IRONHEART: The Primal Deception

Chapter 18

"The moments that define our existence often sneak up on us. Many do not recognize destiny when it walks up and spits on their boots. Of course, sometimes it slaps you in the face like a dueling gauntlet. Good luck ignoring that." – Lord Victor Rolfe, Political Wit and Social Radical

A swaying sense of motion crept into Jack's consciousness, and he groaned. His ears popped and his head throbbed. He stirred unwillingly, feeling the rough texture of wooden planks beneath his cheek.

"Look who's awake," a thin voice muttered. Jack opened his eyes to murky darkness. "I should've known you'd survive. Invincible and all. I wonder if it will kill you when they stretch our necks? Or will you just flop forever on the end of the rope?"

Jack moved his arms and legs experimentally, wincing at their soreness, and sat up. He found a wall next to him with a fumbling hand and leaned against it, resting his aching head as he surveyed the gloom with his eyes. Faint light filtered into the darkness, dimly illuminating the surroundings.

He was in some sort of cell, made of wood and metal, but he distinctly felt a sensation of movement. Shadowy figures crouched in the murk. He could see their eyes gleaming in the weak light that entered through some sort of grate in the ceiling.

"Where are we?" Jack ventured. His voice was raw and weak, and the dry tissue of his throat grated irritably upon his speech.

"We are in a lovely cabin aboard the Imperial Navy's HMS Titanfall," the voice answered. The words were said in jest, but the joke sounded strange coming off a bitter tongue. He knew the voice. It was almost back to its normal pitch.

"Goldilocks?" Jack croaked.

"One and the same," Goldi stated grimly, and Jack recognized the muted sheen of his long, yellow hair. "As a lad, I always wanted to sail aboard one of the Imperial Navy's airships. Now that I'm here, I find that a man-o'-war isn't quite up to my imagination."

Jack grunted. "I hear you." His thoughts were coalescing slowly into memory, and he struggled to make sense of them. "There was a raid..."

"Yes."

"Dasher!" Jack remembered suddenly. "He was hit, bleeding–"

"He's here, Booker," Goldilocks answered. His voice carried assurance, but it was also filled with doubt. "Whether he's alive much longer..." Goldi's shadowy form shrugged. "I'm betting he won't survive long enough to be executed."

"Executed?"

"Where do you think they're taking us? Paradise?" Goldilocks chuckled without humor. "Well, you'd be right. We're bound for the Celestial Realm, Jack, but I doubt we'll be finding much once we get there besides a traitor's trial, a conviction of treason, and the gallows rope."

His head spun, but the stupidity of unconsciousness was fading, and everything started to fall into place. "Trafficking Celestial Steel isn't going to land us anywhere else," Jack agreed. He ran a tentative hand across his scalp, but stopped when he felt a bloody lump. "Where's Dasher?"

"In the other cell with Switch and a few of the others," Goldilocks jerked his head indicatively. "Don't worry. They're keeping him as comfortable as possible." He glanced away for a moment, and then ducked his eyes. "We're the lucky ones, Jack. You know that?"

"By 'lucky' you mean 'alive'?"

"Uh huh. Most of the boys were slaughtered at the safehouse. But those Primals said we were going to be made examples." Goldilocks laughed nervously. Jack thought he might be holding back some tears. "At least we get a few more days, though, eh?"