by S. A. Tholin
"Paint it," she said. "Paint it red."
He lifted the rifle to his good shoulder. His primer connected to its systems and searched the skies until it found its target. The targeting laser beamed bright crimson, and he held it, tracking the ship. If the RebEarth shuttle was half-decent, its systems would notice.
On a whim, he released the tracking laser and activated it again - three quick bursts of light, followed by three longer ones, followed by another three quick ones.
"Like in the old movies," he said to Joy, and she smiled.
The shadow descended from the sky, coming closer and closer until they could see its red and black colours through the heat-shimmer of engines. The back ramp fell open in a rush of air and bright light, and Cassimer was on his feet before his spine noticed, lifting Joy towards Florey.
She was no longer on Cato, and he had fulfilled his promise. Good.
"Commander!"
Florey reached for him, but Cassimer's spine had given out and his knees were no better. Mud ran high and deep, pulling him along. Cato's grip had the strength of a drowning man's, and he had none at all.
But Florey had plenty, and Florey's gauntleted fingers closed like iron around his commander's arms.
"I've got you, Commander."
When the shuttle's ramp closed and the howling wind was shut out, Cassimer rolled onto his back and into a dream of flame and firebird feathers.
◆◆◆
The fire burnt Cassimer but danced around Joy, licking mud from her copper hair. Florey dragged him through the flames and into the centre of a volcano. Scarsdale was there, and so was he, dead and gone, and maybe this was what came afterwards. No sky, like he'd told Albany, but not as bad as he might've imagined.
Scarsdale turned his head, but when Cassimer reached for his Morrigan, Florey took it from him.
"Earth have mercy!" Hopewell's voice. Cassimer blinked, and through the blaze, he saw the outline of the lieutenant. She seemed unconcerned by Scarsdale looming behind her, but held a gun to a pilot's feathered head. "Both of you, alive!"
"Can we get the hell out of here now?" squawked the pilot, and Hopewell smacked the top of his head, ruffling red feathers.
"Nobody gave you permission to speak, buddy. But yeah..." She glanced towards a shrapnel-battered viewport. "Everybody had better get strapped in."
Florey eased Cassimer into a seat or into reaching flames. He groaned, biting down hard against the pain, and then Joy's cool hands chased the fever from his skin. She unbuckled the straps on his vest and helped him remove it, before clipping his safety harness in place.
He brushed mud from her face and ran his thumb across her nose and lips.
"Stars," he said and saw their light in her eyes, "you are beautiful."
"Commander?" She gave him a worried look and he wondered if she hadn't understood, if his words had been caught and twisted by the fire.
"Stim withdrawal," Florey said. "You take some generics, Commander?"
He nodded, and the liquid in his spine leapt to sear the base of his skull.
"Always rough coming down from gennies. No detox in the shuttle med kit, but anaesthetics will level him out."
Joy cut the jumpsuit from his shoulder and wiped his skin clean with towels. Florey injected the anaesthetic, and Cassimer closed his eyes and wanted to sleep, but was afraid of waking in the mud and endless ash.
When he opened his eyes again, the flames no longer danced, but the phoenix on their pilot's shaved head was still very much real.
"RebEarth?"
"Affirmative," Hopewell said, not bothering to conceal her relief at hearing his voice. "Neither Florey or I are pilots, so we had to improvise. Fortunately, Warsaw here counts both his girlfriend and his brother as part of his crew. They're in their ship's brig right now, and we promised that we wouldn't kill them if Warsaw did us this little favour."
"You said we'd be pardoned," protested Warsaw.
"Maybe you will and maybe you won't," said Hopewell, who didn't have the authority to make such promises, "but not dying is a decent first step."
Cassimer did have the authority and felt inclined towards mercy. Maybe because of the sweet song of anaesthetics, or maybe because of the view.
The Cascade was gone, descended into Cato's chaos. Only a sinkhole remained, deep and glistening. The mountains were being tugged into it, one peak after the next. Where wreckage burned, winds caught the flames and sent them whirling across the plains. Dust vitrified in their wake, in wending paths of glossy black.
Cato's core was old and hollow, its fires long extinguished, and only darkness welled from the sinkhole. Glass flowed like magma, solidifying into sharp-crested waves. In the sky swirled a maelstrom of ash, lit from within by flash-fire.
"Get us out here, pilot, and you'll have your pardon."
◆◆◆
The air conditioning died in the middle of a fire cloud. The cockpit lights died minutes later. A massive block of glass smashed into the shuttle's side, sending it spinning, and in the corridor, water spewed from pipes as the plumbing died, too.
But the engines didn't die, and the shuttle pushed through the last layer of dust and into the blackness beyond.
"Stars," Joy said, blinking away tears. "I can see them so clearly."
"Clearer than ever." He squeezed her hand and looked at Florey. The gunner's visor was down and dark. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
Florey shrugged. "Reckoned I owed you for Kalau'a Valley."
"Kalau'a Valley. Nearly as bad as Cato."
"Yes, Commander. Bastion owes us a cushy mission or two."
Except this mission wasn't over yet. "Ship's comms operational? Patch me in."
The pilot worked the instrument panel slowly and sullenly. Cassimer's HUD confirmed the connection, and he imagined a light cutting through the void.
"Lucklaw, do you copy?"
"Commander -" A pause, and then, much calmer: "Commander. I read you."
"We're on the Rising Flame, en route to you." He'd intended to request a sitrep, but something in Lucklaw's voice made him go softer. "How're you doing up there, Corporal?"
"I'm... oh stars, hang on -"
The connection remained quiet for several minutes.
"Commander, there's a bit of a situation up here. Two Daughters did not make the fold."
"They're still at the Cascade?"
"Yes, but three RebEarth ships have folded into the system. They've engaged the Daughters."
"They think they're fighting us." Hopewell laughed. "Well, best of luck to them. Are they winning?"
"Can't say, Lieutenant. The demon sent troops in to hunt me down. It's really..." Another pause. "I'm in a lot of trouble, Commander."
The personal plea wasn't lost on Cassimer. "Tell me what's going on, Lucklaw. How many are in there with you?"
"Eighty-seven at last count."
The cockpit fell silent. Finally, Hopewell said: "Well, not going to lie to you, kid - this will be a little bit hairier than your typical Wednesday."
"I told you," said Lucklaw, "it's Thursday."
"Doesn't matter what day of the week it is." Cassimer straightened his back, flexing his one working shoulder. "We've got your back."
◆◆◆
Lucklaw was alone, but also not. As the Rising Flame sped through space, its passengers huddled close, sharing advice and ideas with the corporal. A dozen demonic vessels died in a fiery trap Hopewell had designed (suspiciously quickly, as though it was the sort of thing she spent a lot of time thinking about), and even Joy helped Lucklaw narrowly evade death more than once.
"The tunnels taught me a lot about hiding," she said, and Cassimer was glad he'd been able to keep his promise to her.
"Just keep your head down," Hopewell said. "We're almost there."
As the Cascade came into view, so did the five ships battling it out. Railgun fire hammered against force fields. One Daughter was buckling under the assault, but a RebEarth ship bloomed with fire, and a smattering of escape pods burst
from its hull.
"Primo bastards," hissed the pilot, and Hopewell smacked him again.
"That's not us, you idiot."
"How are we going to get through that?" Florey walked to the viewport and ran his fingers across the outline of the Cascade. "How do we board the Cascade?"
"We'll think of something."
"Commander? I think they're in the vents with me. I think I can hear them. I... wait. I think I see... oh."
"Lucklaw?"
"It's coming. I can see... I can see everything."
"Is he...?" Hopewell looked nauseous. "Did they get him?"
The instrument panel of the Rising Flame beeped angrily, and the pilot swore. "Hang on. We've got incoming."
Cassimer looked towards the viewport, expecting a projectile. Instead, he saw - stars in the black - and then a formation of ships, briefly ablaze with silver fold fire.
Six grey-hulled caravels, emblazoned with the Primaterre sun. Force fields crackled bright around them, and Cassimer's HUD informed him that all connections to the Cascade were being jammed and that the new arrivals were broadcasting across Primaterre channels.
"...Captain Sligo of Blackwell Blockade Fleet responding to a sanction request. Commander Cassimer, do you copy?"
"We read you, Captain." Authorisation codes and identification checks zipped between his primer and the flagship of the fleet.
"We read your position as inside a RebEarth vessel, Commander. Is this correct?"
"Affirmative. RebEarth ships Rising Flame and Cephalopod are under Primaterre control. We have a man inside the Cascade in need of immediate evac."
"No-fire flags are set. Rescue teams standing by." A pause, and then the captain said: "Receiving conflicting intel from Primaterre frigate Erigone."
"Both frigates are under enemy control, but be advised, there's Primaterre personnel in stasis on board. Limit damage if possible."
"You want us to fire on Primaterre ships?"
"I'm ordering you to."
"Very good." Another pause, and then the captain added: "One hell of a situation, Commander."
"Just a typical Thursday," Cassimer replied, and was pleasantly surprised to hear his team laugh.
Epilogue
The Earth glowed bright on the display behind Company Chief Vysoke-Myto's desk.
Cassimer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Extensive spine-work had taken its toll - Rhys's diagnosis had proven optimistic, and the Scathach med-techs had been forced to rebuild the column from scratch. New spine. New shoulder. New man.
But the Primaterre was still the same old Primaterre, and Scathach the same old station, and he wondered, as he searched the faces of fellow soldiers, whether they were being lied to or if they were the liars.
The shadows did not have eyes, but invisible enemies were very much real.
Vysoke-Myto had finished the debrief and pulled a bottle and glasses from a cabinet.
"It's not what I was expecting when I assigned you this mission, but there you go. Drinks on me."
He poured two glasses of pomegranate liquor and nudged one across the desk. Cassimer shook his head.
"My team did their best in difficult circumstances. I regret that I failed to bring them all home safely."
"Huh." Vysoke-Myto pushed the glass a little closer anyway. "You misunderstand, Cassimer. If I'd known - if I'd had even an inkling - I would've made damn sure you were going with more than seven men. You requested twelve, if I recall correctly, and an additional shuttle. Well, guess who nixed those requests? Guess who didn't want to stretch this quarter's budget because one of his commanders was being overly cautious? The man who's going to need more than one drink, that's who."
He emptied his glass demonstratively and set about pouring another one.
"Might've got you a pilot with fewer infractions, too. That's all on me, and don't think I won't be feeling it."
Silence stretched between them. On the display, the minutes ticked away.
Finally, Vysoke-Myto sighed.
"But maybe it's more than a misunderstanding. Maybe it's a trust issue. You're thinking I might be one of them. If I were a human houseplant, you'd think my fingers would be a little greener." Vysoke-Myto tapped the trunk of his desk bonsai. It shivered and sloughed a handful of rust-brown pine needles. "Damndest thing. Guess plants and I just aren't meant to be."
Human houseplant. Doctrine had already decreed the lichen demonic in nature - across the station and the Protectorate, announcement screens were burning hot with warnings of the new threat - but on Scathach Station, it was Hopewell's definition that had caught on.
"Besides, I'm informed I passed the PE-test, whatever that is."
PE stood for Pain Exposure, and in the bowels of Scathach Station the real Operations Officer Elkhart writhed in torment while a steady stream of personnel were sent unaware through the next-door cell. Cassimer knew, because he'd been down there to consult.
"Until everyone's been cleared, we'll just have to trust each other. Especially those of us in command. Because if we don't - if we start looking at each other funny - things will turn ugly real fast. You know how it is."
Yes. Fears turned to whispers turned to talk turned to violence.
He nodded and hoped that Vysoke-Myto would move onto the part of the conversation that had his stomach churning in anticipation.
"Or maybe it's not about trust. Maybe you just have somewhere better to be."
"Sir?"
"The vetting team released your girl little over an hour ago."
"'My girl'." He frowned, unsure of how he felt about that.
"I've seen enough reports in my time to know how to read between the lines." Vysoke-Myto's smile grew irritatingly wide. "Pre-war Kirkclair archives are spotty, but they managed to dig up enough for confirmation of identity."
He turned his monitor towards Cassimer, who didn't need to read a report to know the truth of Joy. But the pictures...
The first was her Hierochloe employee identification photo, but the other was a screen grab that he instantly recognised as footage of the departure of the Ever Onward. The techs had found her in the crowds. Everyone else was looking at tablets or phones or towards the gates, but Joy's face was turned upwards. Towards the stars.
Vysoke-Myto was right. He did have better places to be.
"She has a couple more appointments, and they'll want to run her through the cryo catch-up program. After that, she's got a seat reserved on the next ship to Basic."
"You accepted my recruitment request." His hands relaxed. He'd been ready to fight Bastion on this, but was glad that he didn't need to.
"Cassimer..." Vysoke-Myto sighed. "Do you know what being Company Chief entails? It's a fancy title, and the pay's not bad, but most of the job is listening to people whine and moan all damn day long. We don't like our uniforms, CC. Vysoke-Myto, your company ammo expenditure is ridiculous. The air-conditioning in my quarters is making a funny noise, CC. Why don't we get steak more often, CC, RebEarth eat steak all the time. Matter of fact, the appointment before yours was with Commander Rexby, who wants me to put his family's water bill on the station budget, and my next appointment is with another one of your colleagues, who..." Vysoke-Myto tapped the bottle. "Well, let's just say this isn't going back in the cabinet before I can be sure I won't be hearing the words mineral collection coming out of his mouth. But you've been here three years, and you haven't once made a personal request. That buys you a lot of good will. You could've recruited a damn potato and I would've pushed the approval through."
"What I want is irrelevant. Joy..." He paused. "Somerset should be accepted on her own merits."
"And so she was. But I still felt the urge to do you that damn favour that I know you'll never ask for, which is why I spent the past week arguing with Treasury about the medical costs charged to your account. I managed to get them to agree to a fifty percent discount, so congratulations - you're still a rich man, Commander."
"That wasn't necessary."
Cassimer frowned. "Didn't you get my other request?"
"I did."
"And?"
"I passed it on to Bastion Command. They weren't interested, and frankly, neither am I."
"Company Chief. I neglected my duty. I broke the code of conduct. I'm not fit to command, and if you won't accept my resignation, you have no choice but to discharge me."
"You led your team against impossible odds. You fought RebEarth and a new breed of demon in hostile territory fraught with storms and unpredictable danger. Nobody - and I mean nobody - who's read the mission reports is interested in nit-picking minor infractions and misconduct. Bastion are ecstatic. If Rampart have any complaints, they've been squashed by Admiral Lucklaw. She's over the moon that her boy's coming home with a fistful of medals to his name - I'm fairly sure not even she was expecting that particular outcome."
Yes, Lucklaw had done well. The Blackwell rescue teams had pulled him from the Cascade, but not before he had taken out thirty-three demon vessels. Bastion had already come fishing for the corporal's permission to turn his achievements into promotional material, but Lucklaw had - on Cassimer's advice - turned them down.
"Oriel are thrilled - turns out nobody has ever folded a ship into a planet before. Whatever science divisions aren't working on the red demon are crawling over what's left of Cato right now. Tower are... well, Tower. I'm told they cordoned off sections of the deepest crater. A couple of Oriel officers were grumbling about it - said they found something caught in the glass, but as soon as they started excavating, Tower swooped in and took over."
"Do you know what they found?"
"I asked, but Tower had slapped them with NDAs that, to be frank, read more like death threats than legal documents."
Cassimer nodded and tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he didn't want to know.
"One of your lieutenants - David Florey - reported an incident of assault but has since retracted the charge. He says now that it did happen, but only after he disobeyed a direct order. Got that statement in writing, in case you want to press charges."