Page 14 of Under the Iron Sky

“It should.”

“Why?”

“Because he was your nephew!” Soraya shouted.

“Will my grief bring him back?”

“No, but—”

“It’s not as though he’s the first soldier you’ve lost.”

A slap in the face would’ve hurt less. Soraya tried to stop herself, but she still flinched. And her mother saw it, saw that tiny twitch of her lip, that tiny sign of weakness, and struck. Hard.

“You want to protect the spy? Is that it?” She loosened a bitter scoff. “Gods, you’re still too soft. I swear one day, if you don’t staunch that bleeding heart of yours, you’re going to drown us all. We’re at war, Soraya. People die every day. You want to stop it from happening? Give better orders.”

This time when Soraya slammed her fists against the table, Noreen shot to her feet. She rounded the desk with such grace, the mess of copper and steel brace that stopped her spine and shoulders from collapsing creaking with every step. She’d lost the limp that had accompanied this injury a long time ago, but she’d never fight as she once had. “Stand down.”

“Or what?”

Noreen may have balked to no one, but she did flinch, just a little, when Soraya took a step toward her. Her nasty green eyes glanced over the weapons still strapped to her daughter’s body. No doubt recalling what she could do with them, what she herself had taught her only child to do with them when she wanted to. And Soraya really fucking wanted to.

Soraya clenched her fists, itching to bury her knuckle-dusters in her mother’s face. Ironic, that she’d had the bits of spiked metal welded onto the backs of her hands years ago for the sole purpose of ensuring she was never caught behind enemy lines without at least one weapon, only to find herself longing to use them at home most of the time.

Go on, some dark part of her that was always hungry whispered. Punch me. Push me. Give me a reason to break your fucking jaw. To hit and hit and hit until this burning thing deep inside of her was satisfied.

Noreen and Soraya stared at each other. Noah used to say their confrontations were like two cats sizing each other up—

Oh, Noah. It hurt to think of him. His bloodless face popped into her mind, and seeing it drained that fight right out of Soraya like smoke sucked through an air vent. Dwindled that fire enough for her to turn and walk away. This time.

“You’re getting cocky, Soraya.” Noreen’s voice was a hiss. “You’re just a soldier in this war. And soldiers can be easily replaced.”

Soraya paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame. She really should just go, but like her finger on the trigger of that sunrifle in her workshop, the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “So can commanders.”

The familiar’s body was still warm when Soraya returned. She scooped him off the floor, his weight barely a weight at all in her palm, and carefully laid him on her workbench.

Noah isn’t the first soldier you’ve lost. Those words swirled in Soraya’s head as she sprinted around her workshop, pulling tools and bolts and broken machines from every shelf and drawer with shaky fingers. She’d stripped enough familiars apart to know exactly what she needed to fix him. And she would fix him.

Breaking him down was easy. She removed his wings, then his eyes and chest plate, all the broken rusty pieces of him sighing like a spirit who was ready to let go when she unscrewed them. She felt like she couldn’t breathe again until she’d put him back together.

Noah isn’t the first soldier you’ve lost. That one sentence guided Soraya’s every movement. Every twist of a wrench and tightening of a bolt haunted by the truth in those words.

Noah was dead because she hadn’t acted fast enough. Beta was dead because the Dar’rak had gotten to him before she’d blown the nest. The same for Delta.

All of them, dead.

Yes, they’d known the risks going into the mission, that the chances of surviving were horrifically low, and that if they came into close quarters with a Dar’rak at full strength, a being that could move things with its mind and break bones without a second thought, that their only hope was to pray their gun was charged and they were a good shot. The only reason Soraya had survived her own encounter with that one on the platform was because he’d been severely injured.

She knew all of this, but she couldn’t quiet the voice in the back of her head that screamed this was all her fault.

It’d been her strategy. Her commands.

Soraya carried out the repairs quickly, too quickly, hammering and screwing so harshly she could no longer feel her fingers and the pads of both her thumbs were split open from gripping the tools too tightly. Her eyes burned. But she wouldn’t stop. She just wanted to save one thing tonight. Just one act of goodness to try and wipe away some of the bad she’d done.

When she was finally happy, she clipped two metal rods that were attached to a shining yellow box on the wall into the familiar’s body, an emergency power bank that she was only ever to use to give repaired weapons enough juice to see if they worked properly before sending them on their merry way.

Pushing her goggles onto her forehead, Soraya sent up a silent prayer to Gods she hadn’t believed in for years and started the charge. The bank hummed to life, and she watched with bated breath as the clear tubes attaching the box to the hooks pulsed with a dim white light. The bird remained motionless.

Frowning, Soraya hit him with another wave.