"They don't know,” Diz says. "The outfit came in the night and was gone before the morning. Took most of the armory with them."
I swallow. "You're right, that will raise hell. I'm pretty sure most of the guns we carry are Arsenal made."
"Were Arsenal made,” Yeti offers.
I grimace, looking up. "What do you mean they 'took most of the armory with them'?"
"I mean, that's all I know. The main manufactory’s almost all gone. Even stranger, it wasn’t explosives. No score marks . . . just concrete crumpled like it was nothing."
Yeti leans in, “Vitortov’s headquarters wasn’t that far from here, was it?”
“Maybe two hundred miles south or so. Stationed in Split Rock. Doubt it’ll be enough to make that Old Man turnaround though,” Diz says quietly.
I shake my head. "Well. . . whatever path the Admiral chooses, here's to friends, both alive and dead. May we stay the former."
A clink of glasses is all that’s needed to seal that conversation.
The day wears on. I opt to stop drinking, remembering I have about two hundred men, women, and children to look after. The last thing they need is a drunken caretaker. With our day cleared for celebration, I take the chance to tour the cabins where I’ve deposited my people.
Most of the groups are stable. Requests for more food is common. The brunt of the medical situations have either been resolved, or are being tended to. I make my way through the influx of marines on crutches. Some of them are making a quick recovery. I stop the ones who aren’t, thanking them for their service. I’m hardly restoring their ability to walk, but it may help them try to rationalize the price.
The crowd thins as I take my normal shortcut. Eventually, the only sound that remains is that of my footfalls reverberating off the walls. It feels good to be alone after so much stimulation.
A door creaks open. Dark eyes peer out, checking for anyone else in earshot. Most citizens are out on the deck enjoying their right to a post-battle promenade.
A gravelly voice calls out from behind the shadow. “Sage Basmon! Your presence is requested. Be discreet.”
I stop, staring at the shadow. “Apparently. Who are you?” I ask cautiously.
The shadow steps out from its spider hole. Rays of light stripe the stark face of Sabine’s guardian.
Why? This isn’t the location where I housed them. I’m also not quite sure how they got access to the room. Curiosity and an alcohol-induced loss of inhibition spur me on anyway. Taking off my flight cap, I enter the small room.
The door slams shut, plunging me into complete blackness. I freeze. Before I make a move, a match strikes, and the crescent of Sabine’s face illuminates behind it.
“Are you afraid of the darkness?” she asks.
If I’m honest with myself, there’s a part of me that still is, to some extent. Sometimes I let my mind wander to hidden horrors, creeping behind a door or hiding in the shadows, but of course, I can’t admit this, especially if I’m supposed to be a soldier.
“No,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even.
Sabine looks at me inquisitively. “Well you should be,” she responds.
Hairs prickle up the back of my neck.
“There are in fact, hidden horrors that lurk in dark corners. They are things that go ‘bump’ in the night. They may not be in your bedroom . . . yet. But give them enough time and freedom to do as they please, and they will find residence there soon enough,” she says quietly.
I say nothing, keeping my eyes on her. Where’s her manservant? The match flickers, nearly dead due to the high altitude. Pitch black lunges to reclaim the room.
“There are ways to keep the monsters at bay though,” Sabine says, flicking her chilly grey eyes up to mine, “perhaps even banish them entirely.”
“How?” I indulge her.
She smiles. I can tell she enjoys being able to pace the conversation. Sabine waves the match just enough to give the flame sufficient oxygen to flare up again.
“You find sources with more fire than you can muster on your own,” she responds, lighting the corner lamp behind her. “You ally with them. Find a way to make them realize that this darkness must be repelled.”
She relights the match with the flame she’s just created, moving over to the other side of the room to light a second lamp.
Her platinum hair falls over her shoulder as the second lamp ignites. “You use that momentum from your first ally to make way for others.”
She continues lighting each lamp until all corners of the room glow. “Pretty soon, what appeared like an impossible task seems almost manageable,” she says.
She walks up to me until out noses nearly touch.
“And by then, the monsters have fewer places to hide,” she states quietly.
I bite my lip. My eyes dart to her manservant, who’s appeared with the lighting of the last lamp.
“What kind of monsters are we talking about here?” I probe.
A shock blond lock falls across her eyes as she shifts her head. “I’m willing to wager you’ve been wondering how I received my wounds?” She gestures to the metal embedded in her arm.
I shrug. “It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”
Pausing as if to debate whether or not to continue, Sabine makes a decision. Her eyes sharpen again. “Would you like to hear a story?” she asks.
I flinch as a wooden chair drags across the ground behind me. Her manservant’s secured me a seat. His feral eyes bore into mine.
“Well, it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” I concede.
“Good,” she responds, clearing throat. “What you have to understand about my people’s history, the Tesarik Clan, is that we were a strong seafaring tribe. We were one of the few left capable of fielding a navy that wouldn’t meet its fate on the ridges jutting from the First World, or any of the sunken cities beneath. The last of the Carriers. As natural sea captains and fishermen since the fall of the First World, we were eventually able to adapt to the new currents and topography. We flourished on the sea bed as the rest of the world fled to the skies.”
I chafe at the comment. I don’t like the inference that I was born here out of desperation.
Sabine brings her voice above a whisper, competing with the wind filtering through from the hall. “With our capital ship, we had access to alcoves and landmasses where planes and zeppelins could never dream of landing. We struck out on smaller skiffs, scavenging all of the seaborne nooks and crannies that airborne companies had never touched. One day, we made a discovery . . . and it changed everything.”
She takes my silence as a cue to continue. “What we found, was an ore deposit the Tesariks had never seen before . . . Once treated, the material becomes as light as pumice, but stronger than steel.”
“That sounds highly unlikely,” I cut in.
“That’s what our elders said at first,” she counters. “What we came to find, was not only does the ore possess those qualities, but it’s also magnetized towards other elements of metal. Its properties are similar to an exceptionally tough, naturally occurring Neodymium Iron Boron, but we coined the term ‘Neo Magnetite’ for the lay person.”
I put up a hand, stopping her. “Wait, Magnetite is already a known metal. It doesn’t possess any of those qualities, other than being slightly magnetic.”
It’s Sabine’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t mark you for much of a scholar.”
Ignoring the insult, I lean back into the conversation. “There’s not much else to do as an orphan suspended at ten thousand feet.”
She mulls this over. “Understood. That’s precisely the reason why I made the distinction of ‘Neo’ Magnetite. It’s the first time it’s ever been recorded occurring naturally on Earth. Every other time it’s existed, it was man-made in labs.”
She gestures around the room. “As you well know, there are very few labs still in existence today. Our engineers postulated that the sheer force of the sea caused veins of this ore
to churn up to the surface for the first time since the Drowning.”
The grey pieces of metal embedded in her arm flicker up at me. She holds the arm at such an odd angle. The whole side of her body looks fatigued.
“That’s all well and good, but how did that discovery change anything?” I ask.
Sabine’s features pinch in thought. “That was only the beginning. If our tribe has a second love behind sailing, it’s engineering. I took part in a large-scale project to research the creation of electromagnetic cores meant to power our ships using this newfound metal.
“You’re an engineer?” I ask.
“Was,” Sabine answers. A tinge of pain rises in her voice that I haven’t detected before.
Sabine’s eyes are somewhere else. “Our leader grew very interested in this research, and took it on as his own.”
“Were you able to get them to work?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath. “The smaller models were unsuccessful, initially. The real. . . breakthrough occurred when our leader was able to complete the first working core. He and his team super-sized the schematics and addressed the imbalances that were causing us to fail.”
“So again, why is that life-changing?” I ask, sitting back.
Sabine’s eyes flit back up to mine, “It’s life-changing because this new core allows a magnetite structure to form around it however you wish to design it. With it, our leader sought to make something that would withstand the test of time.”
A silence rests between us. There’s more.
“So what’d he build?” I ask.
Her chin falls almost to her chest. “A fortress.”
“And where exactly is this fortress located? I ask, picking at my teeth with a thumb.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
I sit back up slowly, taking my hand away from my mouth. “What do you mean you don’t know? I thought this thing was supposed to be a monument to your leader’s power, or something,” I say.
The skin around her cheekbones tightens. “I don’t know where it is, because it flies.”
“What?” I shake my head.
She stands up. “The Neo Magnetite is so light, that with enough power from the engines, the fortress can suspend itself in the air,” she explains.
I lean back in my chair, massaging my temples. “So we have a rogue, impenetrable, flying fortress, cruising around who knows where?” My alcohol sheen burns away as I debate leaving the room and the delusional people in it. “What does this stuff even look like?” I ask.
Sabine holds her out embedded arm. “You’re looking at it.”
I take in the gruesome pock marks and healed-over magnetite protruding from her flesh. “And what’s this, some sort of art project?” I goad.
I flinch as Sabine’s manservant jolts up, knocking his chair to the ground.
Sabine turns around. “Calm down Raltz. We need him,” Sabine whispers evenly.
Smoothing her shirt against her sides, she turns back to face me. “Our leader was once a great man. But when he lost his wife to a bandit raid, he buried himself in religious texts,” she continues, placing a hand on the back of her neck. “Some of us were worried about his grief affecting his leadership. How he dealt with our armada. But we soon discovered his grief was the last thing we needed to fear. He renamed the fortress, The Ark.” She swallows. “I feared his for stability, and his intentions, so I fled. Both Raltz and I fled.”
She looks back at her large friend. “Raltz did his best to protect me, but as we escaped The Ark, an explosion sent shrapnel from the Neo Magnetite in all directions. Unfortunately, one of those directions was mine.”
Sabine holds up her metallic arm to the lamplight, allowing it to glow with a new vigor.
As she lowers it, her eyes fix on mine. “In addition to its magnetic properties, Neodymium Magnetite’s toughness makes it incredibly resistant to physical trauma.”
My eyes widen, putting it all together. “It makes an excellent armor.”
She nods. “That’s correct. Our former leader now pilots one of the most formidable war machines ever created.”
Images flash in my mind: pictures in the books I read as a child. Rupturing mushroom clouds flicker to the surface. Mass graves. Our ancestors used to level one another with the flick of a switch. No wonder this is the world we inherited.
“So how do you propose we stop this thing?” I ask.
The enigma returns to Sabine’s eyes. “I’m still formulating a specific plan, but as of right now it appears that brute force is our best option,” she says.
I lower my voice. “Brute force? You think brute force is the best way to tackle a structure that’s built for warfare?”
She walks along the side of the table, running her finger across the top. “Yes, and it will be its downfall.”
I sit back down. “So even if this man pilots this great war machine, he hasn’t used it yet, right?”
Sabine takes her finger from the table, tapping it back down decisively. “Incorrect. He has the blood of an entire village on his hands,” she says, digging her nails into the wood. “At the very least.”
“Did he just gun them down? What happened?” I ask.
“It was worse than that,” Sabine replies. “He buried them in their own soil.”
An odd answer. Thinking of all of the possible ways this could be accomplished, I ask the simple question, “How?”
Sabine’s eyes flick up to Raltz. He gives her a slow nod before she continues. “Our former leader, Garon Tesarik, discovered a way to harness the power of the core he created. Before he led us, he was one of our top engineers, always tinkering with things. He was responsible for the hull integrity for a large portion of our fleet.”
She draws up next to me. “Later on, as he became infatuated with The Ark and its capabilities, Garon’s thirst for the naturally occurring Neodymium expanded beyond the vein we had discovered. It became obvious that the Core could be used to interact with the magnetite, manipulating its form. One of the other top engineers had a revolutionary idea. By shutting off all other auxiliary power outlets except those that kept the Ark airborne, one could concentrate the raw magnetic power of the Core in any direction they chose.”
“So instead of just using the Core to pull exposed Neo Magnetite up to The Ark, it could be augmented to rip the stuff straight from the ground,” I say, meeting her eyes.
Sabine’s severe visage breaks ever so slightly. “You know, you really are smarter than you appear.”
“Thanks,” I answer curtly.
She tilts her head to the side. “Since you’re keeping up so well, I’ll give you another question to answer.”
I pull myself forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Shoot.”
“Where are most precious metals located above sea level?” she asks thoughtfully.
I make the realization. “The mountains . . . ”
“Correct,” she says. “And where have most settlements been established Post-Drowning?”
The blood leaves my face. “The mountains.”
Confident I understand, she returns to her stern manner. “Correct.”
Her eyes take her far away from this place. “We stopped above a small coastal village perched on top of a bluff. I thought we were there to trade with the locals. It turns out we wanted much more,” she says.
Her eyes clear, turning back to me. “Before I knew what was happening, the Core pulsed. The ship quaked underneath my feet as all of the ship’s power redirected toward this little town.”
She falls silent.
“Garon got what he wanted. I witnessed the shards of Neo Magnetite explode up from the ground, upturning houses and cutting through villagers, - burying them in furrows of earth. Hearing the impact of it all hitting our bay sickened me. We were high, but not high enough to miss the screams echoing from the village. To this day, I haven’t slept a night where those cries haven’t haunted my dreams. The second the first shard hit, my bodyguard an
d I knew we could no longer be part of it. So we ran.”
I look up. “Bodyguard? Why did you need a bodyguard?” I ask.
Sabine looks away. “Because I am Sabine Tesarik. I am our leader’s daughter.”
“Of course you are,” I respond, running my hand through my hair. Storing this new discovery in my mind, I ask one last question. “So why’s your father harvesting that material? What could he possibly want so badly that he would be willing to kill hundreds in the process?”
Sabine tucks a blonde lock behind her ear. “It’s hard to tell, but before I escaped, my father splintered from the Tesarik armada and created a fleet of his own called the Cascade. He spoke to me of creating a weapon that could cut through the heavens. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first. But, I think I understand it now. I’ll tell you more once we know we can trust you.”
Unease seeps into the room.
“That’s a tough proposition considering how vague you’re being,” I say.
Sabine nods. “This is true. Allow me to leave you with this to consider: my father plans on washing the earth clean and starting again. Perhaps that thought, and his desire to cut open the sky, are connected.”
My eyes widen. “The reports. The deaths. The attacks on the Southern settlements. You’re saying your father’s behind all of them?” I ask.
Sabine places her hands behind her back. “Most of Raltz and my time since our escape has been spent being held in captivity by the Legion. There weren’t many radio broadcasts or papers in that brig, but if I were to guess, my father has already begun his death-march up the coast.”
Quiet falls on the three of us. The creaks and groans of the ship rise from the walls.
Sabine moves in front of me. “What I’m asking, Mr. Basmon, is, will you be my first lamp?”
A coolness balls in the pit of my stomach. I clench my teeth, glancing at the bright lights in each corner of the room. Their warmth laps against my skin even from there.
We lock eyes.
“Someone has to be the first, right?”
10
The wind whips against my overcoat, delivering an unseasonable chill. I fight to get a good grip on the cold rungs as I climb the look-out ladder. A large chunk of bread and a hard-bartered jar of jam are firmly wedged into my coat pocket. I hate this climb. It’s unreasonably exposed and lacking in any safety measures. It was designed as an afterthought, although now it’s the only way to reach the sniper’s perch nestled just below the brim of the Artemis’s balloon.
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