Chapter Eleven: Consequences

Chapter Eleven

Consequences

The Red Kite was pretty fast and the flight back to the Finningley Air Station was a short one. Having passed control back to the onboard intelligence Trisitan spent the rest of the flight systematically turning himself into a walking arsenal.

With methodical precision he unholstered the massive revolver at his thigh. From the back seat Ellie watched as he snapped the cylinder open and spun it to check that each of the chambers held a round. The pistol was unlike anything she'd ever seen before - although she was no expert. There was no barrel to speak of, giving the foot long weapon a blocky snub nosed look. It was mostly matt black, although there were some chromium highlights on the grip which caught the rays of the afternoon Sun, their brightness seeming somehow out of place against the unreflecting blackness of the rest of the gun.

With a whisper of metal and leather Tristian slid the pistol back into its holster at his thigh and turned his attention to the contents of the backpack that Bunco had given him before their flight from the Fuga Libero.  He drew out a pair of knives in hard dull black sheaths and strapped one to each forearm, before pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Then he pulled his goggles down from his bowler and strapped them back over his eyes before turning to Ellie.

"Check the backpack Bunco gave you."

His voice was hard and clipped, any trace of his amused sparkle was gone. Ellie leaned forward against the harness that held her to the seat and fumbled with the clasps on the thick nylon bag, eventually gaining access and rummaging gracelessly about inside.

"There should be a pistol and a couple of clips in there," he went on as Ellie closed her fist around the stock of a hand gun - much smaller than the weapon holstered at Tristian's hip, but just as black and just as deadly looking. She was about to point out that she had never used a gun before, and had no intention of shooting at anyone anyway but her newly taciturn companion continued before she had a chance to say anything.

"There'll be a belt and holster in there too. Holster it and keep it holstered unless you have no choice. You're not trained and I can do without you accidentally shooting me in the arse. Have you still got your goggles?" Ellie scrabbled in a pocket and nodded her confirmation, before realising he wasn't looking at her and managed to croak out a "Yes".

"Good, put them on and keep them on - we may need to shift out in a hurry."

Ellie fumbled the goggles over her head, blinking at the way her view changed as she did so. Tristian finally turned in his seat to look at her. "You should also have a waistcoat in there," he smiled, and for the first time since they'd boarded the Red Kite some genuine warmth reached his eyes, " probably not your cut, but it'll stop anything short of a small shell doing any really serious damage." He winked and as Ellie struggled into the predictably black double breasted waistcoat, he turned forwards again and addressed his comments to the plane.

"Red? How far now?"

"Less than a minute, Shift."

Tristian leaned forwards. The plumes of smoke rising from the ground spoke volumes. He sighed.

"How bad is it down there? Can we land?"

"The runway is intact." The metallic computerised voice betrayed a hint of melancholy. "Very little else is."

Tristian's expression hardened, his mouth tightening into a thin determined line. "Threat level?"

"Minimal. No sign of hostile activity on the ground, no hostile aircraft in sensor range."

"Then take us down."

-oOo-

The Red Kite banked and swooped down towards the broad concrete landing strip, her wings reaching out at ninety degrees to the long bullet shaped fuselage, tapering backwards towards the elegant "V" shaped tail to form elongated triangles. As she gently descended, slender landing gear folded out from the underside of the wings, her wheels kissing the runway lightly as she rested back on her tail wheel and taxied back to the burning hulk of the main hanger.

There was a faint hiss as the canopy slid back. Ellie wrestled with the buckles on her seat's harness as the acrid smell of burning fuel, red hot metal and charred flesh assaulted her nostrils. In moments her goggles were coated in a fine layer of soot, and she was glad that Tristian had made her wear them, distracting as the various florescent lines she could see when she wore them but didn't really understand were.

As the Red Kite came to a gentle stop Tristian was already halfway out of the cockpit. Ellie continued to struggle with her harness as he turned back and fixed her gaze. "Ellie, stay here. Red? Close the canopy. If I'm not back in ten minutes, or if you pick up anything hostile, you get her out of here. If you can't get her to Bunco, get her to the nearest safe base. Clear?"

"Understood."

Ellie began to protest, but Tristian had vaulted out of the cockpit, landed deftly on the concrete taxiway and begun sprinting towards the ruins of the nearest hanger before she could form any words. She huffed in frustration, and then smiled in victory as she finally managed to unfasten the clasp on her harness, shaking herself free of the straps that held her to the seat and pushing herself to her feet.

"I presume you're going after him?"

The Red Kite's metallic feminine voice carried just a hint of amusement. Ellie started. Somehow she hadn't expected the plane to speak to her. She leaned over the edge of the cockpit and baulked a little as she realised how high she actually was. "Well, that was the plan..." Her voice trailed off doubtfully.

 "I was instructed to close the canopy and keep you safe." The disembodied voice observed mildly. Ellie began to protest but the voice of the Red Kite carried on without waiting for a response. "However, I never did bother paying attention to him, so it's up to you. I can see you're not happy about the drop - try sliding down my wing. Keep your wits about out though - if I let you go and you get killed Shift'll never let me hear the end of it."

Ellie stepped gingerly out of the cockpit onto the matt black wing and slowly slid down to the ground. Pausing only to check the handgun at her hip pull the dart gun from her belt she turned and sprinted in the direction Tristian had taken. The Red Kite slid her canopy closed and powered down to wait.

-oOo-

Tristian hefted the large handgun as he picked his way through the remains of the hanger, burned wood and shattered glass crunching beneath the soles of his boots. The roof of the hanger was gone, and the brilliant sunshine seemed incongruous as shafts of light cut through the palls of smoke rising from the twisted wrecks of vehicles, planes and dirigible parts.

And bodies.

Tristian was trying not to keep count, but he couldn't help himself. So far there had been more than forty. Some were dressed in the elaborate Black Guard dress uniforms with all that ludicrous silver piping. Some had been clad in the more practical black combat fatigues or engineering overalls. All had been equally dead.

Smashed heads. Bodies ripped open by shrapnel. Limbs removed and clothing shredded by the sheer concussive force of multiple explosions. The bombardment - the one-sided nature of the carnage made it clear there had been no battle - had clearly been brutal. Blank dead eyes stared accusingly at him from ravaged and bloody faces, each one recalling Admiral Stoici's words to the forefront of Trisitian's mind.

 "I admire your loyalty to your friend, I really do. As I'm sure will the hundreds, no, thousands of Black Guards who will die if The Auditors follow you back!"

As Tristian picked his way further into the devastation of the hanger, he found himself face to face with the glassy stare of the young engineer he'd given the VW Camper keys to just a few short hours before. The young man's neck was twisted and livid with bruising, the head bent at an impossible angle, the tousle of black hair matted with coagulating blood. Tristian hung his head, the Admiral's furious final admonishment ringing in his ears.

"Where's your loyalty to them you preening self righteous little shit?"

"Sorry old lad" Tristian murmured. "I tried to do things for the best." Somehow he couldn't convince himself that any of his mutilated fallen comrades would care about his motivations. Good intentions didn't make them any less dead.

The faintest of noises behind him interrupted his reverie of self loathing. In one smooth movement he whipped around, bringing his handgun to bear as he did so, finger poised on the trigger. "I told you to stay with Red."

Ellie stared down the barrel of Tristian's weapon and worked on keeping her voice level. "Yes, but she suggested I come after you." She raised her eyes and met his gaze, her voice softening. "I think she knew you'd need a friend."

Tristian's eyes narrowed as he lowered his handgun. "She's a computer. She doesn't think."

"You're the one calling her 'she'".

For just a second the familiar amusement flickered in his eyes before it once again died in a wave of grief. A smile remained on his face, but Tristian's eyes were having none of it. "Answer for everything. I knew we'd get along." His voice was shaking and dripped with suppressed frustration and overt self loathing. Without further comment he turned on his heel and began to pick his way back towards the brightness beyond the hanger's devastation.

Ellie watched him go, her heart breaking for him. She didn't really understand what was going on, but she could see the carnage around her well enough. These were Tristian's friends, his comrades, and it was clear that he blamed himself for the slaughter all around.

Overtaken by a sudden fury she kicked out at a nearby pile of rubble. Less than forty eight hours ago she'd been walking home from the pub, feeling dissatisfied with life and wondering about the wisdom of a curry. Now she was standing in a burned out aircraft hanger, surrounded by mutilated corpses wearing an allegedly bulletproof waistcoat and carrying two guns.

She was amazed that none of this scared her. Before today she'd never seen a corpse except on TV. She was shocked that the mutilated cadavers strewn across the hanger left her utterly unphased. Maybe, she told herself, it was just all too much. Maybe it would hit her later. There was a little part of her that hoped it would. Surely if she had no reaction at all to all of this that made her less human?

She didn't know. One thing though was utterly certain. She hadn't asked for any of this, and more than anything, she just wanted to go home. Her jaw set in a determined snarl, Ellie turned and set off after Tristian.

"Screw this," she thought, "time to leave."