IRONHEART: The Primal Deception

Chapter 18

"Fist and the others might be the lucky ones."

Goldi fell silent at this, and Jack was left with a sense of guilt. These were their final days, and he was making them as unbearable as possible.

"We'll see the Celestial Realm before we die," Jack muttered. "How many people get to say that?"

Goldilocks brightened considerably, and Jack realized the lad's sanity was hanging by a thread. He left it at that, not trusting himself to say more. He never was one for cheering others.

Goldilocks will get to see the Celestial Realm, but he won't see his eighteenth birthday.

***

The journey to the Celestial Realm lasted several days. It made Jack queasy to think about how high over Victorian and the rest of the Grounded Realm they were by now. But queasy was a constant state in the brig.

Their jailors rarely fed them, though Jack couldn't care less. He could keep nothing down anyway. At least the privy buckets were emptied, infrequent as it might be. The Emperors' Imperial Marines were a closed-mouthed lot, and brutal, even by gang standards. Coppers considered themselves opponents of the gangs, more or less. These Marines of the Imperial Navy did not. They perceived prisoners as far beneath their notice, and the fact that they were tasked with guard duty clearly ruffled their pride. Of course, Jack had no doubt that much of the hate was a result of the gang's treason. They were as good as convicted already. Why else would street filth be shipped to the home of gods?

Jack fingered his head wound pensively, wincing at its tenderness. The swelling had gone down, but he was still dubious that he could fit his bowler on his head, wherever the derby had gone. He didn't miss the hat. It was nothing more than a grotesque trophy, and he'd never wanted it anyway. It stood for something else in his mind, though. It was Harv, Morgan, even Fist – anything he'd ever lost.

Steamblown Primals. Jack gritted his teeth angrily. The world was unforgiving, and he knew better than to shift blame. But by his reckoning, the existence of the Primals was what brought about misfortune. We live under their thumb, and they take to rule as if it is their natural right. Perhaps it is, but I don't have to stand for it.

Jack laughed to himself quietly. What are you going to do, Dull Jack? What remains of your pathetic existence is about to be finished. Your life belongs to the Primals' whims as much as any other. Maybe more.

He was Jack Booker, plaything of the gods, even if they didn't realize it. His whole life had been one futile struggle to protect both others and himself. And he had failed spectacularly.

Jack punched the wooden planks in a surge of unrestrained savagery, ripping open new wounds on his knuckles. He hardly even noticed. Bloody invincible. You didn't save Harv or Morgan or Fist or Dasher. In the end, you can't even save the one person you're known for never failing.

Abruptly, loud calls filtered from the above decks, and the pounding of feet echoed on the planks. Jack peered up through the grate and caught a glimpse of canvas sails spreading beneath the rapidly deflating balloon that kept them aloft. A deep, vibrating hum reverberated through the boards beneath his feet as the steam engines in the aft boiler chugged to life.

We're preparing to land, he realized.

The descent was almost unnoticeable in the bowels of the Titanfall but for the painful popping in his ears. The others stirred around him, realizing they had reached their destination. He frowned. More like the end of the line. I wonder what awaits us beyond these cells?

It wasn't long before the vessel came to a halt with an abrupt lurch, and Jack almost lost his feet. He stood up straight and grasped the bars just as the thumping of boots began on the stairs. In the next moment, the brig hallway was filled with Marines in resplendent, deep red uniforms, cursing and shouting at the prisoners to get to their feet. Jack waited patiently with the others until his cell was unlocked, then he shuffled out behind Goldilocks. He allowed himself to be herded toward the upper decks with the others.