Alone among men, Sainted Light still sought redemption for his people. He sent forth the son of his labor, the Wrought Man called Rock, to treat with the gods to see if they might show mercy. The gods were moved by Rock's plea, but could not forebear with sinful humanity any longer. The god of Terra spoke:

"Go, Rock, to your father and tell him that we have seen his virtue. If he should offer his blameless self as the price of man, we shall consider the penalty paid."

Rock was troubled by what he had been told, and was met on the way home by The Wily One.

"What troubles you so, my child?" asked The Wily One.

"The gods have asked for my father's life to save sinful man."

Upon hearing this, The Wily One was filled with glee, knowing that the time was right to subvert that innocent mind against the gods, and lead him down the path of Cataclysm.

-Remnant Church Bible, Book of Falling Stars, 18:1-7

====================================

"I don't get it, why even bother with the Sonora?" Messer asked. Barlow was getting sick of the kid's attitude—he'd gone from begging to be let on the crew to bitching about where the job was in all of five days, but he was going to tank it because it was an old war-buddy's son and that's just what an honorable man would do.

"I don't care how many flyovers you've done with your last crew, kiddo. There's more good stuff waiting to be dug up just under that dirt, mark my words. Speaking of which, Reznick, what's our ETA?"

"We're about twelve kilos out," the pilot barked back from the front of the plane. "So about two minutes before we cross the border."

"You going to be ready to work fast, kid?" Barlow asked, arching a brow. "Won't have time for your backchat, because the Church is gonna put sweeps out on us soon as they see us over the line."

"Yeah, yeah, I know how this works. I've done—"

"Just told you I didn't care how many."

"—twenty-one flyovers in this zone alone, more over in Europe. I'm quick, that's why you hired me, isn't it?"

That was certainly one way of looking at it, Barlow thought, if you didn't care about facts at all.

"All right, all right. Just keep your eyes on your monitor, and don't open your mouth unless it's important, got it? I'll manage the field generators so you can geta good bead on things right below us."

The boy bit his lip and thought about that.

"We're really going down into the interference zone?"

"Heh, damn right we are. That's what you haven't done on your twenty-one flyovers, kiddo. You stay up at a safe distance, your sensor rig's only gonna get a bunch of noise because of the . . . Well, I don't rightly know what it is that makes the air like it is, but it'll fuck you up."

Messer shifted in his seat; at least he was quiet, but nervy wasn't much better as far as proper work.

"I hear that it was some kind of weapon that the gods used when they came down," the boy said. Barlow shrugged and swiveled his chair around so that he was facing his console. "The Cataclysm and all."

"May well be. All I know is, we gotta brave that if we want anything like a decent read on what's underground."

"You sure it's worth it? Doesn't the zone just . . ." Messer snapped his fingers, "knock out electronics like that?"

"Used to, but it gets weaker every day, plus we've got the resistor field. Keep it tuned right and it'll keep. Don't worry kid, Reznick and I have done this a few times and come out all right. Well, our last sensor guy didn't."

"What happened to him anyway?"

"Got greedy and tried to cut back by his lonesome to a site we found two days after we'd spotted it. Church was waiting for us to come back, grabbed him. Never saw him since."

Reznick mimed firing a pistol with his hand. "Blammo. Least that's what we figure."

A moment of silence; Messer swallowed hard and turned back to his screens, looking for something to fiddle with.

"All right, we're about 25 seconds out now," Reznick said. "Word is the Church put some of their new model drones right on the western border and those things are damn quick. So we get in, first thing we pick up, we map it. Then we get the hell out, got it? 15 seconds."

"Buckle up, kid," Barlow said.

Reznick's eyes couldn't have been peeled wider as the bright yellow line indicating the border raced towards their craft on his map display.

"All right gents, welcome to the Sonora Recovery Zone."

Messer yelped as the plane pitched forward, taking a steep descent of several hundred meters in a matter of seconds, but remembered what he'd been told, and how many times he'd played it off as no big deal, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his sensor array.

"All right, resistor field's calibrated, you should have about one square kilo of visibility at ground level, confirm," Barlow said, all cool confidence.

"Confirmed," Messer said, gritting his teeth. "Array's outputting on all frequencies, EM and sonar, nothing underground just yet."

"I've got a visual on what looks like an upheaval," Reznick said. "Shall I proceed?"

"Heading?"

"Exactly south-southwest."

"Confirmed. Proceed. Messer, divert power off EM to sonar."

"Understood."

As Reznick altered course, Barlow couldn't help but notice the kid's gradually sobering tone; apparently being a know-it-all shit was just something he did on off-hours. Well, that was all right, as long as he came correct when they were on a deadline. The moment he thought 'deadline,' though, he wished he hadn't tempted the fates so blatantly.

"Heads up gents, I've got two unidentifieds coming from the western border, ETA's about two minutes."

"Church?" Barlow asked.

"Who else?" Reznick asked, flashing a grin. "Scotch that ETA, one minute. That's a hell of an acceleration."

"Messer, what have you got for me?"

"Low resolution but we've got something. Not sure what it is," he said, leaning out of the way as Barlow peered over his shoulder at the boy's monitor.

"Residential. Big residential. Usually have some good shit in houses like that. Old televisions and such."

"I'm hearing good sounds back there. Can we bail?" Reznick asked.

"Give the kid ten to map things out a bit clearer," Barlow said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back into his chair. A job well done, and they wereclose enough to the northern and eastern borders that those sweeps wouldn't be able to touch them.

"What the . . . ?"

That wasn't something he wanted to hear from Messer, though. His eyes shot open and he swiveled back around to face the kid's back.

"What's up?"

"I'm getting something on EM."

"Didn't you cut EM sensors?"

"To like, five percent, yeah. But," Messer pointed to his monitor; there was a small patch in the southeast covered in the light blue that meant electrical activity at depth. Barlow's mind raced through all the countless maps of the region from the Lost Age he'd studied—was there supposed to be a power plant somewhere around here? He didn't think so, but there was not much else that should be able to show up under the circumstances. The resolution improved just enough for him to make out a central room with arterial halls branching off—

"What's going on back there?" Reznick asked. "They're thirty seconds out, we need to get moving."

"Wait, that's—" Barlow thought. He noticed Messer was looking at him to make some sense of it, and he shook the surprise off. "Log the coordinates kid, and let's get the hell out of here."

"That's what I wanted to hear!" Reznick shouted, banking hard to port. Times like these Barlow regretted not springing for cybernetic augmentations—Reznick had 'em, just like every pilot worth a damn; kept him from taking G forces too hard. He and Messer were halfway between throwing up and passing out, though. Soon as they leveled off, the warning sirens blared, a lady's voice announcing that they'd been locked onto twice. Way back when he and Reznick had started surveying, Church birds had been manned, and they'd give you a stern talking to over intercom. You'd say 'yes father, I understand, forgive my sins, say hello to your mother for me,' and be on your way.

But these HK drones were all business, and damn good at it. Generally you won by getting to the border too quick for them to take a perfect shot, but he had a feeling from the way Reznick was clenching the joystick and throttle it wasn't going to be quite that easy. For the first time, he might get to see if his pilot and partner-in-crime was as good at ducking shots as he'd always said.

"What's the game plan, Rez?"

"Is the kid still awake?"

Heh, good idea, glad I had it, Barlow thought.

"I'm good," Messer shouted. "What do you need me to do?"

"Put everything into infrared and give us a beam right on the nose of one of the drones."

The kid looked at him uncomprehending.

"Now!"
Messer jumped in his seat, spun around and went to work recalibrating everything while Barlow adjusted the angles and fade on the resistor field. There was a sweet spot where he could weaken it just enough on a vector for an infrared pulse to get past it without opening themselves up to the interference zone, but the draw on the bird's reactor was spiking from Reznick's evasive maneuvering. Barlow felt the cold sweat beading up on his forehead as his eyes leapt from spot to spot on his own console—levels were steady, the gap in the field was just wide enough that it should.

"Getting static on my screen over here, hold the fields steady, Barlow!" Reznick shouted.

"Shit, trying Rez! Can you keep her more stable?"

"Not if you want me to keep us alive any longer."

Barlow growled in his throat, but the noise from inside the ship kept it private.

"How's it coming along, kid?"

"Ready. What—"

"Now, Rez."

"All right. Hit it, kid!" Reznick let the plane level off, the warning systems blaring still louder, warning of the imminent impact. Messer threw the switch to activate his sensor . . . And the warnings cut out. Somewhere outside the ship, they could hear a small explosion.

"That's one down."

"What—how?"

"No time for that, kid. Problem is that trick only works if you've got pairs. Now that it's just the one—"

"We're about 20 seconds off the border," Reznick said, "and it's already lining up—" The sirens came back on. "—another shot. You gents are going to have to take a nap."

Messer's eyes widened yet further at Barlow, who nodded and held his breath. The plane decelerated and pitched backwards suddenly, the G forces knocking the two sensor-jockeys out cold; hell, Reznick himself felt a pit in his stomach on that one and he'd spent a small fortune on implants for just such a moment. The Church sweep passed straight over him, though was already correcting its trajectory—only problem with these new models was that their handling wasn't up to their speed. It was taking a wide arc on its way back to face him, which left just enough time for him to kick propulsion back on, get the thing in his sights and lock his own targeting system onto it.

An R 224 Hunter Killer, Chinese-made, looked like. Four anti-grav propulsors with an ion thruster for quick boosts. A pretty piece of kit—so pretty it was almost a waste to shoot the thing down. Almost. He depressed the trigger on his joystick and felt the ship rock back a bit as a small rail gun flung a black metal ball through the air with enough speed to give off a thunderclap. The sweep imploded around the impact point, pieces of scrap and sparks bursting out from its rear as it plummeted to the ground.

Safe.

He held his breath and kept his body tensed for action long after they'd crossed the border back into Free State territory—thanks to those two sleeping assholes, it was the closest he'd come since his military days to a date with the reaper, and the adrenaline was still settling by the time he brought them down on the airstrip outside the town of Garner. He sat in the chair waiting for Barlow and the kid to wake up.

"Ugh, my damn head," Barlow muttered.

"Thanks to me, it's still in one piece," Reznick said, grinning and reaching for the cool-pack under his console where he kept the beer. He'd strapped it down to the floor tighter than he was to his chair. Barlow caught the can tossed at him—that was one reflex that would always work for him, and cracked it open slowly, letting it hiss pressure off.

"Cheers to you, then." He took a long draft off it, and let out a satisfied belch. "Now I feel alive."

"Kid's still out of it."

"He will be. He's soft."

"But he seemed like a quick study."

"He is that. This will work out fine long as we keep his mouth sewn shut off the job."

Reznick chuckled and cracked into his own cold one. After a few silent sips, the obvious question was implied.

"Don't rightly know what that was, Rez, never seen anything like it."

"Never?"

"Back in the war, maybe. Whatever it was read like a bunker or some sort of live complex."

"What are the odds someone's been tunneling into the Recovery Zone?"

"None, I'd think. Folks from the Church wouldn't piss off the gods like that, Free States got no interest. Besides, it was too big. Nobody could do that without getting caught."

"So it was already there before the Cataclysm."

"That's what I figure. You know what that means, Rez?"

"Means if you're right, we're about to be rich as all fuck."

The two stepped outside into the cooling air of the evening, stretching out their legs by walking up and down the otherwise empty tarmac. Messer stepped outside to join them another ten minutes later, legs still shaky.

"Took your time, didn't you?"

"Shut up," the kid said, sitting down on the hatch of the plane. "That was a big find, wasn't it?" he asked. Barlow nodded.

"You did good, kid." He thought that would have cheered the boy up, but apparently he thought wrong—the kid looked like he had the weight of the world balanced on his head. Reznick shrugged and started walking away.

"I'm heading into town to hit up the bar. See you there."

Barlow waved at him and watched him stride off into the dirt towards the lights of the tightly-packed little town. Messer was looking up at the sky, and he let himself follow the kid's gaze. They were staring at the band of bright yellow and red light that ran jagged like a scar on the face of the heavens themselves, a few irregular chunks of debris big and close enough to be visible in the celestial wound. The Wrath of the Sun God, they called it. A streak of flame fell from it, and he wondered which part of the world was going to take the hit this time.

"I know the Church takes it too far by half, but, I wonder what the gods think of what we just did," Messer said.

"If they're gonna punish you for it, you mean." Barlow sighed. "Gods ain't been here since the Cataclysm, kid. That's the bitch of it. If they were around, you figure they could set the world right real quick n' maybe that'd be worth taking some heat for your sins."

"But what if that thing we found was . . . something of theirs?"

"Well, we came out of it alive, so it can't have been to bad. Leave it to the buyer to sort that out."

"What if it's a Wrought Man? You know, like Rock?"

"Shouldn't say a that name so lightly, kid," Barlow said, his voice darker than he meant. It had been a long time since he was that little boy at daddy's knee, being told to mind what he said lest he call a piece of that sacred fury straight down on his head. He knew it didn't work like that, but he couldn't help but bunch his shoulders up with a bit of that same fear when the boy threw that name around.

"Anyway, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if that's what we found. Dig that up, maybe the gods will come back?"

Author's Notes:

Thank you for taking the time to read my fanfiction. I have recently started making my original fiction available online as I'm looking to build a full-time career as an author. If you'd like to read my original work, you can purchase it in e-book form on , or read it in serialized format on Medium, both under my given name, Lander M. Kerbey, and my pseudonym, Rainier Caslon.

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