The Immorality Engine

CHAPTER
22

Veronica realized how big the warren beneath Packworth House really was as they walked down the seemingly endless passageway. It delved down farther and farther into the bedrock, branching off in myriad directions to form a chaotic web of tunnels and rooms. She and Newbury walked along the roughly hewn corridors, pausing every time they heard evidence of other people, sometimes doubling back to find a different way around or changing tack when they happened upon a dead end.

Veronica hoped there was another way out of the catacombs. There had to be. To come this far only to end up trapped down there and recaptured… She wouldn’t even entertain the thought.

She was tired now, near exhaustion, and the emotional impact of their time in the cell was beginning to take its toll. She was operating purely on adrenaline and the need to escape, to get them both to safety. For the moment she pushed all thoughts of Charles and Amelia out of her mind-they could worry about them once they were out. She had to focus on staying alive.

Up ahead the passageway branched off into three different directions. Here, Veronica noticed that the tunnels were more ordered and uniform, finished with neat brickwork and vaulted ceilings. She guessed they were part of an older structure, long buried beneath the soil, and that the Bastion Society had somehow found a way to marry their own, newer tunnels to the existing infrastructure. She suspected they were no longer under Packworth House, but instead far beneath one of the neighbouring properties.

There were clear signs of habitation here, too. Voices chattered in the distance, and the sound of industry echoed off the barren walls: the hammering of metal panels, the grinding of gears, the splutter of steam-fired engines.

Veronica tugged on Newbury’s sleeve, and he hesitated, looking back at her inquiringly. “I’ll try to find a way around,” he whispered.

Veronica shook her head. “No. We’ll only end up running round in circles down here, heading deeper and deeper underground, further away from any chance of escape. Let’s see what they’re up to. If there are people here, there must be another way out.”

Newbury nodded and returned to surreptitiously edging along the passageway, his back against the wall. Veronica followed him, keeping pace. When they came to the junction, they continued down the central tunnel, wary at all times of discovery.

The tunnel finally terminated in a vast chamber, a huge natural cavern, the ceiling of which was covered in a forest of dripping stalactites. The cave had been adapted to house a massive brass sphere, at least thirty feet in diameter. Its outer shell was battered and tarnished, and it sat upon a supporting pedestal surrounded by all manner of strange, bulky equipment. Funnels and tubing protruded from it like the spines of a sea urchin, and a large iron cylinder, like a chimney spout, rose from its top and disappeared into the ceiling above. It thrummed gently, vibrating through the cavern floor.

Veronica, lurking in the shadows at the cave mouth, glanced at Newbury quizzically. “What is it?” she whispered.

“I have no idea,” he replied.

Cautiously, Veronica broke cover and crept into the cavernous chamber. There were no signs of life inside. Whatever the machine’s purpose, it didn’t currently appear to be operational.

She heard Newbury’s footsteps behind her. “There’s a door here,” he said, approaching the vast, gleaming belly of the sphere. He pulled it open and bent low, ducking inside.

A few moments later his head reemerged from the doorway. “It looks like some sort of medical chamber. There’s a chair inside, and a device hanging from the ceiling covered in banks of needles.” His head disappeared inside again.

Veronica walked around the strange machine. There was a workstation wired into the sphere and covered in a plethora of buttons and levers that she assumed must affect whatever went on inside the device. Farther around the sphere she was confronted with the evidence she’d been looking for, and the nature of the device became suddenly clear.

It was the duplicating machine.

Two large glass tanks sat side by side on a raised dais, connected to the brass sphere by thick, snaking pipes. The glass panels were encased in mahogany frames, each displaying elaborate engravings and fretwork. The symbols and carved figures that intertwined in the woodwork were strange and unfamiliar, yet reminiscent of the type of ancient pagan iconography she’d encountered regularly at the museum. Both tanks were filled with a thick, viscous fluid that seemed to glow pink with its own ethereal light. One of the tanks was empty, but the other held the partially formed body of a human male. It was utterly disgusting, and Veronica blanched at the very sight of it.

The lower half of the cadaver could have belonged to any man in his mid-forties, save, perhaps, for the pinkness of the flesh and the lack of natural wear and tear. But the upper half of the torso remained horribly incomplete. The rib cage and belly were almost entirely exposed, revealing the swimming, un-living organs beneath. The right arm was still skeletal, with only the first tentative signs of muscles and flesh beginning to form around the hand and wrist.

The head, however, was perhaps the most disturbing sight of all. The left half of the face was pink and human, the eyeball staring unseeing from the socket. But the right half was a horrendous vision of exposed muscle and bone. The eye socket was an empty void, the cheekbone clearly visible below. There was no ear, and farther down she could discern part of the throat and the trailing muscle of the tongue, lolling about in the suspension fluid. Pinkish muscles were beginning to build up around the jawbone, but the back teeth were still visible beneath.

It was a vision that she knew would stay with her forever. She knew this man had never been alive, but somehow that made the whole thing worse. She shuddered to think that the body she was staring at was an incomplete copy of a man who was probably carousing in the great hall somewhere far above her. Worse was considering what he might do to it once it had been completed and transported to the hanging room.

Veronica stepped back from the tank, unable to look upon the duplicate any longer. She had no idea how the machine worked, and no desire to learn, either. It was an abomination, a travesty against nature. She found it ironic that the members of the Bastion Society could be so aggrieved by the Queen’s desire to continue living, but not see the horror of their own creations.

Newbury was standing beside her. “Fascinating,” he said, pressing his fingers against the glass. “The perfect marriage of science and the occult. I would never have imagined it was possible.” He traced his fingers over the symbols and glyphs in the wooden frame. “Hermeticism. These are alchemical symbols.” He moved around the occupied tank, examining the partially constructed corpse inside. “Edwin Sykes was one of these. The first Edwin Sykes, that is. The one we found in the gutter. Stolen and hot-footed away from here to foil the police.”

“It’s disgusting,” Veronica said.

“It’s remarkable,” replied Newbury. “Truly remarkable. But wrong in every sense. What they’re doing here with these bodies, what Fabian is doing to Amelia… it has to be stopped.”

Veronica looked again at the sickening face of the body in the tank. Yes, it had to be stopped. But first they had to get out of there alive. “Come on,” she said, ushering Newbury back the way they had entered.

They left the strange, throbbing sphere and exited the cavern, returning to the tunnel system beyond.

Veronica selected one of the two remaining passages, but Newbury stopped her, tugging her in the other direction. “No, let’s try this way,” he whispered. Shrugging, she followed him towards the sound of hammering metal.

The tunnel wound for a short way before once again opening up into a large chamber, not dissimilar to the cavern from which they had just come. She realised there was probably a whole network of natural caves in the bedrock here, and that the Bastion Society had co-opted them for its nefarious use. It made a perfect hiding place, with space enough to hide an entire army.

And that, Veronica realised with awe as she looked out across the chamber, was exactly what they’d been doing.

The cavern was a hive of industry. She pressed herself flat against the tunnel wall, keeping back as she peered cautiously over the edge. “My god,” she whispered, more to herself than to Newbury. “It’s an armoury.” She could hardly believe her eyes.

Row upon row upon row of gleaming brass horses, just like the ones they had seen at the demonstration in Piccadilly Circus, stood in serried ranks awaiting riders. There must have been fifty of them, if not more, shining under the electric arc lamps that filled the armoury with brilliant, dazzling light.

The horses themselves looked new and unused, fresh off the production line. They were a small army unto themselves. Unlike the ones they had seen in action, these were each adorned with deadly looking weapons. Gatling guns hung off the sides of the saddles on pivots, ready to be directed and fired by the mounted riders as they charged into battle. The multibarrelled guns were a far cry from the flaming braziers and jousts the demonstrators had been playacting with in the street.

Men in grey suits and bowler hats, but wearing leather smocks over their jackets, were bustling between the horses, tinkering with the delicate clockwork innards, refining and improving. Others were checking the Gatling guns’ ammunition belts, which snaked away into the hindquarters of each mechanical animal.

Elsewhere in the chamber other men were preparing rows of projectile weapons. These took the form of long cylinders mounted on tripods, with large cranking handles that would allow the firing mechanisms inside to be wound. They were mobile cannons, she realised, light and easy to transport, and simple to fire without the need for gunpowder or other explosives. She imagined them raining fiery Hell on the palace.

Worse still was the row of ten enormous armoured suits that stood motionless against the far wall. These were more like robotic chassis than the suits of mediaeval armour they were clearly modelled to represent. They were ten feet tall and adorned with the heraldry and insignia of the Bastion Society, supported by an exoskeleton covered in shining armour plating. The faux-mediaevalism was bizarrely at odds with the pistons and pneumatic joints that were bolted onto the frame to power it. Veronica could see where a man could climb inside the machine, inserting his arms and legs into braces so that he could use the movements of his own body to direct the corresponding movements of the exoskeleton. A large steel cowl appeared to fold down from above to protect the driver’s head, echoing the visor of a knightly helmet. The things must have weighed tonnes, but the power at the disposal of the operator would be phenomenal.

It was clear the Bastion Society was readying itself to strike. Veronica was astounded by all the machinery hidden down there in those catacombs beneath the city, a secret army preparing for a personal war. This was how they were going to storm the palace, charging in on shining clockwork steeds, their weapons blazing.

They really did believe they were latter-day knights, Veronica realised, upholding the spiritual beliefs of their cause to ensure the salvation of their nation. It was utter madness, but it was real. The assault on the palace was actually going to happen. Until now it had seemed like a surreal, nebulous threat, detached from her more pressing concerns. But seeing their war machines here, ranked up and prepared for battle, the reality of the situation came crashing in.

In a strange sort of way Veronica admired their courage. She couldn’t agree with their methods-of course she couldn’t-but at least they were doing something. At least they weren’t as apathetic as the rest of the population, sitting idly by as everything turned to chaos around them. They were prepared to stand up for what they believed in, even if that belief was ultimately misplaced.

Veronica could tell by the look on Newbury’s face that he had come to a similar conclusion. But it didn’t change anything. We have to stop them, he mouthed silently.

Veronica shook her head. “We need to get out and warn the palace.” Two of them against a small army-they’d never be able to pull it off. They’d just end up getting themselves captured again, or worse. As it was, the guards had probably realised they were missing from the cell by now and would be mounting a search.

She surveyed the armoury chamber. There would be no use searching for an alternative exit in there. Even if there was one to be found, the sheer amount of people milling about meant they’d never be able to move around unseen. She pointed back towards the junction. “Third time lucky?”

Veronica was relieved to discover that this time the passage soon made a dogleg and began climbing towards the surface again along a gentle incline. She’d lost her bearings as they’d woven through so many tunnels, but she had the sense that they were now climbing parallel to the passage that had contained their cell.

As they climbed, it became clear that the older tunnels were in fact part of a mausoleum complex. Here, the walls were lined with macabre burial alcoves, each containing the remains of the long-ago dead. Some were elaborate coffins, tooled from blocks of glistening marble. Others had once been wooden caskets but had disintegrated over time, leaving only dusty skeletons behind.

Veronica spotted one alcove that was entirely filled with human skulls, piled up one upon another to form a wall of haunting skeletal faces, staring out at her silently from their empty sockets. She shivered with a sudden chill, and didn’t know whether it was the temperature or the realisation of how many people had died to fill that single alcove. She wondered if it dated back to the plague.

There would be other, more recent mass graves all over London now for people to stumble upon in centuries to come-the victims of the Revenant plague, turned into shambling flesh-hungry monsters, rounded up by squads of soldiers, and destroyed. Many of the corpses had been ferried out to sea, dumped in vast loads over the side of the plague ships, but others had been interred in huge graves excavated by an army of steam-powered diggers. The plague continued to burn through the population of the slums, hundreds of people falling to its clutches every day. And so the diggers remained busy, carving up the landscape to find room for the ever-increasing piles of corpses.

Veronica dragged her eyes away from the heap of skulls. She realised Newbury had wandered off again, and she found him inside a small doorless room a little farther up the passage that had been converted from a tomb. She ducked her head beneath the lintel and stepped inside. She was immediately assaulted by a dry, musty smell of dust and decay. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

The room was brightly lit by a naked electric lamp, fed by a curling power cable that snaked in through the open door from the tunnel outside. The generator must have been located somewhere else farther into the complex, probably close to the armoury.

The walls of the tomb had been pasted with schematics and maps, architectural diagrams showing the floor plan of a large building. Others were spread across a table in the centre of the space, and Newbury was studying these with interest. Veronica joined him. Arrows and boxes had been drawn on the plans in thick blue ink, accompanied by notes scrawled alongside them in red.

“The plans for their assault on the palace,” she stated. So this was their hidden war room, where they had planned their offensive against the Queen.

But Newbury was shaking his head. He tapped the schematics on the table. “No. Look again.”

Veronica frowned, but did as he suggested, studying the diagrams more closely. “It’s not the palace!” she said, a moment later.

Newbury grinned. “Indeed not. It’s the Grayling Institute.”

Veronica didn’t know what to make of that. “The Grayling Institute? Are you sure?” She scrutinised the plans again. He was right. “Do you think they’re going to attack there as well?” She shook her head in disbelief. Were they going after more than one target? Had the Bastion Society planned a whole campaign against the Crown?

Newbury turned to her. “No. I think Enoch Graves is a considerably better tactician than he is mediaeval knight. I think they’re going to storm the Grayling Institute instead of the palace.” He smiled as he considered the implications of his words. “Oh, that’s clever…”

“Hold on, why would they choose the Grayling Institute over the palace?” Veronica was confused.

“Because everyone is expecting them to attack the palace. Don’t you see? The intruder was a simple diversion! They set up the entire scenario to make sure the Queen wasn’t-isn’t-looking at what is happening elsewhere. She’ll be so busy concentrating on securing the palace that she won’t even consider that they might be targeting somewhere else.” He was animated now, his mind making connections at a speed she couldn’t even try to keep up with.

“But what will they achieve? I still don’t understand. If they want to bring down the Queen, how is attacking the Grayling Institute going to help them?”

Newbury laughed. “Fabian. Fabian is the key to all of this.” He paced around the table, jittery with sudden energy. “Fabian is the Queen’s physician, the man responsible for keeping her alive. He’s the only person who understands the machines that preserve her life, and the Bastion Society already have a bone to pick with him.”

Veronica saw it then. “So if they kill Fabian and destroy his workshop, the Queen will die anyway. There’ll be no one to keep her machines working.”

“Precisely,” said Newbury, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “They don’t want to kill the Queen themselves. That would be a step too far. Not very chivalrous, is it? But they want to put a stop to her extended life. They want her to die naturally, without intervention. By taking Fabian out of the picture they can achieve their goal indirectly and still revenge the man who betrayed them. It’s ingenious.”

“But the Queen will crucify them. She’ll tear down their whole organisation a man at a time. It’s a suicide mission.”

Newbury nodded. “I suppose they think the end will justify the means. Besides”-he stooped over the table and began rolling up the plans-“they believe in the eternal rebirth of the spirit. They think they’re all going to be reincarnated. Death, to them, is just the passing of a physical form.” He held up the bundled plans. “We should get these to the palace-let the Queen know what they’re planning.”

Veronica caught his arm. “No.” She was trembling, but she gripped his arm firmly, making him listen. “No. We can’t tell the Queen. We have to let this happen.”

Newbury’s eyes widened. “What? Do you know what you’re saying, Veronica? Surely you can’t believe that what they’re doing is right?”

Veronica glared at him. “Amelia’s in there,” she said.

“Then surely it’s better we put a stop to it before she gets hurt?” he replied in an urgent tone.

“She’s already hurt, Maurice! It’s too late to stop that. But if we let this happen, we can be there, and we can get her out. We have their plans. We know how they’re going to do it. We can get her away before it’s too late.”

“But you’re talking about letting them murder the Queen!” He sounded exasperated, as if he thought she’d lost her mind.

“No, I’m not. I’m talking about letting her die a natural death. You said it yourself. And besides, after what she’s done to Amelia, after what she’s done to us… I… well… she can rot for all I care!” She released his arm, leaning back against the table.

Newbury ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly.

Veronica couldn’t believe he was still defending the monarch. She’d understood his moral obligation to warn her of the attack, back when they thought it would be a direct assault on the palace, a direct attempt on her life. But this was different. This was their chance to help Amelia, to put right what Fabian and the Queen had done wrong. It would put an end to Fabian’s diabolical experiments, save other people from suffering as Amelia had. If that meant the Queen had to find a new physician, or even if she faded and died without her pet engineer to keep her breathing, well… it was only what any of her subjects would have to face if they were in the same situation.

She turned to Newbury. “I’m going to ask you to make a choice, Maurice. I know that’s not fair of me, but we’re talking about my sister. I’m asking you to choose between the Queen and me. It’s one or the other.”

Newbury frowned. “How can you ask that? How dare you ask me to make that choice?”

“I can ask that because of what she’s done! Because of how she’s manipulated and used us for her own ends, how she’s had Fabian make copies of my sister so they can be tortured and experimented upon and forced to predict the future. The Queen is a monster, sitting in her own filth at the heart of the Empire. She lost her way a long time ago, Maurice, and it’s only because of you that I’m still here, still forcing myself to face her. Can’t you see it? It’s been staring you in the face!” She realised she’d raised her voice in frustration.

“And you’re not trying to manipulate me now? Is that what that kiss was about, back in the cell? Is that it?”

“How dare you?” she retorted. “Is that what you really think?”

Veronica fought to remain calm. Couldn’t he see the truth in what she was saying? Didn’t he realise what the Queen was really like? She took a deep breath. She was trembling with frustration. Newbury wasn’t himself. He couldn’t mean what he was saying. He needed time.

Newbury glowered at her, confusion clouding his face. “I don’t know what to think. You’re being impossible, Veronica. You’re asking me to knowingly allow an army of insane cultists to destroy the monarchy of England. Whatever the Queen has done-whatever-how can I allow that to happen?”

Veronica’s heart sank. “ Listen to me, Maurice,” she said, her voice strained. “You’re defending an ideal, not reality. The truth of the matter is that the Queen is corrupt, and she’s responsible for the very mess we’re in now. For Amelia…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Would she do the same for you? If the circumstances were reversed, would she think twice?”

Newbury shook his head. “No. But you can’t equate the two. She’s the Queen, Veronica!”

“It doesn’t make her any less the villain, Maurice,” she said, levelly.

Newbury hung his head. The fight-and the energy-seemed to have gone out of him.

They needed to get out of there, out of that room, out of the catacombs and away from Packworth House. They could talk about it later, once they were safe and Newbury had had time to digest the truth. “Come on,” she said. “We can discuss it later.” She turned and ducked out of the tomb, running directly into the path of a lumbering man wearing one of the exoskeleton suits.

Veronica screamed, and the man in the armour-his face drawn in a vicious snarl-pounded forward, raising his arms and bellowing as he charged at her. The limbs of the machine mirrored his actions, hissing as the pneumatic joints brought the powerful arms up, the fingerlike claws clenching into barrel-sized fists. He swung one of the fists at her head and she ducked just in time, feeling the air currents sweep past her face. The momentum carried the fist into the passage wall, where it shattered an ancient stone coffin, sending debris sprawling across the ground. Chunks of stone and broken bone showered over her as she tried desperately to get away.

Veronica realised the man must have been searching for them and that others would be on their way, too, alerted by the noise of the fight. They’d spent too long arguing in the map room. She had to act quickly. She had no idea how she was going to fight a man in a ten-foot-tall suit of armour.

The man came at her again, his pounding footsteps causing the ground to shake. This time she stayed low, dodging to the left to avoid the claw he sent hurtling towards her head. The fist crashed into the floor, splintering the flagstones and causing her to stumble against the opposite wall. Her hand closed round the thighbone of a skeleton, and she yelped in shock. Where the hell was Newbury?

The man in the exoskeleton regained his posture, servos squealing. The steel plating around his legs clanked as he moved. He was grinning wickedly as he lumbered across the passageway, enjoying the pursuit of his prey. This time he threw both his arms wide as he marched towards her, and then slammed them together in an effort to crush her between the machine’s fists. The resulting impact sounded as if a bomb had been set off in the confined space.

Veronica threw herself to the floor to avoid their deadly embrace, jarring her elbows on the tunnel floor. She knew it was only a matter of time before one of the machine’s fists connected with her in the confined space, and then everything would be over. She could dodge the blows for a while longer, but unless she could find a way to strike back at the encased man, all she’d be doing was tiring herself out until he finally managed to hit her, or others turned up to pin her in place.

She rolled to escape the pounding of a mechanised foot as the man made the machine stamp the ground by her head. “Newbury!” she bellowed in frustration and panic.

All she could hear in response was Newbury crying out in rage, and her hopes were dashed. He must have been fighting another machine behind them in the corridor. She couldn’t see to tell.

Crying out in frustration at her impotence, she pushed herself up off the ground and almost put her head in the way of another swinging fist. She dropped backwards, catching herself on her hands and springing out of the way. There was a splintering crack as another stone coffin collapsed under the blow, plumes of dust billowing into the air.

Veronica searched desperately for anything she could use as a weapon. Aside from the heaps of old bones, there was nothing. She grabbed a shard of stone from the ground and threw it hard at the face of the man in the armoured suit, but he simply raised his arm and it rebounded from the superstructure, rolling harmlessly away.

The man was toying with her now. He jabbed at her with his right arm, causing her to dance out of the way of the machine’s claws, only to do the same with the left. He repeated the action, grinning cheerfully to himself as he did it.

The grin was wiped from his face a moment later when Newbury suddenly appeared at his side, holding the sparking end of the coiling power line. The man’s expression turned to one of mounting horror as he realised what was about to happen. Without ceremony, Newbury raised the end of the power line and jabbed it into the suit, pressing it between the armour plating and steel braces so that the end of it came into contact with the entombed man.

Unable to get away, or to turn the exoskeleton around quickly enough to defend himself, all the man had been able to do was watch in horror as Newbury calmly delivered the means of his death. The man’s body bucked and jerked as the voltage coursed through him, causing the exoskeleton to shake and buck in time, mirroring his death throes. The passageway filled with the scent of burning flesh.

Newbury pulled the power cable loose, careful not to touch the metal frame of the machine, and dropped it to the ground a few feet from where they were standing. The corpse slumped in the operator’s pit, steam rising from the back of its head.

“You took your time,” she said, smiling. She should never have doubted him.

Newbury looked focused, serious. “We need to go. Others will be on their way.” He started up the incline, stepping over the shattered remains of the stone coffins.

Veronica began to follow him, but then changed her mind and started back towards the dead man.

“What are you doing?” Newbury called, making no effort now to conceal his voice. If anyone searching for them hadn’t known where they were before, they certainly did now.

“Getting us out of here,” was her only reply.

Veronica approached the steaming body, grimacing as she leaned in close and began releasing the harness that held him into the machine. It was only the work of a few moments to free the body, and when she was finished, she unclipped the machine’s breastplate and allowed the corpse to topple forward. Then, grabbing the dead man by his collar, she hauled him up and out, his feet banging awkwardly against the metal skeleton as she extracted him from the braces. She tried not to look at its face, which was frozen in a rictus of horror, as she dumped him heavily upon the ground.

“You’re not seriously considering getting into that thing?” Newbury said from somewhere behind her.

Veronica didn’t bother to acknowledge his question. Instead, she grabbed the arms of the machine and hoisted herself up, swinging herself into the operator’s pit. It was uncomfortable and built for a man, but as she lowered her legs into the braces, she felt the power thrumming through the weapon. She extended her arms, sliding them into the hoops that would secure them in place, extending her fingers until the tips of them slid into the tiny thimble-like cups that would enable her to control the armour’s claws.

She looked down at Newbury, who was staring at her from below with an unreadable expression. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to finish helping me into this thing?”

Newbury blinked, and she saw the stirrings of a smile tug at the edges of his mouth. He stepped forward and took hold of the breastplate, swinging it back into place. It locked into its housing with a satisfying click.

“Stand back.” Veronica flexed her arms, testing the movement of the device. It felt fluid and graceful, and responded to her easily. It barely felt as if she were lifting anything other than her own arms. “It’s remarkable,” she said.

Newbury jumped at the sound of movement in the passageway behind them. Veronica twisted around in her cradle. Another exoskeleton suit was thundering up the incline towards them.

“Get back!” she bellowed at Newbury as she lifted her leg and pivoted round, turning to face the oncoming machine. She braced herself for the impact.

The operator of the other suit began to slow as he saw what he clearly thought was one of his colleagues in the passage ahead of him, but he realised the truth when he saw her staring back at him from within the armoured enclosure, her face set hard.

He charged forward, raising his arms above his head as he stormed in, hoping to land a double-fisted blow from above. Veronica moved swiftly, however, raising her own arms and operating the claws to intercept the downward motion of the man’s attack, grasping the arms of his exoskeleton in the fists of her own. She shook in her pit with the force of it, but she managed to hold him back.

The man worked to free his arms from her grip, but she held fast, straining with the force by which she had to cling to the controls.

Raising her leg, she kicked out at the other machine and connected with its right leg, just above the knee joint. The steel exoskeleton buckled with the force of the blow, collapsing in on the man’s leg. Veronica heard his thighbone snap as he twisted and howled in agony, trying desperately to back away. She held on to the arms with all her might, keeping him from breaking free.

She realised that this was no fight to the death; all she had to do was find a way to disable the other machine. If she could leave it broken and stranded in the passageway, she’d be able to flee with Newbury without fear of it giving chase.

Veronica, issuing a fearsome scream, kicked out again in an effort to destroy the other machine’s leg. She funnelled all her rage into the blow, all the frustration and disbelief and impotence she’d felt in recent days, all her desperation and worry and pain. To her satisfaction, the steel gave, twisting dramatically out of shape. The man’s leg was utterly ruined inside the brace, and she saw blood spurt from multiple wounds, staining the ground with a spray of dark crimson. She felt a momentary pang of regret, but didn’t have time to dwell on the matter.

Veronica reasserted her grip on the arms and pushed back, walking forward towards the other machine in the hope that her momentum would topple it over. The man tried to struggle, tried to hold his ground, but with his shattered leg he was unable to brace himself. A moment later the exoskeleton tipped over onto its back, taking the man down with it. He howled in pain and frustration.

Veronica backed away, watching the other machine clawing desperately at the walls, trying to find purchase enough to haul itself up. Its broken leg spasmed as the servos fizzed and popped, and the man called out in agony with every twitching movement.

Veronica didn’t have it in her to finish him. She knew others would be along soon to help, and the wrecked, toppled machine would be enough to block their path while she and Newbury made good their escape.

Carefully, she turned the armour around in the passageway, unable to prevent herself from splintering another coffin in a nearby wall cavity as she scraped the sides of the tunnel with the machine’s arm. Newbury was waiting for her up ahead, the bundled plans from the map room clutched in his fist.

“Run!” she shouted as she powered forward in the great machine, one foot after the other, driving herself on towards the surface. Plumes of dust and debris billowed into the air with every step. Newbury, shaking his head in disbelief, trailed behind in her wake.