The transition from the jungle to the wasteland was violent. One moment, the White Raven was soaring over a sea of green; the next, it was plunging into a wall of grey smog.
They had crossed the Great Salt Flats—a blinding white expanse of nothingness—and arrived at the Cinder-Peaks.
"Warning," the ship's computer droned. "Atmospheric toxicity rising. Sulfur content: lethal. Ash density: heavy."
Isolde wrestled with the yoke. "The engines are choking! The ash is clogging the intakes faster than the filters can clear it."
"Take us up!" Julian commanded from the co-pilot seat. "Get above the smog layer."
"We can't," Skid yelled from engineering, monitoring the radar. "The airspace above the peaks is a No-Fly Zone. I'm picking up thermal signatures. Dozens of them. Gunships."
"Then we go low," Julian said, looking out at the hellscape below. "Nap-of-the-earth. Into the canyons."
Isolde dove the ship into a ravine carved from black basalt. The sky above them was a bruised purple, choked by the smoke of a thousand smokestacks.
And then, they rounded a bend in the canyon, and they saw it.
Foundry-9.
It wasn't a factory; it was a city built inside the crater of a dormant super-volcano. Towers of black iron rose from the magma floor, connected by suspension bridges. Smokestacks belched fire into the sky.
But the centerpiece of the city was the Titan.
Titan 03: The Magma Strider.
It was a quadruped, shaped like a massive, armored salamander or dragon without wings. It stood in the center of the magma lake, lava washing over its obsidian legs.
But it wasn't free.
Massive chains—each link the size of a house—were welded to its neck and limbs. The chains ran into the canyon walls, anchoring the beast.
On its back, the Empire had built a massive Thermal Exchange Rig.
"Look at it," Lyra whispered, horrified.
The Titan was moving. It trudged slowly through the lava, dragging a colossal crucible filled with molten steel. It was a beast of burden. A slave.
Every time it slowed down, massive electrical pylons on the shore fired arcs of blue lightning at its exposed flank.
CRACK-BOOM.
The Titan roared—a sound that shook the White Raven's hull—and forced itself to keep moving.
"They're using it as a mixer," Skid realized. "It keeps the magma flowing. Its body heat powers the smelters. They're torturing it to make steel."
"Set us down," Julian said, his voice cold. "Now."
The Slag-Heap
Isolde landed the White Raven in a scrap-yard on the outskirts of the crater, hiding the ship under a pile of discarded hull plates.
They suited up. This environment was hostile. They wore rebreathers to filter the ash and heavy cloaks to protect against the heat. Julian checked his Resonance Gauntlet. The copper coils were already warm from the ambient geothermal energy.
"We need to find the resistance," Julian said, scanning the horizon. "Vara said to look for the 'Iron-Lung'."
"Where do we start?" Lyra asked. "This place is huge."
"We follow the raw materials," Julian pointed to a road leading toward the main gate.
It was the Ash-Road. A highway of packed soot.
A convoy was moving along it. Massive hover-trucks carrying ore. But walking alongside the trucks were people.
Hundreds of them. They were chained together, wearing rags grey with soot. They marched in silence, heads down.
"Slaves," Isolde hissed. "The Empire dumps its dissidents here. If you survive the mines, you work the Foundry."
"We need to get into that line," Julian said.
"Are you crazy?" Skid asked. "You want to get captured?"
"I want to get inside," Julian said. "The front gate is guarded by walkers and turrets. But the slave entrance... that just needs a chain."
The Infiltration
They moved stealthily through the jagged rocks, approaching the rear of the slave column.
The guards were lazy. They were massive men in heat-resistant power armor, riding hover-bikes, but the heat made them sluggish. They stayed near the front of the line.
"Wait for the dust cloud," Julian whispered.
A gust of wind whipped up a blinding swirl of ash.
"Go."
Julian, Lyra, and Isolde slipped down the embankment. (Skid stayed behind with the ship; her broken arm made her too conspicuous for manual labor).
They slipped into the line of marching slaves. Julian used a piece of wire to mock-bind their wrists together. He rubbed ash on his face to hide his healthy complexion.
He fell in step beside an old man who was coughing blood into a rag.
The man looked at him. His eyes were milky white—blinded by the fumes.
"New stock?" the old man wheezed. "You smell too clean for the Ash-Road."
"Just passing through," Julian whispered. "I'm looking for the Iron-Lung."
The old man stiffened. He stumbled, nearly falling. Julian caught him.
"Easy," Julian murmured.
"You don't look for the Lung," the old man hissed. "The Lung finds you. If you survive the Shift."
"What shift?"
"The Crucible," the old man nodded toward the massive Titan in the distance. "They need runners to clear the slag from the Titan's path. It's suicide work. The heat melts your boots."
A guard on a hover-bike buzzed past. "Quiet back there! Move it, maggots!"
The line trudged on. They passed under the massive black archway of Foundry-9.
The Processing Center
Inside the walls, the noise was deafening. Steam hammers pounded. Conveyor belts screeched.
They were herded into a holding pen. A fat overseer with a cybernetic jaw stood on a platform.
"Welcome to Hell," the overseer boomed. "You are here because you are traitors, thieves, or useless eaters. Here, you have purpose. You will build the fleet that conquers the stars."
He pointed a metal cane at the group.
"We need twenty volunteers for the Slag-Run. High risk, double rations."
No one moved.
"Volunteers," the overseer sneered, "or I pick at random."
Julian stepped forward.
"I'll go," he said.
Lyra grabbed his arm, whispering, "Julian, no."
"I need to get close to the Titan," Julian whispered back. "That's the only way."
"I'll go too," Lyra stepped up.
Isolde sighed and stepped forward. "I always hated cold weather anyway."
The overseer grinned. "Brave. Or stupid. Tag them."
Guards rushed forward, clamping magnetic collars around their necks.
"If you run," the overseer tapped a remote, "your head pops. Move!"
The Shore of Fire
They were marched down to the Magma Shore, the edge of the lava lake where the Titan was wading.
The heat was unbearable. Even with the rebreathers, the air scorched their lungs.
"Grab a shovel!" a foreman yelled, throwing heavy titanium spades at them. "Clear the cooling vents! If the vents clog, the Titan overheats and explodes! And you go with it!"
They walked out onto a narrow metal gantry that extended over the lava, right next to the Titan's massive flank.
Up close, the Magma Strider was a tragedy. Its obsidian scales were cracked. Magma drooled from its jaws. Its eyes—burning orange orbs—were clouded with exhaustion.
Pain... Heat... Heavy...
The telepathic scream hit Julian so hard he nearly dropped his shovel.
I am not a machine... I am the Earth...
Julian shoveled the hardening slag from the vent, his muscles burning. He looked at the massive chain around the Titan's neck.
The chain led to a massive Winch Tower on the canyon wall.
If I break the winch, Julian thought, the chain goes slack. But I can't break it with a shovel.
Suddenly, a worker next to him collapsed. A young boy, maybe sixteen, overcome by the fumes. He fell toward the edge of the gantry.
"Boy!" Julian dropped his shovel and grabbed the kid's shirt just as he slipped over the railing.
The boy dangled over the lava.
"Help!" the boy screamed.
A guard on the walkway above raised his rifle. "Let him go! He's dead weight!"
Julian pulled the boy up, hauling him back onto the grating.
"Back to work!" the guard shouted, firing a warning shot that pinged off the metal near Julian's foot.
Julian looked up at the guard. He looked at the collar around his neck. He looked at the Titan.
"No," Julian said.
He ripped the magnetic collar off his neck.
It should have exploded. But Julian's crystal hand was already glowing. He sent a pulse of Static into the collar's mechanism as he touched it, frying the receiver before it could detonate.
He threw the smoking collar into the lava.
"Intruder!" the guard screamed. "Rebellion in Sector 4!"
Julian raised his Resonance Gauntlet.
"It's not a rebellion," Julian shouted over the roar of the Titan. "It's a union dispute!"
He aimed at the guard tower.
THWUMP.