"Nova," Benedick said, "how is it that these suits were not measured among our resources?"
"I didn't know they were here," the angel said. "I'm afraid this is all very much outside my program, Prince Benedick."
"Right."
"Cynric," Gavin said, the name stressing his voice strangely. From the corridor outside, Benedick heard Samael's hoarse chuckle. "And from the number of suits here, she may have expected more than a few of us."
"Well, it's nice to know she can be wrong about something."
Chelsea touched the closest suit of armor, laying her palm against the access plate. Benedick was reassured when the armor reacted just as it should, first absorbing the plate, then peeling open to allow her admittance.
Benedick snaked one long arm over her shoulder and touched a suit in the second row. It came forward, picking its way around both Chelsea and the first rank of suits, and paused before Benedick. He tapped the shoulder, and it unfolded like a flower. As he stepped inside, he saw Mallory choosing a suit, too. Gavin fluttered up, onto the suit's head, and Mallory stepped inside.
After a moment of concern, which Benedick endured with the best stoicism he could muster, the armor sealed around him, stretching and snuggling until it settled against his body like a second skin. The cool colloidal layer of the interior adjusted, molding close while he grimaced at the familiar, unpleasant sensation. Then it was done, the armor chiming to indicate a successful fit.
He scrolled his helm open. Mallory came up on his right side, Chelsea on the left. There was no hesitation as they returned to Tristen, who had sealed his own armor. Tristen took the fore. Benedick, Chelsea, and Mallory fell in behind him. There could be one leader of an expedition such as this, and Tristen was oldest and highest-ranked in the family and the crew. Etiquette and tradition brooked no argument.
"Samael," Tristen said. "We are ready."
But Samael paused for a moment, immaterial arms folded, head tipped insolently, and grinned at them.
"Yes?" Tristen said.
With every evidence of satisfaction, Samael shook his head. "If I saw us coming, I'd beshit myself."
Tristen's helm was up, but Benedick did not need to see his face to hear the satisfaction in his voice. He touched the hilt of the sword at his hip; Benedick recognized Mirth, and also its provenance.
"Good," Tristen said, and gestured the angel on ahead with a white-gauntleted hand. "Then let us essay the Broken Holdes."
Arianrhod would have liked to have moved proudly from the embrace of her angel to the belly of Leviathan, but her strength was spent. She found herself delivered like a baby, like a package, something handed off as an inconvenience. She could not even stir herself to protest, though her numb hand itched for the hilt of her unblade.
--Here is your safe place--said Asrafil, his coat furling about him like wings.--Here is your bower.--
Arianrhod fell through space, drifting into the cage that surrounded the pitted dullness of the living asteroid. Its mass drew her in, gently, lightly, assisted by a little thrust and guidance from Asrafil's colony. If she had the strength she would have reached out to him, spread wide her arms in supplication and pleaded like a child, but her Exalt body was freezing from the edges, already stiff with the Enemy's chill, and soon even her mental processes would fail her.
Panic stabbed her, sharp as a fistful of shards.--Do not make of me your sacrifice!--she begged.--Have I not served you faithfully, O Asrafil?--
Asrafil only receded. He still moved with comfort, his pale hands shining with reflected light as he gestured before his coat. Before, also, the face of the Enemy, wreathed though it was in the dust of dead stars.
--This service you may do me also--he said, allowing her to imagine that she felt the brush of a hand against her cheek, stroking back the strands of her hair. It was a projection, a manipulation. Nothing real. --Don't leave me!--
He was too far away now for her to have seen it, and anyway her eyes had frozen, but she knew the look of his smile. Even imagining it pierced her heart.--Silly human. I cannot leave you. Don't you know I am with you always?--
A maw--a fissure--opened across the surface of the asteroid beneath her. Light shifted within, aurora veils fingering forth in chilly, gelid blue reminiscent of a colony's genetic marker.
And Arianrhod fell into the welcoming embrace of Leviathan.
The mammoth bid them adieu at the air lock, which Gavin found disappointing. He'd rather been anticipating the spectacle of a quarter-ton quadruped in armor.
Gavin was not only sad to see it go due to the potential for entertainment. Whether he and it had grown from splinters of the same personality like so many soldiers grown from dragon teeth was an open question. But if they had, they were something like siblings.
Gavin had never had a sibling before. He was curious to discover what it was like.
He hoped he'd get the chance.
The Broken Holdes were exactly as Gavin had expected: barren, twisted, full of warped metal and fluctuating gravity. The Holdes were disintegrating, as the name would indicate, but you could never tell until you passed into a space if it was holed and evacuated, or if the atmosphere held--and, if it held, what its density might be. And that density wasn't necessarily consistent from one section of a space to the others. The random gusts of gravity and vectors of the world's rotation and acceleration affected that, as did the simple matter of how the ventilation in any given unit was working.
As they moved deeper into the wasteland, Gavin released his grip on Mallory's armor and flew up to join Samael at the head of the group. Gavin was more material than the angel's makeshift avatar, so if there were traps, he would be more likely to trigger them. Moreover, Gavin wasn't so trusting as to leave the angel unsupervised to choose their path through such treacherous terrain.
Gavin flew close-winged, using atmosphere where it was available, surfing the edges of dangerous gravity surges and slick-sloped mass tunnels. This was a sport played by the winged youth of Engine, a chance to demonstrate prowess and an adolescent status game. But now, for him, with four wingless Exalt in tow, it proved nothing but an annoyance. The humans slowed him. Armor and symbionts or not, it was too easy to imagine them ruptured and twisted, oozing precious bodily fluids into the cold vacancy that surrounded them.
But his urge to caution was mitigated by the need for haste, the sense that, after days of pursuit, Arianrhod was almost within reach. Gavin was flogged onward not only by Tristen and Benedick's palpable desire for vengeance, but by the undeviating conviction that, if they did not catch Arianrhod now, everything would be lost. This was a woman to whom the murder of hundreds, Exalt and Mean, was an acceptable loss.
Surely, Gavin thought, in that choice she was very like the Builders.
This entire portion of the structure was acrawl with radiation--another legacy of the Breaking and the wreck of the world's mighty engines. It was why the material of the Broken Holdes had never been salvaged for use elsewhere, and why they remained here, a shattered memorial to the dead, isolated at the bottom of the world.
As Gavin and his companions moved into the outskirts of the holdes, they came to the fringes of the world, where the atmosphere had frozen in fabulous hexagonal spires and feathers along the bulkheads. No matter how many times Gavin witnessed the phenomenon, he never failed to be awed. Now, as the lamps of his companions lit the rimed warrens stretching before them, he extended his colony and looked. Not with his eyes, which were only weapons, but with the other senses, more delicate and more elaborate.