The wind moaned around the shattered hull of the transport, swirling black smoke. The noxious stench of it made his eyes water, and the other ogryns were hacking. They should move, but the humans had ordered them to stay and–
‘This it?’
The human woman wore a mask, but he could hear her clearly as she strode by.
‘All that’s left,’ he heard the man beside her say. ‘The rest died in the crash.’
‘Just as well. We lost most of the rations. But we need muscle.’ The woman shook her head. ‘We’ll make do. Pick out the ones that can carry a transport pod and send them to the cargomaster.’
‘The others?’ the man asked.
He watched the woman stare at the wasteland surrounding them. ‘We leave our enemies nothing. Put them back in the ship.’
‘Breaker!’
The voice snapped Breaker Brass awake, and he sat up fast, almost falling from his pallet.
‘Breaker, easy.’ Torque stood over him, frowning. ‘The dream?’
‘Yes.’ Breaker rubbed one of his new hands over his face, blinking around at the now familiar wreck room. He must have dozed off while Torque had been running her tests, tracing the nerves left in the ruins of his legs. ‘Stupid.’
‘Expand,’ Torque said, and Breaker sighed. The other ogryn always pushed him.
‘Not mine.’ Torque stared at him, and he started again. ‘It’s not my memory. That ship, that place…’ Torque had tried to explain the concept of sky to him, but she seemed uncertain of it too. ‘It’s not mine. Why can’t it go away?’
‘It will,’ she said. ‘Eventually. Mine did. But they are real, real memories of something that happened. Just not to us. Track got these BONE units cheap, because who wants a smart ogryn? But she likes to experiment. So here we are, two ogryns stuck with the memories of dead men in our heads.’
‘Two.’ Breaker looked up at her. ‘You said once, another.’
‘Grammar, Breaker.’ She didn’t make him say it again though. ‘Turn Bolt was his name. He’d got lost down here, separated from his gang. We took him in and Track convinced him to let her help him. Tricked, really.’ Torque sighed. ‘We’re easy to trick.’
‘What happened?’ Breaker asked.
‘Track made him smart, the way she made us smart. It’s strange to watch. When it happened to me, it just happened. With him, I could see it, the way he talked, the way he acted. He got smart like me, but he got memories like me too. So he ended up like me, but worse…’ Torque shook her head, scowling. ‘I don’t want to say worse. That’s how Track thinks of it, but not wanting to hurt people isn’t wrong.’ Her eyes flicked to him, then away. ‘No matter what anyone thinks.’
Did he think it was wrong? Breaker Brass wasn’t sure, but it was strange. Though sometimes he thought he could understand it. Maybe.
‘Anyway,’ she sighed. ‘Turn Bolt stopped wanting to hurt people, but he remembered doing it. His gang had used him as an enforcer, made him break people, slow and thorough. He remembered that, all the people he’d tortured, and he couldn’t take it. He ended himself.’
Ended. Breaker Brass didn’t understand that. You worked until you died, or until the Goliaths ended you because you couldn’t work. Ending yourself seemed wasteful… Because he had been trained to be a slave.
Breaker shook his head. That was one of the things Track kept saying. The cyborg’s ideas, burrowing into his head. The kind of thing a jobless would say, but those things kept digging deeper into him.
‘This sounds cheerful,’ Track said, rolling in. She set down the crate she was carrying beside them. ‘Lighten up, you two. I brought presents.’ Track pulled her arms out of her cargo clamps and reached into the crate, grunting as she pulled out a massive gun. ‘Torque, give this thing to Breaker before it snaps my wrists.’
Torque frowned, but she grabbed the gun and tossed it to Breaker Brass. It was huge and sturdy, and when he lifted it in his arms the massive stock fit perfectly against his shoulder. It was strange to be holding a weapon obviously made to be used by an ogryn, instead of struggling with something human-sized.
‘What this? What is this?’ he repeated when both women pointedly cleared their throats.
‘Ripper gun,’ Track said. ‘Full-auto shotgun. Usually fitted with a burst limiter, because ogryns like to listen to the noise. This one’s been removed though – I trust you’ll be smart enough to stop shooting when the target has been reduced to slurry.’
Breaker didn’t answer. The gun was simple, brutal, effective, like a krumper but more dangerous. So much more. ‘Where’d you get this?’
‘From that same lost crate that had your BONE units, and your hands. Not these though, unfortunately.’ Track waved at Torque, who hefted out the next thing from the crate. A long, heavy box. ‘Two legs, almost done. I’d show them to you, but I can’t plate them until after I’ve made my last few adjustments and I don’t want you to see them before they’re pretty.’
Breaker Brass stared at the box, hungry. He wanted to get up. To walk. To work…
That was all he cared about, at first, but the longer he was down here – the more he talked to Torque, to Track – the more his mind grew. He still thought of the factorum, but not of the work. He thought of the workers, the other ogryns he’d left there with the Blood Eyes. As every day passed, Breaker worried less about what quotas they might be missing and more about them. His people.
Some part of his mind still rebelled against those thoughts. The training that had been pressed into him, that the work was the most important thing, that nothing else mattered. But that part seemed to be quieter every day.
Was that wrong?
…if the rules ever say that some rotten bastard like that should be in charge of your life…
It didn’t feel wrong.
And maybe that was wrong.
‘Ready soon?’ Breaker cursed when Track just stared at him. ‘Will they be ready soon, oh great savant?’ Breaker was still unsure about that word, but Torque called Track that sometimes, and it seemed to both annoy and please the cyborg.
‘Soon,’ she said. ‘Oh, and one more thing.’ Track pulled the last thing out of the crate, another large metal box. ‘Pit spider. Biggest one I’ve ever seen.’
‘Why–’ Torque’s question cut off when Track bobbled the box, then dropped it.
‘Look out!’ Track shouted as the metal lid popped off, and a green-legged horror flew out and skittered across the floor.
Torque swore and jumped back, moving away from the deadly thing, but Breaker Brass leaned forward, the ripper gun light in his hands as he pulled the heavy trigger, hoping that the storm of pellets wouldn’t clip Track before they tore the spider apart.
But the weapon only clicked and rattled in his hands, spilling empty shells without firing. They hit the floor, rolling over to where the spider had come to a halt. Motionless, its legs in a tangle around it, its many eyes were grey and glazed.
‘What,’ Torque growled, staring at the obviously dead spider, ‘was that?’
‘A test,’ Track said, looking at Breaker. ‘I had to make sure.’
‘Be sure,’ Breaker grunted, setting the gun aside. ‘Legs or not, I’m no pacifist.’ He could see Torque’s face, her anger at Track’s trick fading into a kind of disappointment. It made him feel strange. Wrong, though he’d done nothing wrong. Things like that, conflicting emotions, had been happening more and more. Part of getting smarter, he suspected.
He wasn’t very happy about it.
Track looked from Torque to him. ‘I don’t know why you’re both so cranky. This is good! Breaker’s going to be a welcome addition. Now we won’t have to worry about what we’ll do if someone shows up here, looking to do us damage.’
‘Is that what I am, now?’ Breaker asked. ‘Your muscle?’
‘Not now,’ Track said. ‘After the surgery.’ The cyborg smiled. ‘We’ll get your legs under you. Then you’ll be ready to kick some arse.’
For her, were the words left unsaid. Breaker Brass looked at the gun, heavy and dangerous. He wasn’t a pacifist, but he was different, and the idea of fighting for someone else didn’t appeal any more.
Breaker Brass picked up the ripper and stared down its sights at the cracked ceiling above, thinking of his factorum, of the Blood Eyes, of Dead White, and wondered what it would be like to fight for himself for once.