by Alex White
Nilah spun and hiked up the hill, the icy shell of snow breaking underfoot. One of the invisible shards whizzed by her head, and she ran a serpentine pattern to get some distance. Ahead of her, Courtney caught her eye, his fingers afire with an inky spell, strain wrinkling his boyish face.
Bloody hell. He wasn’t lying.
Nilah frantically searched the crowd for the Ferriers—she had to warn them, but all she found were knots of cultists in furious combat. Her heart thumped so hard against her ribs she thought her chest might break. Two figures leapt, hand in hand, crashing facedown against the frost. Had to be the twins—they were the only ones who’d be such close allies in the melee. More to the point, they were the only supplicants that would dare hold hands.
Nilah closed her eyes and hit the deck as a bone-rattling scream filled the air. Her joints seized up like she’d torn every muscle in her body, and her teeth chattered in her head. Her blood leapt in her veins, trying to burst from every vessel. For a horrifying moment, she thought Courtney might’ve lied to her, meant to catch her off her guard. Maybe this was what it was like to die.
Then blissful relaxation fell upon her, leaving only the blistering cold. She looked behind her, where the shard-casting throat-cutter once stood.
Two dozen men and women stood motionless, their eyes rolled back in their heads. Fingers clasped and unclasped the air before them, clutching uselessly at ghosts. Tears of blood streamed from whitened eyes, and they collapsed.
A glance at the Ferriers found them climbing to their feet, brushing away the ice. Nilah scrambled upright and looked up to Courtney, who pumped his fist and whooped.
With one fell swoop, he’d killed many of the supplicants behind them, leaving only the men and women farther up the hill. The guards at the barracks shielded their eyes, and from this distance, Nilah thought she could make out a smile. Had they known about him? Seen it before? If they’d had surveillance devices in the barracks, they could’ve heard the fool plotting to use it.
“Come on!” Courtney shouted down at Nilah, and turned just in time to catch a brutal tackle from a woman twice his size. Nilah surged to her feet, dashing toward the tangle of Courtney and attacker. She couldn’t use Flicker, but it was derived from Taitutian Ghost Fist, and she still knew the forms.
The woman rolled Courtney onto his back and raised a fist, the flesh of her hand transmuting into jagged rock. Nilah closed the gap and leapt, coming across the woman’s face with a flying knee. Nilah tumbled clear of the tangling limbs, then dashed back into the fray, seizing her dazed target by her hair and smashing her face against her elbow.
“Kill her!” shouted Courtney, but Nilah let the woman go the second she fell slack.
She helped Courtney slough off his would-be murderer and rise to his feet. Her breath came in ragged huffs. “Come on, mate. Halfway there.”
Courtney kicked the woman onto her back and crushed her throat with a vicious stomp. “Ten spots, Hope. Ten.”
She never should’ve bothered to save Courtney. Nilah turned and took the path at a brisk jog, ready to leap clear if anything happened.
Ahead, a pair of supplicants hurled spells at Alister, who crouched behind an outcropping of glittering black rock. Nilah watched in horror as they advanced on his position, pinning him down. Jeannie came creeping up behind the attackers like a mountain lion, her shiv at the ready. She pounced, sinking her jagged blade deep into the neck of the first attacker. Alister fled his cover in perfect synchronicity, charging straight for the surprised second man. Jeannie ripped free her shiv and flanked Alister’s target, and they dispatched him with little difficulty. They weren’t great fighters, but they moved as a single body, surrounding, yanking, and stabbing.
The bedlam continued near the top, brilliant sparks and deadly magic flying in all directions. Each of the remaining supplicants were powerful magi in their own right, nothing like the average scribbler. Spears of ice collided with smoking meteors. Glowing shields clashed with the fangs of a ravening, scaly beast. Men and women fell by the dozen, torn to shreds by the rages of arcane combat.
Nilah was just a simple mechanist. Without tools or a car or a slinger, what chance did she stand against these powerful glyphs?
The crackle of magical combat began to die down as more bodies hit the ice. The closer they got to the top, the harder the shell of snow became, until it was a thick, slippery crust. It was slow going, even for a former star athlete like Nilah. By the time she got within a hundred meters of the Pinnacle, exhausted wizards grappled together on the ground, desperate to thin the herd enough to get inside.
Less than twenty remained.
“Get ready,” said Courtney. “And if you get a chance to kill someone, you do it. I’m not going to die on account of your weakness.”
“Shut up, and focus on getting to that door,” Nilah shot back.
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m kicking it in,” she said, watching another supplicant fall to an ice spike through the chest.
“The rules say only ten can get in,” Courtney hissed.
Nilah bored into him with her eyes and spouted another phrase she’d heard the Children say on the Link. “There are no rules, Courtney. We’re owed what we can take! Now give me a distraction.”
Courtney balked. “I’m not sure I’ve got another one of those in me! I already took out half the playing field! Pull your own weight!”
Nilah lashed out, slapping the hell out of his cold-reddened cheek, then smashed a fist into his teeth. She wanted to do much worse to him, this monster so proud of killing.
“Do it,” she growled, “or die here.”
“Okay,” he said, touching the blood on his lip.
“Moira, David,” Nilah began as Jeannie and Alister jogged alongside. “Courtney here is going to cast a murderer’s mark, the biggest one he can muster, and we’re going to muscle through to the door. I need you to get people out of my way and stay right on my tail.”
As they approached, the fighters gathering near the Pinnacle took notice. They battled one another with tentative attention, keeping their eyes on the newcomers. Those who’d felled their opponents turned to face Nilah and crew, sensing some sort of plan. She counted over a dozen battle-worn faces.
Nilah set her feet and prepared for an awkward charge across the ice. “Now, Courtney!”
Once more, he began his glyph, hideous black energies gathering at his fingertips. The other combatants readied their spells as well, eager to target the most deadly threat in their midst, but Nilah surprised them by breaking into a full-on sprint.
Their shock at her brazen maneuver resulted in missed marks and fizzled spells as magic flew far and wide. She dodged a guillotine of solid ice and hurdled a bolt of fire as she dashed for the door access panel. She strained her ears to hear the completion of Courtney’s deadly spell, but she needn’t have worried.
Those in her path turned away, shielding their eyes after what’d happened to those below. The magic of the murderer’s mark crawled up Nilah’s spine like a needle-footed spider. As long as she didn’t look at it, she’d be fine.
What if Jeannie and Alister weren’t behind her? She couldn’t hazard a single glance. She could only have faith: in her friends, in her abilities, in Courtney’s dark talent.
Nilah dropped to one leg and skidded into the wall below the access panel, tracing out her glyph as she did. The others might have meteors and light spears, but they could never force the Pinnacle to open its doors. She slapped her palm against the keys, pushing her magic inside.
Security was rudimentary. Nilah couldn’t be sure if the ease of access was a trap, or if they truly didn’t expect someone to simply try and pick the lock. Either way, she was none too keen on wading back into the chaos and breaking some necks. They might’ve been evil, genocidal bastards, but she didn’t much feel like taking out the trash herself.
A twist here, a turn there as Nilah picked apart their electronic defense network. In the maze of w
ires and data points, she began to sense the shape of their anti-aircraft grid—a trio of muscular cannons with more than enough punch to take down the Capricious. She desperately wanted to disable it, then send an emergency message to her ship, but there was no time.
She broke open the lock security, splitting its code into jagged chunks. The doors flew open before her, and she took to her feet.
Inside stood three guards, each holding a slinger. They leveled their weapons at Nilah, fury in their expressions.
In the blink of an eye, Jeannie and Alister fell upon either side of the watch, stabbing and shrieking. The third guard had just enough time to register her shock before Nilah closed the gap and sacked her, landing astride her chest with fists clenched and rage on her lips. She screamed in her face as she broke her teeth and ripped her slinger rifle from her grasp. That guard was lucky. Jeannie and Alister had made short work of the other two.
When Nilah rose to her feet, she found a squat, withered old man standing before her, an excited smile on his face.
In a rasping voice, he said, “No more than ten may enter the Pinnacle.”
Nilah looked behind herself and found the access panel, striding past the twins, who’d gathered by her side. She traced her glyph, knit together a short security code, and slammed the door shut, leaving Courtney outside with the other killers. It was cruel to let them freeze to death, but what were her other options? Wait for the other cultists to rush in and kill them in an effort to pare down the numbers? Nilah straightened herself, puffing out her chest as the Pinnacle’s warmth seeped into her skin.
“No more than ten have, my friend.”
“Ready to do something stupid?” grumbled Boots as their taxi set down across from the entrance to Twenty-Six-D.
“Ready as I always am,” answered Orna, adjusting her sunglasses with a smirk. “This won’t be half as hard as taking the Harrow.”
Boots narrowed her eyes. “Speak for yourself. At least we had a head start that time. Security is going to be on point today. We screw this up, we’ll be a fine red mist all over everyone else’s stuff.”
Orna polished her glasses for what seemed like the fiftieth time. “I still think it’s ridiculous to wear sunglasses.”
“Gives them something to complain about. Vaults never allow sunglasses, so they’ll be looking at our faces,” said Boots, “instead of paying attention to the barnacle on my neck.”
“Whatever.” Orna smoothed down her spiky hair. “Just get over here and let’s get linked up.”
She traced her mechanist’s mark, then reached behind Boots’s head to touch the flesh-colored sticker they’d attached beneath her hairline; underneath it lay the barnacle. A sharp warmth permeated the device, almost hot enough to burn Boots, and she flinched. Orna gave her a gentle slap and pointed at her nose.
“No. No flinching,” said the quartermaster. “I don’t care if you’re catching fire in there, I don’t want to see you even wince.”
Boots gritted her teeth. “It’s like I have a hot bug crawling on my neck. Couldn’t we have done my palm or something?”
“You want the scanners to mistake it for a cardioid, don’t you?” Orna closed her eyes. “I’ve got a good link to the barnacle. Remember the plan: we go in there to access our box, you stick down the barnacle on the console, then block the guard’s view while I get access to the warehouse controls.”
Boots continued for her, “We take what we need out of Durand’s box, put everything back where we found it, and get the hell out of there. Easy peasy, right?”
“The easiest of peasies,” said Orna with a nod. “Just don’t forget the barnacle when we leave. I can’t walk out with it or the scanners will dice me.”
“Okay,” said Boots. “Let’s rock.”
They climbed out of the cab onto the busy street of the Vault District, bustling with the armored strongbox transports. Boots watched the parade of autoturrets and wondered just how networked the defenses of Mercandatta were. If she tripped an alarm, would the armored cars stop to blow her apart?
They crossed the street into the lobby, and where once Boots had felt welcomed, she felt only the chill of a mausoleum. Everything was the exact same as last time: the single desk, the rock walls and floors, the overly friendly salesman/attendant, but entering the hallowed halls of commerce with larcenous intent changed the temperature a bit.
“Elsie! Bertha! How lovely to see you today,” said John, clapping his hands together. “Visiting our new box already?”
“We’re making some additions,” said Orna, holding up a small carrying case. It was mostly empty, but that was none of John’s business.
“Fantastic.” John nodded at Boots’s awkwardly tied folder of papers. “Do you need a moment to sort your affairs before we go into the vault? Can I get you anything to drink or eat in the meantime? I can pop you up a workstation, and we have the best coffee service in—”
“John,” said Boots, “calm down. We’re already renting a box. You’re selling past the close, buddy.”
He drew up short and an embarrassed smile spread across his face. “That I am, that I am.” He fetched his key from behind his desk and gestured for them to follow. “You know, I just get so darn excited. We’ve got these terrific cookies, and the staff can’t really eat them unless our clientele indulges.” With that last, he winked.
Boots clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell them we had cookies then, John, and spoil yourself. You deserve it.”
John placed his key into the hole and winked at Boots. “Oh, you are so bad.”
You have no idea, John.
He almost turned, but stopped short, looking the both of them over. Could he see her pulse thumping in her neck? No, his eyes were on Orna.
“I’m so sorry,” he began, and Boots braced for some kind of denial, “but eyewear off, please.”
It took every ounce of Boots’s control not to smile as Orna removed her glasses and tucked them into her collar. John turned the key, and magic flooded the veins of the marble wall, parting it before them. John walked to the interior corridor and pressed the hidden recess, bringing forth the tray for magical items. He held it out for them.
Orna took off her circlet and placed it into the tray. Boots did the same with her paragon crystal. John held the tray steadfastly, his face expectant.
“Now are we sure that’s everything?” he asked, and Boots briefly wondered if he knew, if he was warning them not to try anything.
“That’s all,” said Boots. “Bertha, you got some magical items I don’t know about?”
Orna shook her head no, but John refused to close the box, his face growing concerned. He stared intently at Boots, like he could see right through her, all the way to the cheap barnacle flesh-taped to the base of her skull.
“I don’t have anything else,” said Boots.
“I’m afraid you do,” said John. “I’m really sorry about this.”
Boots balled her hands into fists, ready to punch him if he did something to trigger an alarm. Maybe she could get halfway down the block before the drones mowed her down. Her fingers clinked.
John nodded at her shoulder. “Your, um, arm battery, miss.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, John!” Boots guffawed. “Am I ever glad for you! If you hadn’t stopped me from going in there …”
John cocked his head with a sunbeam smile. “I do like to see my clients in one piece! I simply don’t like bringing up someone else’s amputation. Seems a bit uncouth.”
Boots reached under her collar and pulled the battery loose, her arm going slack as she did. “Too right, John. Too right. Have an extra cookie on me.”
He turned and slid the box into the wall. “And now I’ll leave you to your good works. I’ll be in the lobby when you’re ready for me to close up.”
Boots and Orna walked down the trio of stairs into the sunny vault proper. Gleaming, polished boxes greeted them, reflecting light onto the central console. Boots circled it once.
�
�How do you work this thing again?” she asked, pretending to scratch the back of her neck. She dug her fingernails up under the sticker and peeled it away as nonchalantly as she could. Once she had the barnacle in hand, she palmed it and pressed it to the side of the glassy console opposite the door.
“Just put your access code in.” Orna came and pushed her aside, leaning against the console and placing her fingers over the barnacle. Once she had bare skin against the machine, she could reconnect to her spell. The quartermaster let out a soft sigh, and Boots recognized that look on her face—mechanists loved to interface with machines, maybe a little too much.
Boots crossed around to put her body between the open door and the console. “Oh, yeah. This thing is so fancy.”
“Yep,” said Orna, but she clearly wasn’t listening. Her eyes flitted back and forth, skimming through some data that Boots couldn’t see.
“We should get something like this for the ship. It’d be real nice.”
“Yep.”
She glanced at Orna, waiting for her to crack the system, but instead found a cold sweat on the quartermaster’s brow. Orna bit her lip, and a vein bulged on the side of her forehead.
They’d chosen their crew incorrectly. Nilah was the hacker. Orna was the fighter. If she couldn’t hack the system, their whole adventure would come to an end, and Nilah would be left dangling at the end of a rope on Hammerhead.
“Everything okay, ladies?” John called from the entryway to the lobby.
Boots cleared her throat, trying to muster a bit of confidence. “Fine! We’re fine. Just forgot our access code.”
“Oh, no!” He clasped his hands together and wrung them. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information from here. You’ll have to go to the main office.”
Orna’s skin drained of color. Whatever security was inside the console was eating her lunch. Boots had heard tell of systems that would fry a hacker, and wondered if she should pull Orna free and cancel the op.
