Ruin's Wake

by Patrick Edwards

The narrow shoulders drooped. ‘He blamed me for letting you go. Now this.’ He waved his hand in the direction of the door, the encampment outside. ‘Execution was never part of the plan. Did she suffer?’ The question was directed at Cale.

  He avoided the question. ‘Brennev knows only one way of winning,’ said Cale. ‘He would never admit it, but it’s their way – naked force, overwhelming naked force.’

  ‘She’s really gone?’ Nebn asked in a small voice.

  Cale recognised that emptiness, knew it like an old friend. The lie came easily.

  ‘It was quick.’

  Nebn nodded. He rubbed his temples.

  Cale knew the young man on the chair opposite was at the top of a very long slope into a dark place. He also knew that he needed to catch him before he began to slide.

  ‘We need to get into the Tower. It’s important, and complicated, why I need to go. I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you to trust me.’

  ‘What?’ Nebn’s face clouded with confusion.

  ‘Kelbee talked to me… before the end. Said you were a good man. I believe her.’

  The young man’s face was a war of anger and sadness and amusement, all three threatening to burst out like a geyser. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then stood. His eyes flicked back and forth between Cale and Syn as if deciding which to murder first.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he said, and walked out.

  Syn stretched, his servos humming. ‘Me being here might not be helping.’

  Cale stood. They’d not been restrained, and no guards had been assigned to watch them. ‘Come on,’ he said to Syn.

  Outside, there was a fading tang of gunpowder in the air. The rebels had installed gun batteries in what had previously been Factors’ checkpoints in the ring around the base of the Tower. Cale’s eye followed the grand sweeping steps that led to the main entrance. Above the huge steel doors, he saw a patch of bare stone where the emblem of the Hegemony had once hung, a monstrous golden face that brooded over the people below, an eternal watcher. It had been a long time since he’d been here – in Karume, at the Tower – but the scale of the place had lost none of its oppression. The great flag had been torn down, and in its place hung a smaller, ragged emblem – a raised red fist on a field of black.

  Only a matter of time until Aspedair’s falcrex flies there, he thought. The ‘Free City’ would have its due for the support it had provided. Aspedi weapons and equipment were everywhere: on the soldiers that scurried about, those on watch, those manning the huge batteries. It was the silent partner here, flexing its influence through open rebellion rather than economics and subterfuge. He wondered how long Brennev had worked on them, coaxed them into such a brazen display of intent. It had worked.

  A little way off he spotted Nebn standing alone next to a row of parked walkers. The machines were smaller models than the one they’d seen earlier, sleeker, newer-looking. A raised gantry allowed pilots to reach the cockpits, but other than a guard at the ladder and a single, tinkering mechanic the war machines were alone and silent behind their chain fence. Nebn gazed at something a thousand miles away.

  Cale knew that look – the past was easy to find when the present was so painful. ‘Have you wondered why this is all here?’ he asked as quietly as he could over the noise of the camp, moving to stand by the young man. In his periphery he saw Syn engage the mechanic in conversation, watched by the guard.

  Nebn shuffled but didn’t say anything. His posture told Cale he was listening, so he continued. ‘If the city is taken and Fulvia is dead, then why all of this weaponry?’

  ‘It’s in case of a counterattack.’

  Cale nodded. ‘Perhaps. But if the prize is the city, why fortify only here, in the centre? Why not set up on the perimeter, or strike out for the Walls?’

  Nebn swallowed. ‘He won’t talk to me after what happened. Says I failed. The only reason I’m here and not in shackles is because a good friend intervened. I have no command.’

  ‘He’s guarding against an uprising. Think about it. All it takes is a few scattered instigators to stir up generations of bred-in loyalty. He knows it. They’ll come swarming through these streets. What will these men do then, when they start to tear at the barricades?’ He let the question hang in the air.

  Nebn looked up at the war-walkers, then over at the gun emplacements. All of them faced outwards, covering the wide avenues.

  ‘He wouldn’t.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he? You saw what he did: a bullet to the head without trial. Is that justice any different to theirs?’

  ‘She was a monster.’

  ‘She was what the world made her. Because it feels just in the moment doesn’t make it the right thing to do.’

  As he spoke, the years rolled back and he was there, in that broken, burning village, bodies scattered around him, the survivors breathing relief and rage at his back. The hunched little commissar who’d lapsed into madness, whose face had faded over the years until even the man’s son standing in front of him with the same shock of red hair had seemed a perfect stranger. Dead eyes, his face splashed with his own blood as he slid down the edge of a ragged crater.

  ‘An execution,’ Cale whispered, ‘doesn’t fix a broken system—’

  ‘—it replaces it,’ Nebn finished. His eyes were haunted as the realisation struck. ‘I’ve suspected for a while. There will be no collective here. He wants to rule.’

  Cale waited silently for the young man to process, knowing he was teetering on a knifepoint.

  Torture to treat him so, said a voice in his head. Necessary, said another. That day when the choice to pull a trigger had changed the course of his life was as stark and clear as the present that surrounded him; the same gun smoke staining the air, the same sense of breathless anticipation.

  ‘What would you do?’ Nebn asked.

  ‘Provide a third way, perhaps.’

  Nebn’s eyes widened as if hearing an old phrase repeated. He indicated the busy camp around him with a sweep of his arm. ‘You think I can get you past all of this? I’m one man. I have no rank any more.’

  ‘You’re respected,’ said Cale. ‘Kelbee told me that much. And how resourceful you are. She said you saved her.’ He hated himself for it, the manipulation, but he pressed ahead. ‘You gave her and the child a chance of a real life.’

  Nebn’s face was stone. He looked down at his boots. Then, a small squaring of the shoulders and Cale was sure he was about to swing for him or call the guards.

  ‘I can help you with a distraction, nothing more,’ Nebn said. ‘For the fact that you were with… them… when they died and showed her kindness.’

  ‘That’s all I need.’

  ‘Wait here.’ Nebn squared his shoulders again and went over to the man guarding the war-walkers. There was a brief conversation and Cale saw the soldier snap upright on his heels. Nebn pointed at a watchtower some way off. The soldier hesitated, unwilling to leave his post. Nebn’s barked order rocked him on his heels. Reluctantly, the soldier marched away from the chain-link fence that encircled the walkers, flashing a glance at Syn. The mercenary leaned against the fence, talking through it to the mechanic who’d downed his tools and was lighting a smoker.

  Another order and the soldier resumed his march, followed close behind by Nebn. Just before they moved out of sight, he turned his head fractionally, found Cale. There was the shadow of a raised eyebrow, then both he and the soldier disappeared behind a sandbag wall.

  Cale received a quizzical look when he went over to join the mercenary. ‘Our young friend storm off again?’

  ‘I think not.’

  They didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, from the direction Nebn had been heading, they heard a single shot, then a volley of gunfire, then another, the noise building as more weapons joined the chorus. The watchtower lit up as its gunners poured round after round outwards into the streets at an unseen enemy. Bellowed commands rose above the din of the heavy-calibre guns, then they heard more small ar
ms join in. The base’s attention turned outwards, the tension of an imminent attack released in a catharsis of pulled triggers.

  ‘They’re not firing at anything are they?’ said Syn.

  ‘We have to go. Now.’

  Syn turned to the mechanic whose smoker had fallen half-smoked from his lips. His face was white as he fumbled his tools into a metal case.

  ‘Best let us in, friend,’ said Syn, indicating the locked gate.

  ‘What?’ replied the mechanic, his voice high. ‘Go jump in a river, you ain’t coming in here.’

  Syn sighed and made a show of looking around. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll do it the slightly less easy way then.’ His hands gripped the chain-link at shoulder height. Along his forearms a row of lights blazed through the translucent pink of his artificial skin. There was a whine, then a screech as the metal fence was torn apart like paper. Syn ripped a man-sized hole and stepped through.

  The mechanic reeled back in shock, then recovered himself. Lifting a heavy wrench, he swung it in a murderous arc. Syn’s forearm blocked it with a dull thud and the tool flew through the air, then the mercenary stepped in and slapped his palm into his attacker’s chest. The mechanic flew backwards as if shot from a cannon, slamming into the fence on the far side of the enclosure and dropping to the floor where he lay, clutching his chest and wheezing.

  Cale grabbed Syn by the shoulder. ‘What are you—’

  ‘Leave it to me, buck. You still need to get past those doors.’ He pointed at the Tower. The heavy doors were shut tight and a squad of soldiers milled at the foot of the steps, caught between the fire-fight that seemed to be engulfing the perimeter and their orders to guard the entrance.

  ‘Don’t make that face at me,’ Syn said. ‘I’ll try not to kill anyone. Just get in there and do something useful for a change, eh?’ The mercenary gripped Cale’s shoulder, smiled, then quick as lightning turned and was bounding up the access ladder to the walker gantry. Cale watched him pop the cockpit of one of the war machines, then disappear into it as if consumed. A few seconds later, the engines fired up in a gout of acrid smoke.

  Cale retreated through the fence as the walker came to life, its gun arms swinging up with a strain of electric motors. One heavy foot moved, then another, smashing down the fence and narrowly avoiding the downed mechanic, who managed to roll out of the way.

  The walker stomped forwards a few paces, unnoticed by the distracted soldiers at the foot of the stairs. Then there was a whine as capacitors charged, the killing energy welling up inside the walker’s guns until the vents on either side glowed a piercing, violent blue. The walker planted its feet, hunkered down. Fired.

  Twin plasma bolts sailed over the heads of the soldiers and impacted the Tower’s steps with a blinding flash. The roar drowned out the sounds of gunfire for a second. When Cale looked up he saw the blast had struck just above the squad, knocking them to the ground. Cale saw one try to crawl away, blood streaming from his ears.

  The walker adjusted with a clicking of gears, then began to pour salvo after salvo into the doors of the Tower, each impact like the detonation of a star. Cale took cover behind a pile of sandbags, inching forward towards the edge, getting ready to run; when the barrage stopped he would have only seconds to cover the open ground and make the breach.

  The barrels of the walker’s weapons began to glow as the metal of the Tower gates turned cherry, then white. The machine stumbled sideways a step; Cale ducked, thinking Syn had overloaded the machine’s systems, then heard the ping of bullets deflecting off armour plate. The diversion was over.

  The walker planted its feet wider to weather the hail of gunfire now pouring at it from one side and resumed raining purple-hot plasma on to its target. There was a tortured screech and the Tower doors collapsed inwards. As the walker’s guns fell silent Cale bolted from cover, sidestepping the half-dazed soldiers trying to pick themselves up. A throaty boom made him flash a look backwards even as he sprinted for the steps. Something big had hit the walker and he saw it teeter, trying to right itself. Another detonation from one of the guard towers as one of the heavy guns, now swung inward against the new threat, slammed another round into the metal armour of the walker’s torso. It seemed to take an age to hit the ground. A shape rolled clear, pink limbs flashing lurid in the dull afternoon light. Cale heard an indistinct shout, a familiar bellow exhorting him on.

  Arms pumping, legs aching, chest burning, he took the steps three at a time and leaped through the glowing hole, feeling the superheated metal through the soles of his boots. The interior of the Tower welcomed him with its cool darkness.

  By Blood

  The Tower was as he remembered it from all those years ago as a young officer, stiff-necked with the pride in his commission and the starch in his collar, a stranger on his arm. It had been oppressive then, clouding his head with incense and ambition. The vapours had gone, as had the rank on his shoulder, but the Tower still loomed like an open mouth far over his head, a man-made cavern ringing with emptiness. No one whispered under the colonnades or walked the grand stairs that hugged the curved walls up to great balconies of steel and glass. The light that crept in past high windows was weak, tickling the tops of crenellations and ornate spires while leaving the ground level dim. The thick, monumental tapestries sucked away even the sound of his breathing and the almost forgotten sound of the battle outside.

  He wondered if Syn had made it to safety. The last he’d seen him, the mercenary was racing for cover, his neticks a blur, moving faster than he’d thought possible. If anyone could survive that assault, it was him.

  He pushed it out of his mind, concentrating on the task ahead.

  There was something predatory here, even in stillness. The angles looked hungry, drawing the eye as if to tempt the unwary. Up above, beyond the vaulted ribs of the ceiling and far above the rest of the city, was the palace the Seeker had made for himself but never seen in life, now accessible only to the Guide and handpicked servants who, rumour had it, were blinded beforehand.

  Cale ignored the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall, heading instead for a large opening in the wall and a wide spiral walkway that snaked downwards, tongue-like, a centre rail splitting the path down the middle. He trod softly down the gentle slope where a million feet had preceded him, brushed the walls where devotees would lean as they waited for their chance to see the Seeker himself entombed. The marble of the wall was slick from fleeting caresses. It smelled like people here, the odour of the masses seeped into the floor and walls. Despite himself, he felt a sense of trepidation as each step brought him closer to the devotional heart of the Hegemony.

  The ramp ended in a set of massive iron turnstiles, and beyond he saw the flicker of candles. He heard low voices as he eased himself past the creaking barrier. Brennev was there, his back to him. In front of him sat a slumped figure in a chair. He recognised it – the same chair that had held Fulvia before her execution. The crystal sarcophagus lay on its side, the candlelight fractured by its bevelled surface, rainbow patterns dancing on the ceiling. Cale saw a bundle of old rags nearby; a tiny thing, like a child’s toy.

  The Seeker. The desiccated remains of a god, and near it, the corpse of that god’s chief servant.

  Fulvia’s face was almost peaceful in death. An eddy ruffled the candle flames, glimmering reflections skittering over the walls and ceiling like firebugs. It was then that he saw the gun in Brennev’s fist.

  He approached carefully, not trying to hide his footsteps, not wanting to startle. His breathing sounded like bellows in his chest.

  Brennev turned, his face a mask. ‘Still refusing to die, old friend?’ he asked.

  Cale held up his hands to show he was unarmed. ‘I don’t want trouble. I need to speak with you.’

  ‘Actually, we were just speaking about you. That is, your friend here was.’ He waved the gun at Derrin’s seated form; one eye was almost sealed shut by swelling, blood dripping down his pale face and staining his white shirt. ‘Qui
te the tale. You know you killed his father?’

  Cale nodded. If he could keep him talking, he might be able to get closer.

  ‘There were hundreds of them – mostly orphans – trained to watch. This one worked extra hard though, knowing that one day he might find the man who killed his father; put himself above the others. When the time came for you to be useful, so was he.’

  ‘You should let him go. He’s done nothing.’

  ‘He’s a weapon, Cale. He’s their creature. Count yourself lucky he only betrayed you.’

  ‘Let him go, and let’s talk.’

  Brennev considered this. ‘Well,’ he said, flicking Derrin a look, ‘if he can walk…’ He shoved the chair hard with his boot. Derrin was limp, and there was a dull thud as he hit the floor.

  Cale tensed. Was he already dead?

  There was a weak groan. Under the crusted blood the boy was still alive, though barely conscious.

  ‘You still want to save him, don’t you?’ asked Brennev. ‘You have a passion for strays. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t pull the trigger.’

  Cale saw the boy’s chest barely moving. Later, he thought. ‘We found something in the north,’ he said. ‘Something important.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Derrin told you.’

  ‘No, I read Sulara Song’s journals.’

  ‘And still you ignored her. Kept her locked away.’

  ‘Of course I did.’ A flash of irritation. ‘I’m a soldier. I don’t work on hearsay. Plans were already in motion, plans to bring the fight to the enemy. I didn’t want her distracting anyone from the task at hand. Was I wrong?’ A casual wave of the pistol. ‘Look what it’s done to you.’

  ‘It’s real, I saw it.’

  ‘A mystical information stockpile? I suppose you think it’ll change the world?’ he snorted. ‘When did you become so naïve? Better it stays buried.’

  Cale indicated the dais. From where he stood, he could see the glowing symbols that had rested underneath the Seeker’s sarcophagus, the mechanism that would activate the ancient machinery inside the Tower. ‘There is a transmitter here that will allow anyone within a hundred klicks to access the network. In time, we could spread it further. We could understand the world as it was before the Ruin, all the knowledge of generations for the taking, by anyone. That’s the world we wanted before, free from dogma and ignorance.’