12 Miles Below

A burst of shots assaulted the concrete turret. Again, the turret’s thick concrete puffed out in tiny dust chunks, but no true damage. It turned to open fire on the new threat rapidly approaching it.

The man made his way on a direct intercept course to the turret, dropping the rifle now that he had drawn its attention. His movements were precise, measured, and didn’t betray a hint of the raw power granted by the plate. A relic knight could move, all because of that armor. Metal armor, covered in ice and frost, complete with a faceless helmet. A blood red family sigil, the only decoration the armor sported. The family sigil of House Winterscar.

A full suit of metal was stupidity in most cases on the surface. But an ancient suit of power that laughed in the face of conventional physics… well, that’s an exception. And Father’s history towered above other knights as the clan’s greatest warrior. This turret stood no chance.

It still tried anyhow, opening fire on him, full auto. He ignored the attack, the sprint increasing, arms pumping methodically in perfect sync. Bullets riddled the armor, lighting it up with hundreds of sparks.

At the last second, he threw himself into a skid, sliding the last few feet under the turret. Then seized the exposed weapon barrels with his gauntlets.

Everyone coveted relic armor for a reason. For those venerable armors, ripping a turret in two was well within ability.

Leveraging legs, back and arms all together, Father lifted. Metal groaned, cracks spread across the concrete block, even the turret’s rifle tips started to bend. When a wide enough fracture formed at the base, he let go of the barrels and reached into it. A good grip on both sides, he pulled the fissure apart.

The gun turret was pried open like an oyster, inch by inch. More metal screamed inside, being slowly ripped apart from the sheer force. Halfway through, it stopped firing. Probably some critical component bent too far out of shape.

One final snap of metal, the top part gave in, falling down on the snow with a heavy thud. Everything went silent.

The man didn’t bother checking his defeated foe. The armor’s helmet sensors would have already told him all he needed to know. Instead, I saw him go check on the hiding scavengers.

That gave me some time to go fish out my pistol from the snow and hopefully sneak away.

Except the snow was too deep and I couldn’t tell where the gun had flown off to. Discussion floated over the comms, Father checking in on the wounded, getting the story from their side. And still I couldn’t find the blasted pistol.

By the time I found where it had sunk, Father was already stalking back. Straight towards us.

He joined comms and immediately started right into me. “The next time you get disarmed, I’ll have your hide for it. How many years do I need to spoon feed you the basics, boy?”

“Father,” Kidra said, walking up to him. “Thank you for assisting us with this.”

Cordial as always, she was. Suppose that’s the only way to handle him these days.

He shook his head, “Those two scavengers will pay for their greed. They weren’t supposed to be looking for scrap on a harvesting mission.”

No guessing what would happen if Father got wind that those two scavengers weren’t the only ones looking for scrap instead of Frostbloom. A bruised rib wasn't something anyone looked forward to.

I glanced nervously at Kidra, already feeling bits of panic rising in me. She didn’t match my gaze. Instead, she took a deep breath. “It wasn’t their fault. I am the one that caused the issue. We were exploring an old bunker, and I triggered a trap.”

Parts of me were both relieved and uneasy at the same time. She hadn’t mentioned what I’d been up to, but her sense of duty hadn’t let her outright omit it either. I suppose she thought the only way forward was to take the fall for me outright.

Made sense, Father would only give her a slap on the wrist since she was the golden child.

Me on the other hand, I’d be lucky to keep that wrist. I've never seen him hit her once out of anger yet. How many favors do I even owe her at this point? Kidra was a gods damned saint.

He turned to her, slowly. “You disobeyed the mission parameters and went scavenging?” Then his head snapped in my direction, suspicious. “Was Keith with you? Was it his idea?”

“He was. And I made my own choices.”

Father grunted, “I’m disappointed that you of all people hunted for scrap instead of carrying out your mission. I expected better from you.” He turned to me next, clearly fishing for something. “And you.” Even with the faceplate hiding every feature, it wasn’t hard to guess how his glare looked. “Why, pray tell, did you miss spotting the trap?”

Ah. Of course he’d throw that at me. Kidra had focused on weapons and combat, while I’d opted for a jack-of-all roles training. Against his advice, of course. Which meant I was the one most experienced in finding this sort of thing.

But I hadn’t been careless, this had been a particularly well prepared trap. Even in hindsight, there wasn't anything I could have done better. “They’d rigged it specifically so that it wouldn’t be notic-”

“Of course they did, you fool! It’s a trap! Do you think they’re targeting stupid animals out here?”

Stay calm. This will pass.

Father stalked up closer to me, looming. “You swore to me up and down, that your skills learned from those low caste engineers put you above the typical scavenger. I’ve yet to see a single shred of proof from you. Today just marks another failure, boy.”

I stared back, heart beating fast with anger and indignation. But that wouldn’t do me any good.

Stay calm. The anger smoldered in my heart as I watched. Deep breaths. Don’t explode.

He turned to watch us both. “You’ll both report to those scavengers directly, explain the situation, and offer remediation.”

“Understood, I will do that.” Kidra nodded.

“Yes, Father,” I followed.

The man turned to me next, grabbing my basket of weeds.

“Explain this.” He held the half empty basket, the accusation implicit.

“I... picked the wrong direction to scavenge. And half a basket is acceptable.” It’s not a bad haul per se… just not a good haul either. Also, most of it was my sister’s. Which he’d find out pretty soon.

“And yet you still chose to explore some bunker for scrap instead of harvesting. Dereliction of duty. Once again.” He growled back, then turned to check over Kidra’s work.

The odds that two scavengers would return with exactly the same haul were slim to none. Of course, it was just like my sister to try making both baskets completely even. Not that it would have made any difference to hide that. I could see his helmet shift from basket to basket, the relic armor’s sensors telling him the full story as expected.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Those ancient armors were utterly priceless, handed down from generation to generation. Entire Houses were founded on owning even a single one. And this is what he was using it for: To scan shrubbery in a basket just to get another dig at me. Of course, if I did laugh, it wouldn’t end with me laughing. The man ripped a concrete turret in half just a minute ago.

Father tossed my basket down at my feet. The frostbloom intentionally scattered all over the snow. With deep breaths, I silently got to my knees to gather up the herbs. Stay calm. Don’t open your trap and make this worse. The anger roiled inside, but I held it at bay, letting it sulk back down deep.

“You can’t keep shouldering his faults each time,” He said, glancing back at my sister. “He needs to learn. Only the true and full consequences of his own actions can teach him.”

Kidra said nothing, hands tightening on the basket. Then she took a step forward, shielding me behind her. “He is a scholar at heart, Father. Training him to be a Retainer is not the best use of his talents for the clan.”

“What talents? There are no scholars on the surface.” The armored man pointed an accusing finger at me. “You live as a warrior or you die as a slave. There’s no middle ground for a knight retainer. No one will respect him if he stays in the bunker scribbling numbers in the dirt! That isn’t his duty.”

“That’s rather rich coming from you, when you spent years wallowing in that dir-” She shot back, but stopped when I got up and put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s fine, Kidra,” I told her. “It doesn’t matter.” And then the rage surged through me, burning with hatred, leaping free from my tongue before my teeth could trap them shut. “Guess I’ll just die like a good little slave the next time a raid comes.”

Ahh... ratshit.

Father turned his head slowly at that, fixing his gaze on me. His hands clenched and unclenched rapidly at his sides, which was never a good sign. I’d hit a nerve and then dug a knife into it. I could see him taking his own deep breaths, fighting his own war. And just like his son before him, I knew he’d lose against his temper.

“Look,” I said, taking a few steps backwards and raising my hands, placating. Already reacting to what was going to happen. “The expedition is more import-” Too late and too little.

He lunged for me, hands empowered by armor moving at speeds beyond reaction. It closed around the cuff of my neck. Then yanked me off my feet and slammed me down through the snow. Not hard enough to damage my environmental suit, but enough that I could feel the ache.

I braced for the follow-up slap by reflex, hand flinching up to protect my head, ready to see stars. That hit never came, though his hand was hovering at the ready, shaking. The rage boiled through that metal armor, directed at me. I’d run my mouth again and twisted the knife that shouldn’t ever be touched.

“You will not disparage the dead of this House. Too many have died." His voice as cold as the ice around us. “Return with three baskets on the next foraging site, or I’ll never allow you on a main expedition again.”

“Three baskets?! That’s imp-”

“I wasn’t asking!” He screamed, shoving me back down into the snow.

I bit down whatever argument was bubbling under the surface. It was hard, but somehow, I swallowed any anger or righteous indignation. Those emotions wouldn’t serve me at all right now. There was only accepting and moving on. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

Father scoffed in disgust. “You should know better than to say those things to me, boy.”

Neither my sister nor my father said anything else as we entered camp. Departure was in less than fifteen minutes. That was the only reason I hadn’t been sent back to go gather the insane amount of baskets Father demanded.

This site cost me, I’d gotten too carried away thinking I’d just find the tech I needed at every site I visited. In retrospect, I should have stuck to my job in yanking out weeds for provisions, this place’s chance had been way too tiny. Build up favors, friends and more cards.

And then play them all when a site seems likely to contain the tech I need for my dream.

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