The troop waited at the head of a mountainous sand dune, beholding the desperate Republic charge. “They’re at least a hundred kiloclicks out, give or take.” Orson huffed, handing the binoculars to Shanna, “Those assholes won’t know what hit 'em.” She laughed, tossing the binoculars to Nadeden, who simply placed them in her bag.
“How many of these have you all been in?” The group was puzzled by her question, but a faint voice from a fellow unit of soldiers spoke up behind them, “Got caught up in one on Tolka.” The voice moved through the crowd. A short man who appeared to have had half his body caved in stepped up to Nadeden, “Shit took my arm.” Nadeden gazed upon the man’s right shoulder. The sleeve of his uniform was tied off where his limb should have been.
“I was on Tolka,” she remarked, “it was torture.”
Orson squinted at the pair. “Weren’t the battles of Tolka eighteen years ago?” He laughed, “You would’ve been what? Six?”
The gravity spear dropped to the surface of Quandroiz.
The sandblast came first. The dozens of Division soldiers atop the dune laid flat on their stomachs as the sand bathed them like a smoldering blanket. Then the shockwave hit. This was why the mountain was chosen. It held firm against the onslaught. The fresh sand was sent flying off them. Those with lighter equipment held onto their comrades for dear life. Immediately after that, the sound rang out. A deafening shatter akin to a bass tremble bellowed through the air. Violating it. Finally, the rocks fell. Chunks of the planet scattered the battlefield like rain, indiscriminately choosing their violent landing zones.
The soldiers were silent and still for a full minute before standing with their weapons drawn. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the slaughter.” Davon solemnly stated as they approached the newly formed crater. The blood and sand began to flood into it. The general stepped forward: “Make sure none survived.” The soldiers carried out the order.
A single eye opens to a ceiling of rock. “Any idea where we are now?” The voice isn’t real, but Nadeden’s thoughts are the same as it. The young man who haunts her dreams stands over her. Smiling as always. “Quandroiz?” She whispers. Her hallucination laughs, “The place your happiest memories began.”
My standards for happy memories must be low, she thinks, stretching out her arms to lift herself up, only to find them tied into the floor. “Of course, your standards are low. Why do you think I’m haunting your mind?” Nadeden scoffs, “Shut up.”
The ceiling shifts, a pair of eyes pop out, then a mouth. “I wasn’t aware I was speaking Scorched Archer.” Nadeden silences herself, tugging on her restraints again. “Do you know why I have imprisoned you here? At first, I believed you and your friend were among a band of pirates who have been plaguing me, but once I discovered your true identity, my desire for vengeance overtook me. Your idiotic human war destroyed my planet and killed my people. I remember your visit. I remember watching as the spears dropped. I remember watching as—” Nadeden spits at the stone face. “I don’t care about your revenge. Where’s the kid?”
“You’re lying,” Smith states, stepping back in disbelief, the wall follows him. “I wish I was, Machinist. Yet sadly, your planet has succumbed to the Rusting the same way my planet succumbed to the human war.”
He crosses his arms against his body in an involuntary act of embrace. It's as if the human body can sense the slow death of the machine soul. Smith’s mind is racing; he can hardly form any sort of coherent thought. His chest is pounding into his arms and broken ribs. He’s gasping for breath while frozen still. “How do you know?” He asks, his voice trembling.
“Well, I know from experience what happens when humans let their creations get out of control.”
“That’s it?” Smith blurts out in frustration, which he immediately regrets, “Sorry I yelled, but it sounds like you’re just assuming this.” The wall shifts back into the ground. The face moves to the back of the room. “I’m not just assuming. I spoke to another Machinist who provided me with this exact information.” Smith leaps to attention. Another Machinist! So even if the Forge is gone, they still live! “Where are they now? The other—”
“Can you vouch for the Scorched Archer?”
The wall’s interruption leaves Smith confused. “Nadeden? Sure, she saved my life. I thought she was going to help me get to the Forge as well, but I’m not so sure anymore.” Smith shifts his worries toward Nadeden: “Is she alive?” The wall at the back of the room opens up. “Do you wish to speak with her?”
“Yes, of course, but this other Machinist—”
“Other Machinist?” Nadeden steps through the opening in the wall, dusting off her cloak. Smith rushes over to her, “Nadeden! You’re alive!” Nadeden dodges a hug and folds her arms in annoyance. “No thanks to this dumb rock we’re inside of.”
The room bellows with laughter. The ground shakes as yet another monolith rises from it. “Dumb rock! Foolish human, don’t make me regret sparing you, for I am the great! The grand! Granix!”
This guy can’t be serious, Nadeden thinks, rubbing her fingers against her temples as Smith continues the introductions, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Granix. I’m Smith. Well, technically, I am A Smith, but now my name is Smith, I guess. It seems like you already know Nadeden. Now, can you tell us about this other Machinist?”
The monolith cracks, becoming a smaller legless apparition of Granix’s giant body. The Granix sculpture scratches its head, “No. You see, my conversation with them was cut short. That’s why I need your help.”
“Define help.” Nadeden scoffs. Smith steps forward before Granix can reply, “Why was the conversation cut short, Granix?”
Granix gives the closest thing a rock can to a sigh. “When you two first appeared, I mistook you for the pirates who have been plundering the wreckage of Quandroiz for oil and what few commodities are left from the war. Not too long ago, a Machinist drifted through here, landing briefly on my surface. I began speaking with them and would have granted them safe haven were it not for the pirates who took them away before I could do so. I seek your assistance to purge these pirates from the grave of my once great planet.”
It takes all of Nadeden’s willpower not to burst out in laughter. Great Planet? It was nothing but rocks and sand. Some great planet that makes. Smith, however, is sympathetic and rather troubled to know that one of his fellow Machinists is in danger. “That’s awful. Don’t worry, we’ll help you, Granix!” He says with a smile as Nadeden lets out a “WHAT?” and swings her right arm around Smith’s shoulder, twisting him away from Granix’s apparition.
“Sorry, we need to talk this over.” She states, before addressing Smith in a harsh whisper, “Are you insane? They tried to kill us, and you want to help them just because they say another one of your kind might be alive! What if they’re lying?”
Smith’s eyes widen in disgusted shock. “You just see this as a distraction from your mission, don’t you?”
Nadeden grits her teeth, clutching her hand into a fist for Smith to see. “Of course I do! Every second we waste here is another second the Emperor spends breathing. Remember, he started the Rusting in the first place. If your other Machinist friend really is in trouble, it’s the Emperor’s fault. What does us helping this Granix guy even accomplish?”
“Once you get the pirates out of the ruins of Quandroiz, I can act as your transport on your quest,” Granix says with a smile. Nadeden glares at the mouth on the ground. Smith turns to her, “There’s your answer.”
Nadeden removes her hand from Smith, walking toward the nearest tree in frustration. She slumps against it to collect her thoughts in solace. Smith stares at her, thinking back to when she pulled him from the Bioship back on Terra-gilma. She expected him to work for her with nothing in return, but now that the same is requested of her, she’s at a loss. Almost like she is purposefully trying to avoid a situation she was once put in. Smith knows that all he is to her is a means to an end. She wouldn’t even take him to the Forge. She’s only concerned with killing that Emperor.
“The sooner we do this, Nadeden.” Smith stands over her with his palms against his chest as he tells her, “The sooner you don’t have to put up with me anymore.”
Nadeden stands up, grasping the tree. Smith continues, “Granix can take me to the Forge, and maybe the Pirates will have another ship you can—”
“You don’t have to keep selling me on the idea, Smith.” Her hands tighten on one of the branches. “I was just trying to figure out how I can make a bow out of this.”
She snaps the branch clean off the tree. Granix yelps in pain, “That hurts, y’know!” Nadeden pulls a string from her cloak, cutting it off with an arrowhead before attaching it to the branch.
“I’ll be ready in a minute. You just take us where we need to go, rock.”
Later that night, Nadeden stared out at the stars away from the rest of the group. She had done this every night they had been on Quandroiz. No one had interrupted this routine until Davon told her, “Hey, Nadeden, you never gave Orson back his binoculars.” She sat up, wrestling out the binoculars from her bag before tossing them to Davon. He caught them and placed them in his own bag. He stood in silence for an awkward amount of time while Nadeden laid back down.
“We don’t typically do spear strikes when boots are on the ground, but that drop was all we needed to take out the last of the Republic troops. Our dreadnought is arriving to pick us up tomorrow.” He stated, finally breaking the silent night. Nadeden simply shrugged. She had forgotten that Davon was even there.
“We actually hit under Gerry’s estimated time.” She perked up at Gerry’s name. “Does he ever leave the dreadnought?” Davon chuckled, “Only for the aftermath, but he’s not exactly a talker when he’s doing his work.” Nadeden shifted back, rolling over to her bow. “He’s a good worker, then.”
Davon smirked, “Yes, I suppose he is.”
Davon had begun to walk away before turning back, “About what Orson said earlier.” He hesitated but spoke his mind anyway, “You weren’t really that young when you first started fighting for the Republic, right?”
“No.”
Davon sighed in sympathetic relief, turning away again as Nadeden looked back at him. “I was even younger. I’ve been in this war ever since I could stand.”