass wall. The med-wing reception lay below, an oasis of waiting room seats washed in the shimmering colours of news displays and fish tanks. She could see herself, too, or rather Bastion's version of herself, and felt a sting of envy. Ankle-deep in Cato mud, things had been survive-at-all-costs straightforward. "Do you mean what you say? Are you yourself with me? Is this you, really you?"
"Nobody's ever accused me of being complicated, princess. Love it or hate it, what you see is what you get."
I love it, she wanted to say, wanted to hug the man who smelled of cigarettes because he was a smoker, not a liar. She wanted to tell him everything, wanted to pretend that her fellow recruit in Basic hadn't been wrong to point out her father in the crowd.
The waiting room below changed colour as the displays switched from calming landscapes to a news report. Red text flashed across a charcoal background. Patients looked up, a passing nurse dropping a tray on the floor. Everyone stopped, every gaze focused on the screens.
"Rhys, turn on the display."
But he didn't need to. It switched on automatically, tuned to the same charcoal background, the same red text: DEMONIC OUTBREAK.
* * *
"...live from the perimeter outside Fox Chapel Pharmaceuticals, we're hearing stories of horrific scenes inside the facility..."
"...with us now is Chaplain Arundel; Chaplain, what words of reassurance can you offer in this time of..."
"...Hildr Banneret Company who swept the facility report no survivors, but the spokesman for Fox Chapel Pharmaceuticals has told us that due to a recent biohazard spill, the facility was staffed by a skeleton crew of security and maintenance..."
Every news stream told different flavours of the same story. One simply repeated the words PRIMATERRE PROTECTS US ALL over and over; others revelled in the details of carnage. Seventeen confirmed victims, each bearing the marks of demonic possession. One excited news anchor showed a clip from the facility's surveillance footage, where a security guard used a pair of scissors to first stab and then methodically begin to cut–
–Joy turned away at that point, and when she dared look again, the clip had been interrupted, the news anchor removed from her seat by stern-faced law enforcement. The stream went dark after that; possibly permanently, according to Rhys.
"But the clip's out there now. By noon, everyone in the Protectorate will have seen it. Just what we need – more fear." He shook his head, discarding his cigarette for a new one.
"...a terrible day for the Protectorate. Community, compassion and consideration will be our guiding words in this trying time. We must not point fingers nor throw around careless accusations of impurity. Fox Chapel Pharmaceuticals has always been a meritorious company, working tirelessly for the future of humanity. Though little comfort, I vow to continue their good work..."
Cooper Keiss wore a solemn expression and a perfectly tailored suit, complete with a KEISS FOR KIRKCLAIR – YOUR VOTE COUNTS button, but behind the mask, Joy saw the hint of a satisfied smile. And if Keiss was satisfied, then that meant...
"Oh, Rhys. I think this is all my fault. I think I did this."
* * *
Captain. Soldier. Operative. Grand words, and not one of them true. She was a junior botanist with a century-old education. Not a fighter, not a spy, and certainly not clever. She had thought she could outsmart the men of 36B, but they'd been ahead of her all along. Not one word, not one action, could be trusted. They were who they wanted her to see, and she had given them her thoughts and ideas. Her plan to save the Primaterre had been turned and twisted, and now she had wrought her very own Hecate.
"How can I tell Constant? How can I even look him in the eye? I can't, I..." She paused to breathe between sobs, but there was no air in her lungs when she thought of him.
"Joy. Quit crying and listen to me." Rhys crossed his arms, cigarette ash drizzling to the floor. "You've only ever known Cassimer as the commander, in charge and making all the decisions. But he wasn't always that, and even commanders have superiors. If you think he's never provided Bastion Command with intel that they used in disagreeable ways, you're wrong. Hell, you might even make the case that the war on Hereward is the commander's doing, but he's got enough blood on his hands to know which to feel bad about and which to wash off. He wouldn't have gone to war. You wouldn't have set up people to die. That is the truth, and now the choice you have is this: fall apart, or pull yourself together and put an end to this..." He gestured towards the display, where body bags were being carted out of Fox Chapel Pharmaceuticals. "Forever."
Before she could respond, a nurse entered the room. Rhys tried to hide his cigarette, dropped it in his lap, swore and brushed it to the floor, grinding it out with his boot heel.
The nurse, her eyes red-rimmed with tears, shot him a disapproving glare. Her mood lightened when she saw Joy.
"Captain Somerset." The nurse sniffled. "It's good to have you on the station, and we're so thankful to have Commander Cassimer back, too. With the news... reminders of purity don't seem enough anymore. We need beacons like you."
Beacon. Far from it, and she understood why Constant hated the posters so much. They were all shiny surface, there to distract from the fact that making a difference was hard, that even the best of intentions could lead to death and destruction. What they should put on the posters was truth, unvarnished and real, but nobody would want to look at that for too long. It was better to imagine Cassimer as a smiling champion than a ruthless, brutal killer; better to imagine her as the flawless saint than the fumbling idiot she was.
"Well, we should get going." Rhys stood and walked over to the desk. "Let me just sign one of these cards. You should sign one too; he'd appreciate it. Valletta's got all four variants of your poster on the walls in his quarters – and I doubt it's out of adherence to purity, if you get my drift."
Mildly disturbing, but she wasn't about to deny a man in a coma a wish to get well. Though tall and strong, Valletta looked vulnerable under his thin blanket. The nurse injected something into his neck, and his lips contorted around his breathing tube, revealing broken teeth.
The nurse smoothed out the blanket, tucking Valletta in, and then she pulled a pair of dressing scissors from her med-kit and plunged them deep into his throat.
It wasn't happening, it couldn't be – but the violence had the edge of authenticity that a mindspace could never recreate; the cruel touch of iron that Constant had told her differentiated the sea cave from the real world.
It was happening, and Joy had to stop it. She grabbed the nurse's wrists, shoving her to the floor. Valletta convulsed, blood oozing around the scissors, kicking his feet ag
ainst the bed. His eyes rolled open, unseeing and wide.
"Rhys!" She pressed her hands to the wound, applying pressure to slick skin. The nurse, on her feet again, reached past Joy to snatch the scissors from Valletta's throat. Arterial blood sprayed the ceiling, pattering down like rain. Joy tried to stop the jet, feeling it bubble against her palms, but the nurse raised the scissors again and stabbed downwards in a flashing arc.
Joy huddled Valletta, shielding him with her body, the heat of his blood against her skin. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay with me.
The scissors clattered to the floor. Rhys stood over the unconscious nurse, blood trickling from her nose where he'd struck her. Monitors wailed as Valletta's vitals dropped. The room was sharp colour and screeching sound and a man's receding heart beat.
"Out of the way." Rhys placed his hands on hers, and she slipped out from under them. "Your jacket. DNAno from the cupboard. Jet injector from the med-kit."
The cupboard was locked, of course it was, but she picked up a chair and smashed the glass doors. Another alarm went off, shrill and piercing. Her jacket was already soaked through with blood, squelching underneath Rhys's fingers. Valletta's feet thrummed against the bed, his back arcing.
"Hold." Rhys let go of the jacket and took the injector.
"Stay with us, Valletta," she said, glancing up at the door. "Oh God, why is no one coming?"
"Focus. The ventilator is taking care of his breathing. I've accessed his system to direct the DNAno to repair the damage. Keep pressure until I tell you otherwise."
A monitor screamed as Valletta flat-lined. His hand clutched at Joy's side, insensibly tugging at her. Rhys swore, his eyes deep silver.
"Activating defibrillation augment."
A faint tingle spread from Valletta's body to hers. Another one, and then his heart started beating again, pumping new gushes of blood through the soaked fabric. Behind her, she could hear rustling as the nurse began to stir, her fingers slithering towards the scissors. She kicked out hard, hitting the nurse's face.