Lonely Castles

by S. A. Tholin

  When the shuttle set down, he could barely bring himself to unbuckle his harness, could hardly even breathe.

  The ramp opened and sunshine rushed in, carried on a fresh spring breeze.

  The outside was so bright, so green, so unreal. He moved towards it, but his armour was dark and his Hyrrokkin heavy on his back, and in a deep corner of his mind, a voice whispered that this was what the demons had wanted all along, for him to carry them to Earth, that he was a fool who had accepted a lie as truth.

  The whisper was false, but he stopped at the top of the shuttle's ramp. His team stopped too. Even Hammersmith, who had worked so long and so hard to get here, seemed unwilling to leave the shadows.

  Cassimer's armour sparked as Joy came to stand beside him. She looked up at him, curious, as though she couldn't quite understand why he was standing in the open in hostile terrain. He couldn't explain it, couldn't even understand it.

  She walked down the ramp. He wanted to stop her, his heart freezing as her boots touched the grass – but nothing happened. No corruption, no demons, no sudden gunshot from the surrounding woodland. No punishment, no death; just a girl on a spring meadow, the sun in her hair and a smile in her eyes.

  She removed her boots and walked barefoot through clover and moon daisies, leaving a path in the grass for them to follow.

  A deep breath, and then Cassimer took the first step.

  59.

  JOY

  It was all gone.

  She'd known what had become of Earth. Ever since Constant had shown her the video on Cato, it had been an undeniable truth. She also knew that she had spent over a century in cryo sleep, and that the life she'd known had slipped her by.

  But she was on Earth now, not so far from the shore where waves reflected in the sleek facade of Black Diamond University. The soldiers moved through the forest, slower than usual, and occasionally somebody would break formation to stare in awe at a landmark or decayed building. Florey had removed one gauntlet, letting his bare hand run along tree trunks and through the spikelets of high grass and ferns. To them, being here was like swimming through Atlantis or walking the golden streets of El Dorado.

  But to her, it was only little over a year ago that she and Elodie had browsed travel sites during lunch breaks, searching for the perfect Earth destination holiday. Not a dream, but something very real and very possible, albeit on a tighter budget than the two of them would've liked. Elodie had wanted to see London; Joy had pictured a river cruise through Europe. In the end, they'd reached a compromise: they'd go see Baldur Dreaming, Elodie's favourite band (for reasons beyond Joy's comprehension), play in Copenhagen, and then they'd catch a ferry to whichever port the floating capital happened to be nearest.

  It could have been here, or somewhere close by. They were near the sea, she could feel it on the wind. Where the forest grew sparser, sun-dappled water glimpsed between the trees.

  It could have been here. She could have clicked 'BOOK' and she and Elodie would have gone to Earth for the week-long vacation they could just about afford. They would've seen Baldur Dreaming and walked the streets of Copenhagen, and then a ferry might have taken them here.

  But she'd been too afraid to click the button, too worried about money and her health. Instead, she'd gone home to her apartment where Finn had waited, armed with glossy brochures and well-rehearsed arguments. He had told her that there was a better life waiting for them on an uncolonised planet called Gainsborough, where the sweetgrass grew tall and as blue as the oceans. He had asked her to please come with him, to please take this chance, and even though it had been a much bigger step than a vacation to Earth, she hadn't hesitated.

  Home was wherever Finn went.

  "Nothing on the sensors," Elsinore mumbled. "No significant energy readings, no signs of human life. Nothing that would indicate we've been detected, either. You got anything, Major?"

  "Apart from Somerset setting off my h-chip scanner every couple of seconds, no. Starting to wish I hadn't upgraded its range."

  "Sorry," Joy whispered, though Juneau was entirely unreceptive to her apologies. The major had complained for days about the h-chip scanner. Juneau could switch it off – they hardly needed it here – and she could probably decrease the scan range if she wanted to. Problem was, she didn't want to. It gave her a semi-reasonable complaint to voice, an opportunity to sigh and roll her eyes at Joy. "How far to the source of the priming signal?"

  "Tired of walking? Or maybe your feet hurt. I'd have expected a botanist to have better sense than to go prancing barefoot across a field. Poison ivy get you?"

  Okay then. Deep breath; ignore the major. It should've been easy – as bad as she was, she had none of Rivka's edges – but unfortunately, that meant focusing on Elsinore instead. And he did have edges, underneath his twitchy surface.

  "We're about fifteen kilometres southeast of our target location. The shuttle's scanners got a good look at the geography, and if I'm reading this data right, we should have line of sight in a few minutes. Could be wrong, though. I've never seen topographical data before. Never seen topography before." He shuddered, looking around, eyes wide. "Earth is so big. How did the people who lived here not get lost all the time?"

  "Hey." Hopewell appeared from behind, one finger pressed to her visor. "Chatterboxes. We've got text comms for a reason."

  Sorry, Joy texted. The word seemed appropriate in these woods, where tree trunks had grown around shrapnel and her HUD warned of higher-than-strictly-safe radiation levels. The undergrowth took on peculiar shapes where it covered corroded car wrecks, and some of the twigs that snapped under her feet weren't twigs at all. Yes, sorry was at home here.

  No harm done, Hopewell replied, nodding towards the right. Tighter formation please. Don't want to have to go searching for any lost little lambs.

  The gunner remained close. Where the vegetation became difficult to traverse, she unsheathed her thermal knife and slashed a path through.

  Just don't tell Florey. She raised a branch for Joy to slip under. He's in full Earth Provides environmentalist hero mode. Yelled at me earlier for stepping on some stupid mushroom. Would probably have a fit if he saw what I'm about to do to this branch.

  With a sharp crack, she tore it from the tree trunk and chucked it aside. Easier than ducking, Joy supposed, although she couldn't help but take Florey's side.

  We might be the first people to walk the Earth in over a century, and you're already breaking things?

  Hopewell shrugged. Humans came from Earth. To me, that suggests Earth likes to play rough.

  Can't imagine Florey thinks much of that theory.

  Florey is currently not talking to me precisely because of that theory. Hopewell rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. Stars, it's ridiculous how much I've missed having the grumpy old bastard around. Still, I don't like the way Florey and the rest of you treat this world with such awe. RebEarth might believe in the Mother Spirit, but come on, it's just a rock that got lucky. The place is creepy enough already, no need to act like it's more than it is.

  The steep hill smoothed into a root-riddled path. A patchwork of tarmac remained, barely visible under a layer of pine needles. Broken fence posts marked the borders of properties. The roof of a black-painted faux-medieval house had caved in, but a red cottage in the back was remarkably well-preserved, but for the ivy that poured through windows and cracks in the walls.

  A checkpoint blockaded the road about halfway down the hill. Old artillery pieces flanked it, rusting and forlorn, and a tank sat with its nose in a ditch. Rhys leaned against the tank, visor open, cigarette in one hand.

  The guardhouse was pockmarked with bullet holes, but the defenders had held the line until the very end. Their bones were still there, clad in camouflage rags and body armour that bore the same heraldic logo as the guardhouse walls and the tank.

  Red-and-white diamonds set on a shield. Never seen it before. You recognise it, Rhys? Hopewell asked.

  "Nope, but the commander took one look a
t it and mumbled something about mercenaries." Rhys shrugged. "Dead mercs. In any case, move along. Keep right, and don't look left unless you hate being able to get a good night's sleep."

  They kept right, but they looked left. Of course they did, and of course they regretted it, because this small seaside town, with its pretend-old-fashioned ultra-modern homes, had clearly been an affluent area, and as the rich people of Joy's time had all boasted brand new h-chips, these rich people had upgraded to primers.

  The trigger signal had hit the town hard. For some reason, the townsfolk had gathered on the grounds of a nautical museum. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even more than that. It was hard to tell when their mouldering bones were a tangled pile. Tree branches had grown through rib cages, moss binding the dead together.

  I don't think 'creepy' is a strong enough word, Joy texted, shuddering. They were near the sea now, but it wasn't the breeze that made her skin goose up.

  What, the corpses? Hopewell raised an eyebrow. The dead aren't what's creeping me out. It's the lack of the living. We're on Earth, Somerset. Earth, where we are very much not supposed to be. Why isn't anybody shooting at us?

  You'd rather we were under fire?

  Stars, yes. Wouldn't you? At least then we'd have an idea of what we're facing. Without intel, we're forced to be reactive instead of proactive – which is fine, but only if there's something to react to. She sighed, adjusting her shoulder rifle sling. I'd take the living over the dead any day. I'm not Rearcross, scared of ghosts.

  Not even the ones you've left behind? Joy still dreamed of Duncan, who had come to represent all those in whose deaths she'd been complicit. She still woke in the middle of the night, afraid and full of regret.

  Especially not those. RebEarth like to claim that their spirits will be waiting to take their revenge, but considering that they lost round one, I don't see what makes them think they'll take me in round two, you know?

  Well, I suppose that's one way of looking at it.

  The only way that makes sense, Hopewell replied. And you shouldn't be scared either. I've got your back here and in the afterlife.

  * * *

  Constant waited by the water's edge. His boots had sunk deep into the rough sand, his APF sparking whenever a wave crashed into the shoreline. He held something, studying it, but when the team drew up, he closed his fist. Tightly, protectively.

  "Anything?" Black-armoured Hammersmith looked lost in the surroundings. A piece of driftwood, a thing that did not belong. He had raised his rifle to his shoulder and was scoping out the southwest horizon. There was a city across the bay, so distant that its high-rises looked shrouded in mist.

  "Negative. The place is dead."

  A flock of seagulls swept in from the sea, squawking as they flew overhead. The team all turned to watch the white birds. There had been none in Kirkclair, and perhaps nobody had bothered introducing seagulls to any colonised world. No use, no purpose, once considered a nuisance – but now a treasure.

  "It has to be here," Hammersmith said. "It has to. Elsinore, this is where the trigger signal was sent from, yes?"

  "Yes," Elsinore said, looking a little bit afraid of what might happen if he said no. "I'm certain. Wideawake checked the data too."

  Wideawake, kneeling at the shoreline, one hand touching the water, looked up. "Affirmative. This is the place."

  "We're a few kilometres south of the location. Close enough that we should be seeing it – but there's nothing but trees out there."

  The seaside town and its harbour lay to the southeast, a beach continuing northwest along a mountainous tongue of land. Access to the beach was blocked by a concrete wall painted with a red-and-white diamond pattern. A mile beyond the wall, the beach turned rocky, flat slabs of black diabase running along the shoreline. The northernmost cliffs were jagged peaks and where they met the sea, waves sprayed them white with foam. Woodland grew in craggy crevasses and on the mountain ridge. At the summit, a lighthouse stood as a reminder of a time when this coast would've been perilous for travellers.

  "What about the lighthouse?" Joy suggested.

  "It would have been a relic even a century ago. A tourist trap, nothing more."

  "Or a symbol. As lighthouses guide ships, Hierochloe intended to guide humanity. It makes poetic sense, don't you think?"

  "You know Hierochloe better than any of us," Hammersmith conceded. "But what of these mercenaries, Commander? We'll need to cross their territory. Hierochloe could have employed them to keep the area secure."

  "Talien Castle; a mercenary company that, during the Epoch War, acted more as a small nation than an army."

  "I recognise the name," Joy said. "When they opened a headquarters on Mars, my brother applied for a job. He was really excited about the prospect, saying there'd be all sorts of opportunities, but he didn't get the job – didn't even get through to the second round of interviews. He'd cross paths with them every now and then when he ran security for Hierochloe. I always knew when he had, because he'd be so angry. Maybe because they'd rejected him, but mostly, I think he didn't like how they worked. Too brutal, he said, too blatantly in it for the money."

  "Sounds about right," Constant said. "I doubt Hierochloe would have employed them. Idealists do not work well with profiteers. But setting up base here, safe behind Talien Castle walls, that does make sense. War-torn Earth was a dangerous place. Whether Talien Castle were aware of Hierochloe or not, they would've provided an effective layer of defence, as well as camouflage."

  "So the mercenaries are dead," Hammersmith said.

  "Highly likely."

  Just ghosts and bones, like the rest of this place. Like everything Joy had ever known, and when the team began to move northwest, she stayed behind for a moment to watch the sea that she and Elodie could-have/should-have sailed.

  "Joy." Constant's voice. She turned, expecting to be told to get moving, but he held his hand out. In his palm lay a honey-coloured gem.

  "Amber." She touched its sun-warm surface, polished smooth by waves and time. Space was abundant with gold, silver and precious metals. There were worlds with glittering clouds of rubies and planets with diamond cores – but amber could only be found on Earth. Amber was life, captured and preserved.

  "It's the colour of you."

  Oh, Constant. Not just ghosts and bones after all.

  She placed a hand on his visor. He opened it, dutifully noting that he shouldn't, but...

  But he needed to feel the sun and the salt of the sea on his skin, and the soft warmth of the chunk of life in his hand, and she needed something better than the Earth and all the precious stones in the universe; she needed him, and in the heat of his breath and the steadiness of his hand on her waist, she found another treasure born of Earth – love.

  * * *

  The mercenaries were all dead, and the lighthouse was a museum.

  Hammersmith muttered under his breath: It has to be here, it has to be, going up and down the spiral stairs once, twice, three times. But there was nothing, and Joy was reminded of Lucklaw's theory – that the priming signal was a script running on a machine, a process that somebody had forgotten to switch off and nobody remembered anymore. The machine could be anything. The computer in the gift shop office. The parking lot security system. A phone in the mouldering jacket pocket of a corpse. There were dozens in the lighthouse grounds, and any one of the grinning skulls – or none of them – could have been the person who started it all.

  And then Hopewell, scouting the cliffs, sent a team-wide text: Got something.

  A narrow path meandered down the cliffside, slippery with algae. The roar of the waves was so loud it was deafening. Step by step, they made their way down to flat rocks dotted with tidal pools where purple-veined jellyfish floated. The waves had stranded one. It lay helpless, its tan mane of tentacles drying in the sun. Hopewell made a face and commented that she was glad some things could only be found on Earth, while Florey gently scooped it up. Such a delicate thing, held in gauntleted hand
s, and then it was placed into the water and its mane spread like golden threads.

  A crack in the cliffside was the mouth of a natural tunnel. It was dark, barely wide enough to accommodate the larger members of the team. If she'd been the one to spot it, Joy wouldn't have thought twice about it, but Hopewell's visual augments had caught what hers couldn't. Electronic signals, coming from deep inside the mountain.

  "Send in a drone," Hammersmith commanded.

  Elsinore opened the palm of his hand. Joy couldn't see what he was holding, but her HUD tagged the location of a Primaterre drone so small it was almost microscopic. It flitted down the tunnel like a firefly, feeding back data and imagery to the team.

  The tunnel terminated at a massive set of blast doors. The white paint had all but flaked off, but Hierochloe's triangular logo was still vividly red.

  "Surveillance cameras," Elsinore said. "Thermal, motion and sonic sensors. Automatic turrets, mines, and the entire tunnel is laced with explosives. I can disable the sensors and the cameras, but the mines are old. Manual disarming will be required."

  "Touch the systems and they'll know we're coming," Constant said.

  "If there are any they," Hammersmith said.

  "If I lead my team down that tunnel, it'll be under the assumption that there are."

  "If, Commander?"

  "It's a dangerous breach, Colonel," Florey said. "The tunnel's so narrow we can scarcely make it through. If those doors open and we take fire, we'll be in a bad position."

  "And if instead of opening the doors they just blow the tunnel, it'll be worse than bad," Hopewell said. "I vote we look for another point of entry. No matter how secure, an underground facility has to have ventilation, emergency exits, even bloody sewers."

  "A waste of time. The longer we take, the greater the chance of detection. We breach now, Commander, and that's an order."

  Bad choice of words. The chain of command was already unclear. Yes, this was Hammersmith's mission, and yes, he was a Tower colonel. But a banneret commander's authority was great, and in certain situations, outranked all others'. Outside of the Primaterre, a banneret commander's word was law, and whether or not Earth counted as outside the Primaterre was a matter of perspective. Joy knew Constant's thoughts on the matter, but she also knew that he intended to respect Hammersmith's command – to a certain point.