by Tyson Jordan
The pavement beneath us was barely recognisable as such, having broken and fallen beyond any chance of restoration. The air was acrid with a smell I did not altogether recognise, and I looked ahead, my mouth agape in horror.
Osmium had stopped the personnel carrier in a residential zone, filled with endless hovels that had long since broken down, only to be hastily rebuilt and even expanded by whatever crude means were available. In every window and on the street, I could see them, those countless Erdechildren who had been forever consigned to squalor. As I peered through the dark, misshapen windows, drab and indistinguishable faces pulled back in fear or resentment, while others stared forward, their eyes blank and lacking in purpose.
The security officer climbed down from the front of the carrier and raised his hands to either side as if to grant us welcome.
“Welcome to the Teem.” Osmium sneered.
26
Teeming
“This … this can’t be real.” I spoke, my voice somehow separate from my body as I looked at my surroundings, with nothing set before me but filth and broken people. There were young children in the streets, covered with salt and grime, who stared at us for a moment and then shuffled away, barefoot and uninterested and having no real destination before them.
I felt Janus’s hand on my shoulder, but it offered no reassurance. The sight of the Erdechildren there was intolerable, to think that a people who, mere generations before, had once proudly spanned the galaxy were so easily reduced to such a pathetic state. My jaw clenched and my hands curled into fists, useless before such sickening horror.
Osmium bade us good evening then, and offered us the quarters and resources of the Bastion when we required them. I did not see the carrier leave, and paid little mind to the rhythmic tremors of its engine as it pulled away. Our assignment was upon us.
Most of the refugees in the Teem simply ignored us as we arrived each day, hoping to find some trace of the Malinvicta’s presence. There were a few who cried out in the street, pointing their bony fingers at the Guild Emblem and screaming in disgust, and there was nothing we could say to dissuade their anger. We simply pressed forward in our impossible task, moving from one den to the next and breathing the same fetid smells of filth mixed with salt from the sea.
In spite of their emaciated bodies, it was their faces that haunted me most. I soon realised that it was impossible to tell one refugee from another each day, and no matter how deeply we delved into each tower of hovels, I could see only defeat and despair in an endless sea of dead eyes.
The days turned to weeks there, blurring together as we moved from one hovel to the next, not merely seeing but feeling the defeat that had been dealt to us. I looked down at the Guild Emblem, centred upon my chest, and wondered at what value it truly had. “We can’t go back, can we?” I asked once as I stared into the Teem, with Argenta at my side as the sun set once more, gradually revealing an endless blanket of menacing stars that swept across an indifferent sky. She raised her face to the stars and frowned in response.
“It would seem that they belong to the Malinvicta now,” she said before walking away, her hand loosely clasping the red hilt of Engeltrane .
With each morning, a convoy of delivery vehicles, led by Osmium in a grinding, cantankerous carrier, arrived through the central gate and began dispensing algae to the masses. They clutched their rations to their chests and hurried away, disappearing in the crowd as they retreated. Each truck was emblazoned with the simple corporate logo of two clasped hands, and beneath it, the words “Mirakind—Above all, we care.”
We saw a teenage boy, shirtless and starving, as he tore open the plastic wrapping and began devouring a viscous yellow fluid, mottled with a few flecks of brown algae. “Why do I get the sense that Mirakind was the lowest bidder for this job?” Janus scowled in contempt, and I nodded in agreement, feeling both fortunate and guilty that our own food supply was engineered and distributed exclusively by the Guild.
The algae carriers trundled into a broad town square, set on each side by roads and temporary housing that had long since outlived its purpose, falling instead into broken disarray. In the centre of the square was a fountain, erected only fifteen years ago, that had been carved from what appeared to be marble. Atop the fountain stood an Ocean Dweller, strong and unafraid, clasping his hands with those of an Erdeson, broken and weeping on his knees. It, too, had crumbled, its waters now a mere trickle.
The refugees followed the carriers closely, their hands outstretched as they wailed for food. The riot began without warning, and one of the delivery trucks was immediately beset on all sides by a throng of the unwashed and starving masses, who howled in outrage and lashed out at the empty vehicle. In the surging crowd I heard the cry of a small child as she was dragged into the mob, and I rushed forward.
My armour burst forth, wrapping me in golden plates and granting to me a new vigour that carried me forward into the mob. I cursed at the grown men and women there, driving them back relentlessly and plunging deeper into the wall of flesh, knowing that Argenta and Janus were with me. The refugees hurled garbage at us, and a few mustered the nerve to strike us as we pressed forward, undeterred.
The crowd soon parted from us, not because they realised their madness but only because they understood that they would not and could not stop us. I saw the girl on the street, curled with her knees to her chest and her head bowed, bleeding from her knees and forearms. She did not cry, and instead stood, empty-handed and resentful, her long black hair hanging over dark eyes that had seen too much misery.
I approached her, my hand outstretched, and she did not take it, instead shrinking away from the sight of me. Her eyes pierced me, rooting me to the spot, and I did not have any real answer to her gaze. On the street, one of the algae packs had fallen, left miraculously unbroken by the newly dispersed mob, and I stooped to retrieve it. I held it out before me in a simple gesture, but the girl’s eyes flashed with terror, and she ran, disappearing into the black doorway of a nearby shack.
“You’re a lot kinder than you let on, you know.” Janus’s raspy voice could be heard over my left shoulder. I turned to face him, seeing that he too had donned his armour, that brilliant blue scale mail that glittered in the dim light of a cloudy morning. We retracted it then, letting the plates sing and vanish behind us, while Argenta stood in the distance, surveying the crowds with disdain, still wearing her blood-red splint mail.
“I couldn’t do much for her.”
I sighed despondently and my friend replied, “No, but you tried for her, and that’s rare, to say the least.”
Argenta approached us, letting her thermokinetic armour recede, and I held up the remaining algae pack, wondering which of the refugees should have it. I scanned the crowd for more children, seeing the endless salt and grime on the faces of the people there, and paused.
“The girl, she … she didn’t run away from me. She ran away when she saw this,” I muttered, holding the pack closer for inspection. The two enfolded white hands of Mirakind were etched onto the plastic exterior, and I furrowed my brow at the sight of the logo. Why would a starving kid run from food?
“Given our lack of results in the Teem, perhaps it is time that we redirect our attention elsewhere,” Argenta said simply, and I nodded in agreement, turning my eyes to a looming tower beyond the walls, knowing that it was the primary centre for Mirakind.
“That’s good enough for me. Let’s go see just where this garbage is made.” Janus flashed his teeth, and we set off with purpose at last.
27
Making Ready
Osmium leaned back in his chair, skeptical of our presence and even more so of our suspicions, and muttered, “You want to investigate Mirakind based on the reaction of some scared, trampled girl?” Hearing it aloud from him was, of course, ludicrous, yet we had no other real options.
“Look, our time in the Teem is wasted. There’s just no way for us to keep track of them all out there,” Janus began, his arms folde
d, “but we don’t know much about Mirakind, and that kid was terrified of the algae that they’re producing, regardless of what you have to say about it.”
The security officer snorted in contempt, and Argenta glowered at him in turn, her green eyes shining furiously. With a strained voice, she demanded, “What can you tell us about Mirakind? You are, after all, the one who aids in the delivery of their product each day.”
“There’s not much I have to say about them. You know as well as anybody, rich girl,” Osmium grinned deviously as Argenta lowered her eyebrows in annoyance, “that the Guild has certain needs that it can’t meet for itself, like the weapons and materials that come from Daddy Behemot. As for food and pharmaceuticals, well, Mirakind was there to produce the algae for the refugees fifteen years ago, and they’ve been at it ever since.”
The mere mention of Behemot and its role in meeting the material needs of the Guild left Argenta in tense silence. Janus raised his eyebrows as she stood motionless, glaring at Osmium, and interjected.
“Listen, the way I see it, there isn’t much for any of us to lose here. If we go to Mirakind’s headquarters and there’s nothing there, then we come back to the Teem and continue on as we have been. But if we go and there is a problem …”
“You’ll what? Level the place? Destroy the whole damned research facility in the name of your War effort?” Osmium scoffed as he stood up, shaking his head in mockery.
“Yes. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” My words were both calm and determined, and the officer stared at me in shock, his mouth agape. We left shortly afterwards, having achieved little with him and understanding that there was little point in further conversation with the man. His opinions of our methods were irrelevant, given that the actions of Guild Sentries were autonomous and not to be held in check by people like him, for the War effort was ever present and all-consuming.
We made our way to the rooftop of the Bastion, and the sight of the Destrier was a welcome one. We established a connection with Ferric there, away from the prying ears of law enforcement, and he too found our intuition dubious. Nevertheless, the Centurion offered greater encouragement than Osmium did.
“I will authorise this mission on the condition that you are to conduct reconnaissance only,” our commander growled through a static-filled connection, our chronopatches struggling to filter his voice from the background noise. Janus rolled his eyes at the sound of reconnaissance, and frustration ran through his voice.
“And if this place is tied to the Malinvicta somehow? What? We just wait? We call for help?”
“You are to engage in tactical retreat and submit your findings to me. You have your command, Sentry Baskervor.” With that, the connection was severed and we stood on the rooftop of the Bastion, with the open hatch of the Destrier beckoning us.
“He can’t be serious. What possible reason could he have to make us wait? If the Malinvicta are there, we need to level the place, and we all understand this. Right?” My friend’s words rang true, and I came to the slow comprehension of why we had not been authorised for a greater mandate. He means to protect me even now , I thought, my eyes drifting to the broken concrete of the roof.
“I concur, Janus.” Argenta’s cool voice soon followed, and she walked to the edge of the rooftop, gazing at the Mirakind research facility tower on the horizon. My friend smiled in surprise at that, elbowing me in the arm at the sound of Argenta’s agreement.
“However, there remains a problem with our plan of action,” she continued, pointing at the obelisk, and we all stared at the ominous and solitary spire that broke into the clouds above.
“It should go without saying that a building of that size is more than structurally sound; in fact, we simply do not have the available ordnance to destroy it should it prove to be under the control of the Malinvicta.” She blinked a few times deliberately as she thought of how best to solve our problem.
“The Destrier is equipped with Irenicium missile batteries,” I replied, thinking of the most powerful weaponry that Gareem had installed on our ship.
Argenta countered, “Yes, but there are only four missiles available, and even allowing for the amplification effects of the Irenicium, we would not be able to destroy the tower externally.”
“So … why not internally, then?” Janus’s voice rose with his realisation, and Argenta’s eyes widened, revealing surprise, then approval. She approached the Destrier ’s hatch confidently, and Janus laughed. “I think I did good! She approves!”
With a few simple keystrokes at the back of the ship, Argenta commanded the Destrier ’s missile pods to extrude from the white sides of our spacecraft. They obeyed her command without any mechanical complaint, and twin decks of weaponry slid out, ready for our work. She returned and reached up to one of the rectangular pods, deep grey, and deftly opened it, revealing four short cylinders that shone with violet light, each no thicker than my hand and no longer than my forearm.
“We’re going to build a bomb, aren’t we?” I asked, and Argenta’s only response was to carefully hoist one of the missiles from its container, followed by the other three. They were modern weapons, fully synchronised with the computer systems of the Destrier , and soon after with our chronopatches. Despite their complexity, Argenta required little time to work with them, first disabling and then removing their propulsion systems altogether with simple maintenance tools found onboard.
Janus hurried to the armoury of the Bastion and soon returned, cursing as he struggled with a spent artillery casing that would soon serve as the new home for our weapon. Our work was soon finished, and I gently lowered the bomb into a beaten satchel, slinging it over my back.
Mirakind awaited.
28
Making Our Way
From the moment I laid eyes on the ship, I knew that we were more than fortunate to have it. The Destrier was equipped with a great many commodities, not the least of which was an active light refraction system. With the aid of its computer systems and innumerable nanoelectronics that were buried in the ship’s pearly skin, we rendered our travel all but invisible to the naked eye.
We ascended quickly, breaking into the mesosphere of Grand Ocean to our silent cruising altitude. Far below, the tower was a sword that pierced the earth as if dropped from the heavens above, and were it not for our suspicions it would have been an inspiring sight, reminiscent of Erde’s former greatness. Instead it was ominous and shadowy, paned entirely with reflective glass that hid its contents from the world.
Our journey was brief, and we decided to begin with the apex of the Mirakind facility, eventually working our way towards its lowest levels. I clenched my jaw as I looked down at the rooftop, shimmering immaculately in the light of Grand Ocean’s twin moons, and bade the ship to descend.
The Destrier had been synced with our chronopatches, allowing for basic remote commands including retrieval. We leapt from the hidden ship onto the rooftop and watched its faint glimmer speed away into low orbit, far from any harm or diligent witness. Our mission had begun.
Argenta made short work of the complex mechanical locks that held the rooftop access closed, and the metal doorway swung wide, revealing a dimly lit stairwell. We crept down the stairs, silently cursing the echo, and after a few flights arrived at the first doorway.
It was a stately and round office that offered a panoramic view of the surroundings. There was a sleek computer terminal set in its place at the far end of the chamber, and polished furniture had been symmetrically arranged about the room. There were no signs of affliction in this place, and the terminal offered little in the way of immediately useful information. Our chronopatches accessed and stored whatever data was available on the local system, and we carried on.
As we prepared to move to the next floor, Janus broke our silence with an irritated, “Oh, hell.” I followed his gaze and cursed our clumsiness. There, embedded in the ceiling, was a small reflective orb that whirred as it swivelled from one side to the other. It was an elec
tronic eye, one that was clearly active.
“There is little need for concern,” Argenta began, but I remained tense. She explained, “If our presence here alerts the Malinvicta, then it will only confirm what we wish to know by investigating Mirakind, and this place will be destroyed, if not by us then by those who will follow.” Her reason gave me some solace, although I still disliked being watched so freely, not knowing the dangers that lay ahead.
We heard the ponderous sliding of quick shaft doors, which broke the renewed silence. I tensed my muscles, letting my hand find small comfort in Demonbite ’s hilt. Janus had found his way to the other side of the room almost immediately, and he stood a short distance away from the door, his dagger at the ready. Argenta carried no visible anxiety, but remained resolute and alert as ever.
An Erdeson of average height and middle age exited the elevator, pointing a firearm at us. He was clad in formfitting blue and wore a belt that was heavy with equipment. He began to yell in panic, and although I did not understand his incoherent words, his meaning was clear enough. He waved his arms wildly, hoping to pin us against the wall, but we did not move. It was clear that he was not under the influence of any Malinvictus.
Janus crept up behind him, smiling at this trivial disruption, and flipped his dagger over in his hand, hoping to strike the security guard with the pommel and render him unconscious. Silently, I followed his movements with my eyes. Panicked as he was, the guard was not completely incompetent, and he realised that something was amiss.
In a near frenzy, he turned and screamed loudly. The sight of Janus’s scales and pointed teeth, his crimson hair and eyes, were too frightening for the guard’s already strained sensibilities. He fired almost immediately, and the shot rang out, reverberating in the room. Thankfully, the shot was wild. Before striking him on the side of the head, Janus yelled, “Good God, calm yourself!”
He slumped to the floor. The three of us stood over him, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief as he kicked the sidearm to the far wall. The man’s simple radio began to spew tinny words that rapidly grew in hostility. There were others, of course, and they would arrive soon.