Writing Prompt: "Confident and assured in faith, the holy knight trekked into the boneyard”

The sky was on fire again.

It happened from time to time, the result of the masses of toxic chemicals chuffed into the atmosphere from the gargantuan hive cities that dotted the planet; the radioactive garbage from shattered satellites, derelict starships and abandoned space stations. It all collected in the upper atmosphere and sometimes a reaction would kick off and the sky would burn from horizon to horizon.

None of this mattered to Jeanne, Block Seven Terminatrix of Hive Al-Omeg. What mattered to her was the greasy, sweaty squig that dangled from her biomechanical fist.

“Say it again, greaseball.” she demanded, and added a shake for emphasis. He squealed at her grating voice and her olfactory sensors, inconsistent as they were, registered the ammonia of fresh urine as he soiled himself.

“A seed!” He gasped, once again struggling to pry himself free from her Smirtka battlesuit. “A seed is in the Boneyard!”

She twisted her wrist, and Evelína, singing gently in her ear, obediently deployed a thirty-six inch blade that ran the nick through the chest, shattering his ribs, shredding his heart and pulverizing his spine, ending his life.

She tried to let him go, but Evelína suddenly went dissonant, scattering neural static across Jeanne’s body.

“Evelína, let him go!” She ordered, but Evelína’s lullaby janked to error tones in her ear.

Jeanne let out what was likely her hundredth sigh of the day as the failing battlesuit desperately tried to accomplish the most simple of tasks.

Jeanne had long come to terms with Evelína’s death, but this slow decay of functionality, this erratic behavior of functionality and irrationality was a clear sign that her Smirtka battlesuit was failing on the side of death.

She grit her teeth behind Evelína’s deathmask helmet and tried to trigger her jump-jets. Evelína suddenly reappeared as if by magic and murmured an apology as the jets failed to ignite.

“Can you let him go?” Jeanne asked, and once more, errors flashed across her screen.

“S-s-s-sorry, Jeanne.” Evelína stammered, and then suddenly the man slumped to the ground and all her indicators lit up, greens across the board.

Jeanne immediately hit her jumpjets, mentally plotting her course across the Wasteland to the Boneyard.

The jets roared to life and shoved Jeanne into the air with brute force.

“Where are we going, Terminatrix Jeanne?” Evelína asked pleasantly.

“You’ve forgotten already?” Jeanne asked.

“I have no records of our current mi-mi-mi-mission.” Evelína stammered. “Military Protocol 6523-7 requires you to di-di-dictate the objectives of your mission.” There was a pause, and then Evelína began playing “Threnody to the Lunar Princess”.

Jeanne sighed again, timing her jumps and making sure to keep herself low to the ground. It wouldn’t do to have a catastrophic system failure in her current state.

“Wh-wh-wh-where are we-we going?” Evelína asked again, and this time her normally pleasant, whispery voice was laced with fear.

“We’re hunting a Seed.” Jeanne replied.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“A Seed-seed.” Evelína stammered again, and then Jeanne lost half her optics. More, her body went limp in Evelína’s embrace. It wasn’t just Evelína that was failing. A Smirtka battlesuit was biomechanical. It was a living thing that was grown and cultivated and then joined to a compatible human in holy symbiosis. In this case, Jeanne. Evelína’s rapid deterioration was playing havoc with her own nervous system.

“Where are we going, Jeanne?” Evelína asked again.

“I told you, already.” Jeanne replied, exhausted. She tried to get a grip on the lost sensation and failed as Evelína crashed to the ashen earth.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry, Jeanne, something seems to be wrong with me.” Evelína offered apologetically.

“You and me both.” Jeanne replied. “I can’t feel anything on my left side.” She added.

“Oh!” Evelína exclaimed. “Deploying medical systems- oh... they’re working...” She ground to a halt.

Jeanne awkwardly pushed herself upright and looked around with her one good eye.

The sky was still burning, the ground was pulverized stone and ash. Jeanne staggered in a weird circle, trying to get her bearings.

Her Hive was seven hundred miles to the north. She was headed south, to the Boneyard, to either put Evelína to rest, or, if she was very very lucky, pick up a Seed, something that occasionally flowered from the tangle of dead and abandoned battlesuits.

Regardless of her failure or success, she would return to her Hive and once more take up arms in defense of Her Silvery Radiance, the Moon Princess.

“Jeanne?” Evelína suddenly asked, a note of fear in her voice.

“Yes, Evelína?” Jeanne replied, suddenly discovering that her entire body had gone limp inside Evelína.

“My directional sensors say we’re close to the Boneyard.” Evelína whispered, that note of fear in her voice again. “I don’t want to die, Jeanne.” Evelína whispered.

“Nobody does.” Jeanne replied. “Can you give me control of my body back?”

“I-” Evelína began, and then Evelína’s legs gave way, and Jeanne hit the ground on her face- again.

“This is really inconvenient.” Jeanne muttered, frustrated. “Fine. Manual Code 57-”

“You- You can’t!” Evelína panicked.

“You’re dying, Evelína.” Jeanne replied, struggling to breathe. Was it Evelína’s filters this time? Was it her own lungs that failed because of the feedback?

“No I’m not!” Evelína complained.

“Then prove it!” Jeanne gasped.

Suddenly her heads-up-display came online, and all indicators went green. She could feel her body again, she could breathe.

“Alright.” Jeanne breathed, and whispered a prayer to the Lunar Princess, then pushed herself upright.

“I don’t want to die, Jeanne. I don’t want to be... I don’t want to be abandoned in that place.” Evelína whispered in her ear. “Cast off. Left to rot.”

“You know what I heard, Evelína?” Jeanne asked her partner.

“What is it, Holy Knight Jeanne?” Evelína replied. To the Temple of the Moon, she was a Holy Knight. To those they warred against, she was a Harbinger, a Terminatrix.

“I’ve heard that Seeds grow there. If we can find one, you won’t die.”

“I- really?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Jeanne asked.

“The Agri-pits in Zone Seven sublevel red.” Evelína immediately accused.

Jeanne allowed herself a smile, and Evelína began humming in her ear again, a comforting lullaby that she sang to Evelína a decade previous, when Evelína was young and uncertain.

“Aside from then.” Jeanne replied. Evelína continued humming.

Jeanne pointed towards the Boneyard. “Salvation- probably for the both of us- lies in there.”

“You won’t... join with another Smirtka?” Evelína asked, her voice uncertain.

“No, I won’t. I can’t.” Jeanne’s voice dropped lower, kinder. For those who met their end at her hands or guns or blades, they would have thought it impossible for her to sound so gentle. “Either we both live, or we both go to the Princess’ side. I believe- I have faith- that we’ll find what we need to keep going.”

“I love you, Jeanne.” Evelína replied in a quiet whisper, and then returned to her lullaby.

Confident and assured in faith, the holy knight trekked into the Boneyard.