Iron Truth

by S. A. Tholin

  It wasn't like she'd never been in frightening situations on Mars. The difference was that back home, she'd had the safety net of society. The one time she'd got mugged, the event itself had been over in seconds and afterwards, a thick blanket of law enforcement, insurance companies and nurses had protectively wrapped itself around her.

  Get mugged on Cato, and she'd be lucky if she was still alive to complain about it. Nobody helped; nobody cared - even Voirrey and Duncan were only friends by circumstance.

  So if the Primaterre soldiers wanted to hurt her, there was nothing she could do to stop them, and nobody would come to her aid. In all the universe, only Finn cared - and he slept quietly under shifting dunes.

  "They sound like the kind of people I'd rather not bump into round the dark bend of a tunnel."

  "What sort of backwater world are you from that you don't know about the Primaterre?" Keeva shook her head.

  "I'm from Sibelius," Joy said, just as she, Duncan and Voirrey had rehearsed. "It's a small colony on the outer..."

  "Whatever. If it isn't Cato, it doesn't matter. That's a lesson you should take to heart, now that this is your home."

  Joy frowned, deeply disgusted at that idea.

  "There was a city here once. Stairhaven, they called it. All swallowed up by the time I was born, but my grandmother, she once lived in a house not far from here. She told me how the ground used to be green and soft-leafed, and how every morning they'd get fresh bread from a bakery across the street. Not greet bread, but bread that was white and fluffy on the inside, and golden brown on the outside, and they'd eat it with butter and this wonderful thing called jam."

  "I've seen the ruins," Joy said.

  "That's all that's left now. See, the people who first came to Cato were clever. They knew nothing much would grow on the ashen plains, and they knew that they couldn't survive the wind and lightning. So they built a force field - not like the piece of shit back at Nexus, but one large and powerful enough to protect an entire city. A great big glimmering canopy, my grandmother said, under which the skies were always blue and cheerful."

  Keeva poured herself another drink of her own liquor and emptied it before continuing. "Then the war came. Not to Cato. Here the people were happy, living cosy little lives underneath the shimmering dome, doing what they were told. Grandmother couldn't even say what the war was about. It was all happening so far away and seemed so unimportant. But it grew and grew like a black hole, destroying everything in its path. That was the first time anybody heard of the Primaterre. They didn't start the war, but they fought and scratched and took for themselves what they wanted. Took the Earth to keep for themselves."

  "What happened to Cato?"

  "Cato was no longer worth supporting. No supplies came, no ships, and no one to repair the Cascade. Those who could, left. Me and the rest of this sorry lot are the descendants of those who were told not to." Keeva spat on the ground. "Without the force field and the white-picket fences, we had to adapt to ruin and dust. We had to learn, had to listen. Had to be told."

  "Had to be told what? By who?"

  "You'll find out. The telling takes time; the words must grow root." Keeva's eyelids twitched. "You should go to Nexus. It's easier there. Out here it's too quiet, too easy to hear your own thoughts and sometimes the thoughts are really bad and you think that maybe you should just die, but..."

  "Keeva?"

  "See what I mean?" A strained smile stretched Keeva's face. "Too quiet, but the train will come soon and we'll go back."

  "To Nexus, where you can be told over and over again." Joy shivered as she repeated the phrase. Perhaps Cato did have mysteries worth pondering, but then, perhaps some mysteries should stay just that. Whatever it meant, she felt very strongly that she didn't want to be told.

  "Yes." Keeva's smile eased into something more genuine. "You understand. That's good."

  "And the Primaterre soldiers? Will they be told too?"

  "No, no. Their corruption runs deep. We don't want that here, to fester and spread. They're nothing but mad dogs, barking at the stars to purge them of demons."

  "Demons?" Joy pressed, half-fearing that Keeva would smile that awful smile again and say: "Why yes, dear Joy, the demons that live in Nexus and tell us and TELL us over and OVER again."

  Keeva did smile, but with scorn. "Have you ever seen a demon?"

  "Of course not."

  "Neither have I, nor anyone I know. But the Primaterre see them in the shadows and in the faces of frightened settlers. They see them in the grey sands and in a pretty girl's smile. Impure, they say, and that is all the excuse they need to slaughter and scorch. We don't want such people here."

  Joy couldn't argue with that. While she hadn't forgotten the comforting sensation of another's hand around hers, strong fingers seemingly promising safekeeping, she also remembered the other soldier's words: "just another dirty local". Not much of a leap from that to impure.

  Still, the Primaterre was clearly a civilisation of great scientific achievement. Science and faith weren't necessarily mutually exclusive, but a line had to be drawn somewhere - and that line was surely well before demons. Unless...

  Don't go there, warned Imaginary Finn, who'd always found her fascination with the supernatural ridiculous, but he was too late.

  Once something was scientifically proven, it ceased to be supernatural. She had slept for a hundred and nineteen years, missing a century's worth of discovery and late-night documentaries. Demon could simply be the word chosen to describe a previously undiscovered life form. What if the Primaterre weren't religious fanatics, but soldiers in a war against an otherworldly enemy?

  "Ah, don't look so scared, girl." Keeva, misinterpreting Joy's anxiety, laughed. "We'll soon be rid of them."

  "What do you mean? "

  "I mean they're dead and don't even know it. Their death comes for them, creeping in the night or rolling in on a storm. It has been agreed, and it has been allowed."

  "You're going to attack?"

  "I'm going home to my brewery." As if on cue, the table began to tremble. "You'd do well to get on the train too."

  "Why? Are they going out to attack the soldiers now?" Joy looked around the farm - nobody seemed in a fit state.

  "The chosen already hunt. When the Primaterre are found, and when Rivka wills it, the soldiers die."

  "Rivka?"

  "Our little queen of the grey plains was the one who whispered in the ears of drifters and undercity brutes. Not all agree. Some would prefer to leave the Primaterre to Cato. She is not defenceless, our world, and if the Primaterre wish to make a claim after all these years, they'll find it hard-earned. But Rivka, she does not like the Primaterre, and so she rallies and stirs the blood of Cato's people."

  We're not here for war. Lie or truth, a war was coming, and she could play a part.

  If she told the Primaterre soldiers, they could prepare to leave or defend themselves - or they'd have the excuse they needed to massacre the locals.

  She could also give Rivka the location of the soldiers' base. But Cassimer had told her his name, and it was harder to pull the trigger on someone who was no longer a stranger.

  "Are you coming?" Keeva had stood, ragged coat slung over one shoulder.

  "I have more trading to do." And more thinking. Much more thinking. God, maybe some drinking too. She'd never been black-out drunk like the drooling Natham, but it was starting to look downright tempting.

  "Oh yeah? What do you need? I'm always open for business, and good company always gets a discount. Come on, let's see what I can do for you before the train leaves."

  ◆◆◆

  The station had quietened as travellers had filed onto the train. Keeva greeted a handful of men waiting by the conductor, as if holding the train for her. A brief, hushed conversation passed between Keeva and her men before she turned back to Joy.

  "My boys work fast, so they've loaded most of our goods already. Reckon there's still a crate or two left in the ticket office,
though. Go have a look, and let me know if there's anything you're interested in. Be quick about it - Conductor's looking more sour by the second."

  The ticket office was pitch black. Darkness had been a shock to Joy, who was used to the perpetual glow of Kirkclair. She'd spent her first night on Cato in absolute wide-eyed fear at the silent blackness. It had felt like floating in the void of space - except that in space there were stars (and zero chance of being eaten by spiders).

  In time, she'd got used to it. Had even come to appreciate it occasionally. Unlike Keeva, Joy liked being left alone to her thoughts. In silence, she found clarity - though considering her conversations with Imaginary Finn, she couldn't deny that maybe she'd gone a little isolation crazy.

  The batteries in her flashlight were so weak now that the light was barely a pale flutter, but thanks to the Primaterre soldiers, she only had one more spare set. Hopefully, Keeva's crates would contain a battery or two.

  But there were no crates, and from behind came the sound of footsteps.

  She turned, and something struck her forehead. Hard; so hard everything got a little bit fuzzy for a moment. She fell to her knees, blood trickling down her face. Her flashlight hit the tiled floor, shattered, and died.

  An accident. She'd turned too quickly and someone had accidentally hit her. Maybe one of Keeva's men, carrying goods. She looked up into the lantern-lit, stern face of a man she didn't recognise, and felt sure that it had to have been an accident.

  Then a raspy chuckle came from the shadows.

  "Didn't I tell you, little Red? Next time. We'll get you next time." A lighter spun and clicked. A second lantern flared, casting warmth on Rivka's cold smile. "And when you make trouble for us, when you make us wait for the next time, it only makes it worse for you."

  Joy's fingers trembled against the floor.

  Chessboard tiles, the floor has chessboard tiles, and Rivka is queen of the grey plains, and what does that make me?

  She tried to stand, to show them that she was not some pawn to be captured, but the man's boot struck her hard in the chest.

  She doubled over, wheezing for breath. Seven doses left, and now Rivka had stolen one.

  As the meds surged through her system, rough hands grabbed her shoulders. In Cassimer's grasp she'd sensed humanity - and in the grasp of the man who now shoved her backwards onto the crate, there was no mistaking it. All the deep dark thoughts and scuttling things that were the worst of humanity, summarised in violent hands and indifferent eyes.

  "Rivka," Joy managed, her voice raw and cracked. "What do you want?"

  "I want this." Rivka picked up the broken flashlight. Shards of glass jangled on the floor. "And I want that." She pointed to Joy's gun, and the man began to unbuckle the holster. "Take her respirator too. I'm sure I'll find a use for it. And the scarf as well - blue isn't her colour anyway."

  The man yanked at the respirator until its straps snapped. She breathed Cato's air unfiltered, tasting the mould in the air.

  "Happy now?" The words sounded like more of a challenge than intended, and when Rivka's smile broadened in response, she regretted saying anything at all. Best to let bullies have their way. Best to let them grow bored and leave her alone.

  Best to show bullies who's boss. Beat them down so hard they'll never dare so much as look at you again.

  Not Imaginary Finn, but the echo of a memory. She'd come home from school in tears, and that was the advice he'd given her - that and a few quick lessons in self-defence. Joy hadn't taken his advice then, hadn't had it in her, hadn't wanted to be a bad girl, and now -

  - and now it was too late to listen. Her gun was gone, the holographic Hierochloe logo on its side shimmering in lantern light as Rivka turned the weapon over in her hands.

  "No, little Red. You made us wait. Now the taking isn't enough. Now there must be hurting."

  It didn't last long. The man had wanted more, to hurt her in ways that could never heal, but Rivka had told him to stop when Joy coughed blood; said that was enough red from little Red.

  The train had left the platform. Joy stumbled through the abandoned station, desperate to get away, to be alone in the dark with her thoughts and her Finn and a hundred-thousand burrowing spiders.

  "Bring us back something nice next time," Rivka shouted, the mirthful echo bouncing until she had to clasp her hands over her ears to shut the voice out.

  There would be no next time. Rivka had made sure of that. Only two paths remained. Joy could go back to Nexus to live amongst the liars and killers until the rusting spaceport became home - or she could go west, to ruined Stairhaven and the liars and killers who squatted there.

  "Choices, choices," she muttered and had to laugh, or else she'd cry.

  13. Cassimer

  A dome-shaped force field spanned the roof of the bank, like a ghost of the copper cupola below. It flickered briefly as a distant boom sent tremors through the building. Two kilometres out, a plume of dust spewed from the ground. Hopewell and Florey were out there, still sealing tunnels, still crawling through buried history.

  Cassimer was on the rooftop to inspect their first successful test run of the force field after nearly a week of failed attempts. Lucklaw had encountered difficulties that he claimed were to do with planet-wide electrical interference.

  "I've left it running for a few minutes to make sure it's stable," Lucklaw said, scrolling through feedback data on a tablet. "But we should shut it down to conserve power."

  "How long will the power cells last?"

  "For such a large field, I'd say about ten hours per cell. I've got half a dozen left. We'll need to start to repurpose cells from the habitat and the Eponas. On average, the storms so far have lasted roughly five hours." Lucklaw shook his head. "Better hope Copenhagen was right, because the array may only have a few days to scan an entire planet."

  "A smaller habitat would minimise power usage, and we could use the parts to build a secondary shelter for the array."

  "Good idea, Commander, though I doubt the team will agree. The habitat is about the only comfortable thing on this planet."

  "If it's comfort you want, you're in the wrong profession."

  "Yes, Commander." Lucklaw tapped his tablet, and the weave of the force field unravelled. A breeze immediately showered the rooftop in fine dust.

  "When can we expect the array to be up and running?"

  "Well, that was the other thing I wanted to show you." Lucklaw flipped open the array's service hatch. A bird's nest of wires tangled around circuitry, the corporal's work a far cry from Copenhagen's pedantic tidiness.

  But Copenhagen is dead, Cassimer reminded himself, and I chose Lucklaw.

  "The beam expander is completely shot. There's nothing I can do to fix it - it needs to be replaced. It was on my list, but I guess the local couldn't find one, and none of our searches down below have been successful so far."

  "I'll take Rhys on another sweep later. We spotted a fairly intact shopping centre yesterday - a long shot, but perhaps something useful will turn up."

  "Yeah, something a hundred years out of date," Lucklaw said.

  "There are few skills more important than the ability to improvise. Consider this an opportunity to learn."

  Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Just one of many side effects of running on stims. Floaters in his vision, the odd blinding tear across his retina, a tingling in his fingers. He recognised the symptoms as well as the looks Rhys kept shooting him. No doubt the medic had half a mind to use his authority to deny Cassimer access to stims. It would be best to sleep before then, to pre-empt having his record black-flagged. Wouldn't want to give the station psychiatrist a new angle of attack. A mind was meant to be a fortress, and how could he keep it that way when people kept trying to pry the doors open?

  He had tried to explain to the psychiatrist that the sessions didn't help. That sitting in that chair under the scrutiny of her gunmetal gaze only served to remind him of what had happened onboard the Hecate. When the dem
ons had seized the ship, and everyone around him had turned, the corruption had reached for him too. He had felt the probing tendrils inside his mind, had felt them push and scratch and pull, had felt the darkness inside as keenly as he'd felt the clawing hands.

  And, he'd told her, you know what I did next. Everybody knows. I'm told there's even a movie.

  Yes, she'd replied with a calm so placid he'd realised he was neither the most difficult nor dangerous patient she'd ever had, I saw it a few months ago. My husband's idea of an anniversary celebration. I expect he might have chosen differently if he knew you're my patient. She'd laughed then, something he'd never seen her do before. It was the mention of her husband, he'd thought. Her private life had intersected with her professional life ever so briefly, and her psychiatrist's mask had slipped.

  Though he suspected it was something she'd have been interested in hearing, he'd never told her that he had spent the rest of the day wondering what a private life might be like. In the end, he'd decided that he wouldn't know what to do with one. Scathach Station was enough. The silence of his quarters, the structure of regulations; every day the same until the day he'd be the one to catch one bullet too many.

  Would they make another movie then? The tragic end of a Primaterre hero. He hoped not, would rather that the posters and the books and the songs slipped into obscurity along with his name. His bones on a starlit planet, his blood on verdant Earth. Not tragic; fitting.

  Another flash of silver drew his gaze to the east. Three more followed in quick succession and he knew he wasn't hallucinating.

  The pattern repeated, slow and deliberate. This was not light reflected off an approaching vehicle or the sun glinting off a sniper's scope. It was a signal.

  "Lucklaw, do you see that?" Cassimer crouched behind a steel beam. Lucklaw took cover as well, peering round a pile of bricks to see. "A signal?"

  "Our team in trouble?"

  Cassimer shook his head. Rhys was three stories below, inside the habitat, and Florey and Hopewell were still underground, their positions and vitals continually updating on his HUD. Whoever was signalling, they were not Scathach Banneret Company.