This time the mindless stares of his friends and the other miners, wasn’t what bothered Branik. Death delayed by wires. Wires that seeped blood from the sides of their temples. A peace implanted by Catharine before they sacrificed themselves. Not for Mars. For control. In seconds he’d take that peace away.

  He knew when he ripped the wires from their minds, that they felt pain again. Hopelessness. Reality.

  Each wire made a different sound when he wrenched the fibrous strands from the stupefied men. Some like tearing fabric. Others as if scraping a pickaxe along rock. Most sounded as if he twisted the leg from an undercooked hare. The feral ones that hid from the snakes deep under the canals of Mars.

  Pitched screams masked the sounds of men retching. This time even the strongest miners fell to the floor plating of the corvette before recovering their senses.

  Regor was the last. Branik wrapped him tightly in one arm. I won’t let you fall. “It’s gonna be okay kid.”

  Tears flooded from the kid’s eyes. More green and red seeped from in front of his ears where Catharine’s wires had been. Unlike the rest, he didn’t scream. Not once. “I’m proud of you kid. You’re going to be alright. I won’t let go.”

  An hour later: ten kilometres west of the Sisyphi Bastion, the Alba floated less than a metre from the plains. Thrumming. Branik wanted it to remind him of the big machines deep in the mines. A familiar sound. But it wasn’t. This was Catharine’s predator. One that needed to be put to death.

  “I wish there was more time, but I have to put you out here.” Branik gauzed the wounds at Regor’s temples. “This’ll be the safest.”

  The kid wrapped his arms around him, and sobbed.

  “There isn’t time for that kid. You and the other miners need to get exoskeletons on, or find Demons to drive, and get to Krrel’s bastion.”

  Regor’s sobs turned to words. “I don’t want you to…”

  “Lad, I got to.” He rubbed the kid’s hair for longer than he should have. There was no time for hugs and goodbyes. “That woman has to be stopped, and so does her father.”

  “I never had a dad.”

  “Everyone has a dad, kid.” Branik tried to pull back without success.

  “Can’t we just go somewhere?” The kid was making his shoulder wet. “You don’t need to fly this to Krrel.”

  “Givin’ the king a taste of his own, and the new queen a lesson, lad.” Pushing away from Regor, Branik looked at the skinny fourteen year old. A smile wouldn’t come no matter how much he tried. “Look, you made my eyelids sweat.”

  Regor nodded. “I wish—”

  “Don’t say it kid. Not the place.” Branik’s neck tightened. He tried to think of what Raf would say. “Scrap ore.”

  “Remember… you get your skinny self into the first exoskeleton that you find, and wait for my signal.”

  Regor nodded. His face wouldn’t stop being wet. “W-what are you going to do?”

  “Try to make peace with an old friend and bury another—”

  “Come back.” The kid’s breath shuddered between a sob. “Come back… okay?”

  Branik nodded. They both knew it was a lie. “I will… now go.”

  Just after the ascent engines growled, streaky static fogged the rear view display. Where the Alba kicked up gravel and dust, some miners covered their faces and huddled together. There weren’t enough weapons, from what Branik could see, but some climbed into the quick assault vehicles. Maybe the kid would find his way into a Demon. Maybe driving it or operating a turret. Better if he was left behind.

  A chance at escape—severed. For what? Revenge or saving face? Blast… for Mars. That’s what Raf would say.

  They’d watch the giant black low orbit corvette move away and blame him. Regor would understand. I have to make this right.

  A fast moving exoskeleton joined the clustered miners. Regor. This time when he pulled Alba's control levers, Branik’s heartbeat made him sweat and he turned off the rear screen.

  Target lock fail. The corvette’s voice rasped.

  “Saints.” Branik pounded his fist onto the Alba's control console. It didn’t dent, but for a second it felt good.

  “Branik… come in… what do we do?” Regor’s voice fuzzed with distortion on the comms but the edginess was clear.

  “What weapons will even work? No target lock.” Talking to a ship now. As if it cared about boys too young to be men. Wishing he was below the mountain, where things made sense. Would be better there.

  Cellular dispersion missile. Specify quantity.

  “Branik?”

  “Standby kid.”

  Crusted ramparts of Krrel’s bastion came into focus when he turned the target dial. There you are. Branik pulled the left lever and when he pushed the right one, gave it a little twist angling the low orbit corvette into optimum weapon configuration. Immediately the Alba’s rumble steadied into a slow low hiss. One at a time, weapons systems pinged and status light flashed green.

  As if it was he that fell from the rescue elevator into the blackness that day Raf had rescued them from Pavonis, Branik’s breath died. On the battlements were miners—the miners he knew—mixed with Krrel’s soldiers and the mad king waving his arms between them. Behind, rising from the centre of the ancient fortress, stood the thick silver spar of Krrel’s big gun. This time more formidable. Arcing striations of plasma climbing the outside of the giant turret. Cooling tubes spiralled about the barrel. Refitted and operational. Noavae-Planetia now the most deadly weapon on Mars under the whim of a deranged man.

  A cold sweat washed over him and Branik started breathing… shorter.

  He zoomed the targeting display. Closer. Zeroing in.

  Just there. Faces he recognized. The Jezero brothers. They’d pushed the ore carts at Pavonis. Standing next to a soldier in Krrel's red.

  Air came harder. Forcing breaths—his lungs strained.

  Another. Dawes. Barely sixteen. Saints practically Regor’s age and holding a pike he didn't know how to use.

  Then more. Faces from the mines. Men he'd worked beside. Saved. Freed.

  Now raw, wheezing for air Branik hyperventilated.

  Deceived miners, Krrel's soldiers stood between them. Interspersed. Human shields.

  And Krrel himself—waving his arms, laughing. The mad king knew. He'd positioned them deliberately.

  He knows I'm here. He knows I won't fire.

  Jaw trembling, Branik's hands fell from the control levers.

  The targeting icon blinked. Red. Steady. The missile would hit the gun's base.

  It would also hit the battlements.

  It would kill them all. His miners. Krrel's soldiers. Everyone.

  Approaching from behind, more miners and Regor. Closing on the combat zone.

  Every second of indecision mattered. Branik didn’t know anything about the Alba’s missiles. What was the impact zone? They could crater hundreds of kilometres.

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  His throat closed. What can I do?

  Alba’s targeting icon flashed to the base of the gun. Accurate. Uncaring of the collateral damage.

  Branik’s forehead coated in sweat when it collapsed into his hands. No answer. No way out. Bile seared back into his lungs.

  “Blast…Branik is that you? What are you doing?” A grainy image scratched over the comms station. It said Phobos Emplacement but the face—a miner he did not want to confront. Not now.

  “Raf…. Leave me alone!”

  “Just turn that thing around. You don’t know what you’re doing.” It was the first time he’d heard Raf’s voice flutter.

  “There’s no time to explain lad.” Branik’s eyes clouded and his words came too fast. Levering the controls, he repositioned the black ship until the target icon centred. “I just want to… I know I disappointed you, Raf.”

  “You didn’t. She tries to trick everyone.” His voice was almost a whisper this time, as if a confession.

  Cellular dispersion missile. Specify quantity. The Alba’s voice grated.

  Branik closed his eyes trying to forget the faces. “All of them.”

  “Branik. Don’t. You have no idea of the damage.” Each of Raf’s words was separated by a pause.

  “The worn out miner belongs to me, Rafael. Everyone belongs to me. And just like all of you lacks the courage to do what is necessary.” Catharine’s words sounded pure. Like she stood right next to him, when she held him in her arms. Caring. Careful.

  “Catharine Stay out of this.” Raf was pounding on the communication image before it faded. “Branik don’t listen to her.”

  “Bring your soul back to me, miner. I’ll take your pain away. A simple man. A cowardly worker who needs his queen.” The palace image overrode Phobos. Within it Branik saw Catharine smile then look away. Like she was busy.

  “She’ll kill you or kill your soul. Don’t do it!” Raf’s voice scratched through the signal. Audio only this time.

  “I know it lad. Raf... I'm sorry.” Tell them I was sorry. Hinges on a clear glass cover released with a peaceful click. Below a red button. Simple. A simple choice.

  Sequential chimes within the Alba control centre. A rush of air then comet tails etched red pathways low toward the Hellas horizon. A split second of sky painting. Almost beautiful. Red ribbons stretching to the planetia. Consecutive bursts as if balloons filled with confetti popped. No concussion. No explosions. Nothing.

  Branik zoomed in. Crimson mist drifted where once there were men. Instead of rising they hung heavy. Waiting. Waiting for Branik to realize that it was he who had pulverized their bodies like rock dust into microscopic pieces. Smaller than grains of sand. Heavy what once was alive hung there. Torturing him.

  I had to.

  “A simple man who needs his queen.” Catharine laughed over the comm signal. Her image faded. Gone.

  “Branik what the hell did you just do?” White static veiled the Phobos signal. He knew Raf would hate him for this. It was the right choice. It had to be.

  Then the voice he feared the most. “Branik… I’m hurt… we’re all hurt…”

  “Regor?”

  “Please… come back.” The signal evaporated.

  An icon flashed on the display. Krrel in some kind of suit. Like armour. Laughing. Twisted smile pointing at the Alba. Electricity moving up the spine of the big gun, faster and faster. Holding a control.

  Wrenching the controls forward, the Alba’s engines erupted. Finishing Krrel was the only way.

  Hovering five hundred metres before Sisyphi Bastion, Branik brought the chain guns to bear.

  Screaming obscenities, Branik crushed the twin triggers.

  For a second he heard Catharine’s voice before the roaring weapon deleted the sound.

  Charges bounced off Krrel’s armour as if impenetrable. As if it were hard ore under a miner’s arms.

  He pressed harder and watched Krrel’s body twist. Still standing the mad king defiant. Undefeatable.

  Time slowed. The Novae bullets exploding. One. Then another. Pebbles on a hard vein of iron.

  Branik’s knuckles whitened.

  One bullet penetrated the armour.

  Another.

  Krrel reeled. His mouth opened screaming something no one would hear.

  Branik’s eyes emptied and his hands shook. Overheat warning lights flashed on the Alba’s weapon station. The guns were melting from their own heat.

  So was Krrel.

  Branik’s fingers cramped around the triggers.

  Krrel fell to his knees and the bullets kept coming.

  When the Alba’s systems finally shut down the chain guns, nothing of the mad king remained. An empty battlement.

  Branik’s hands hung beside him and he looked at his feet. He’d done something right. Just once. He’d eliminated half of the evil on Mars.

  A sound. Like clapping. Slow. Then a soft laugh. “Wonderful… wonderful… you sorry man. You’ve saved me the trouble of a palace execution. And most of all the displeasure that some might see if I were to try and then purge my own father from the palace.”

  “They will blame you, my sad little man. And thus the Stratocracy soothed. Obedient.”

  “All by your hand. I could not have planned it better.”

  Blinking too fast to clear the image, he brought up the ground sensors.

  Heat signatures. Ten or twelve, still moving. Not many. Alive? Wounded?

  The missiles and he’d fired them all. He told the ship to fire every single one. He did this.

  Regor and the approaching miners had been just outside the kill box. A dispersion weapon? How can a miner know these things? Too close to the kill radius. Yet alive. Still alive.

  “Saints of Olympus.” Branik’s voice—lower than a whisper.

  The battlements—empty. No signatures. The Jezero brothers. Dawes. All of them. Gone.

  Regor survived because Branik had hesitated. More likely blind luck. Nothing he had done or planned. Just a foolish man’s luck.

  He'd killed the miners on the battlements and saved Regor by accident. I’m a fool.

  Her laughter drown in static from Phobos. “Don’t listen to her Branik. Go back pick up the survivors.”

  “What did I do?”

  Branik’s soul emptied from inside. Not a single tear would come. He didn’t deserve tears. Or forgiveness. He was just like them now.

  “Pick up the survivors, then bring the ship to Promethei. Britt has a plan.”

  “No Raf. Saints. Mars has to judge me now.”

  Instinctively Branik moved his hands and the Alba’s engines rumbled. Undamaged. A deep subsonic growl. Mars’ black ship turned south, not towards Catharine. Not towards the survivors.

  Forgive me Regor.

  Mars crust sagged into Hellas Planetia but Branik was going deeper. Bile burned in his exhale. Smooth, in one motion he switched off the comm signal to the surviving miners. When he unfolded his palms, they looked lifeless. Lines carved by decades in the mines. Listening to the overman. That was a pain he knew. That he could face.

  That’s all that’s left of me.

  Ahead, a miner’s worst fear. The devil’s entrance to Mars. The first mines where ten men died for every twelve. Mars remembers.

  Gravity anomaly detected. The ship’s voice grated.

  Branik ignored it and pitched the suborbital corvette down. Black bristling guns shadowed below the vast crater walls. Deeper.

  Harsh static breached the comm, pitching loud enough to hurt his ears before the words erupted. “Branik, where in hell are you going?” Hell.

  “Badwater Crater.” The miner's curse. No one had said the words for a century. Branik said them.

  "Don't go there." Raf's voice tightened. "What about the survivors?"

  "I can't face them, lad. Not after..."

  "You'll be cursed. The omen—"

  "I'm already cursed." Branik's voice was flat. "After I'm gone, no one will come there. Not even Catharine."

  Silence on the comm.

  "Bones and collapsed tunnels, Raf. Don't mourn me. This is where I belong."

  "Branik, listen to me." Raf's voice strained. "Britt has a plan. You can still—"

  "No more plans, lad." Branik watched the crater walls rise around him. "No more choices. Tell Regor... tell him I tried."

  "Branik—"

  The comm crackled. Faded. The crater walls cut the signal.

  Silence.

  Branik nosed the Alba into the lowest hole on Mars. Eight kilometers below the crust. Thirty two below the gods of Olympus. The saints couldn’t save him here nor did they save the ones buried centuries before him. Closing his eyes, he twisted his jaw. This time he didn’t pray.

  Comm signals faded and so did the light. Two minutes later, the Alba’s descent motors droned. If there was dust he couldn’t see it in the blackness.

  A fitting end.

  The walls of Badwater Crater opened like jaws swallowing the dark ship, just like it swallowed every other soul that dared enter here.

  Motors shut in sequence and the instruments flickered weakly. The only light. With the Crater's curse, no one would come for Catharine's ship. Not even her. But Branik reverse twisted then jammed the levers, just as they did with track drills back under the mountain. An old miner’s trick. Locking the controls.

  When he climbed out of the Alba, he stepped into a half metre of black slimy mud. To his right a glow. A tunnel entrance? Not far.

  Different from the tunnel entrance behind him. This one pulled—not his feet, his thoughts. Drawing him.

  It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

  His lungs burned for air. Each step forced through the swamp-like ground. Harder than when he’d carried Regor….

  Branik stopped then forced the smile and memory away. Nothing like that awaited him here.

  A bridge of boulders lifted out of the black brine, leading to the glow. Except it wasn't a glow. A spiral of light, surrounded by sickness. Waiting for him. His thoughts.

  He thought of the miners he’d killed at Sisyphi. He couldn’t stop it.

  Crashing to his knees, Branik had only strength to crawl. This one was bigger than he'd imagined. It sucked the air from his lungs with each metre closer.

  Below, endless mirror-like reflections reached toward the center of Mars. Miniature particles of light spun. Hovered. Forming shapes. Letters he didn't understand. Symbols that twisted when he tried to focus.

  This wasn't the hellish death he'd imagined. It was something else. Something waiting.

  Branik reached his arm into the one metre bore hole and watched his fingers elongate. Then his hand. Wrist. Arm. It stretched. Twice—three—four times its length. Then twisted. There was no pain.

  Saints.