Marked

by Jenny Martin

  “What in the name of Bisera do you think you’re doing?” he yells.

  I cringe. “Sir, with all due respect, we are heading for the line to pick up the wounded.”

  “No, you’re not. The valley’s crawling with ground readers and fallen IP. You turn around, right now, get back down here.”

  I start to argue, but Hal leans between Fahra and me. “Copy that, Captain,” he says calmly. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to disregard those orders.”

  “Listen here, Larssen,” Nandan roars. “I’m not having some of my best auxiliaries stranded out there. And we cannot afford Phee getting captured.”

  I risk a glance at Hal, keeping one eye on the narrow road. The look on his face, it’s like seeing him for the first time. Resolute, he looks to Fahra and Miyu.

  “We need you, Hal,” Nandan says.

  Finally, Hal answers. “Yes, Captain. You do need us. And that’s why we’re here. And if I don’t see you at fallback, it’s been a pleasure to serve under your command.”

  Then Hal swipes the volume down on Nandan’s pleading. We tune it out, like it’s just another roll of thunder.

  Even with night vision, it’s hard to make out much once we reach the edge of the valley. The air’s thick with flash fire and smoke; it takes a second to get our bearings on the downhill. Can’t get around the fog, so I gamble on speed to get through it. Teeth gritted, heart pounding, I keep the throttle open. At last, when the terrain levels out, we pothole, then skid, then grind to a stop.

  “Visibility’s still for sap,” I say.

  “How will we find them?” Miyu asks.

  “Power down,” Hal replies. “And I’ll show you.”

  In the hold of the rig, Hal first passes the packs, one for each of us to shoulder. Then he tosses me a bio-scanner. Miyu gets one too. I reach to pocket it, but Hal stops me. “The side screen. Swipe it from ‘diagnostic’ mode to ‘trace signature,’” he says. “And lock it to ‘quiet’ mode too. We don’t know who’s out there.”

  We obey.

  “Miyu, you come with me. And Fahra, you go with Phee,” Hal says. “The bio-scanners will ping once when they detect any vitals signature within a hundred-meter radius. The closer you get, the more they’ll sound off. If you sense enemy movement, silence and take cover.”

  When we nod in agreement, he adds, “And if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. You all wear your masks, and keep your lenses clear. We flex each other if there’s trouble. We don’t leave anyone behind. Captain Fahra, I’ve got a pulse gun, and there’s another in your pack. Watch out for ground readers; you may need it.”

  Overhead, another missile meets its target, and the impact shreds the air. Less than a mile east, if I had to guess. Air to ground impact. Another fighter down. A second later, the aftershocks. For a moment, the Nightcrawler quakes. A different tremor moves through me; the sense of doom hits like a tidal wave. In vain, I close my eyes and will it to pass.

  We jump out and close the hold behind us.

  “Ready?” Hal asks.

  “Affirmative,” I say.

  Hal secures his gun and slings his pack over his shoulders. “Then rendezvous in thirty minutes or less. If you find wounded, get them back here as fast as you can. Stick to our side of the lowlands.” He squints into the acrid fog of the eastern sky, where the battle’s raging most hot. “Stay west of the old armory. I mean it.” He looks at me. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Satisfied, he pulls on his mask. He and Miyu lope off into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I’LL LEAD?” FAHRA ASKS, RIGHT HAND ON HIS GUN. A NICE compact pulse revolver.

  “Yeah.”

  We both pull on the masks Hal packed for us. They’re snug and uncomfortable, but we’ll need the lenses and re-breathers. We take a second to blink and adjust to the claustrophobic view. “Ay-khan save us,” Fahra swears quietly, eyeing the endless wreckage.

  Ay-khan. The Evening Star. I look up, but it’s hidden. I look down at the valley, which is now completely unrecognizable.

  It’s the first time I’ve been here since Benroyal’s initial attack. The ground, which was once a soft carpet of green grass and poppy-rich silt, is now black and scabrous. Above, pulse and magma fire burst in random, lightning-flash twitches, and it’s as if we’ve stumbled into an apocalypse, into the boneyard under hell’s strobe.

  I feel a fresh stab of fear, and I can’t help but reach for my ribs. Don’t know if I’m holding something in, or checking to make sure we’re still here, and not already blown apart.

  Hoarse breathing and careful steps. Meter by meter, we creep out. No traces of life for what seems like hours. But in the dark, I catch hints of death. A smoking heap of a vac, or the dead-eyed stare of a tumbled corpse, still buckled in or slid under billowing silk, the charred failure of an ejection chute. I force my eyes to glide over the bodies, rebel and IP alike. I’m completely clenched up, braced against the waves of panic. The terror crests as I check the faces of the dead. Every step in the dark seems to steal a little more of my resolve. Rasping, I wade through the gloom. I’m clammy and shaking and gutsick, but I make myself move.

  Fahra’s whisper pulls me back from the edge, and I latch on to his prayers. Ay-khan. Ay-khan. I mouth the words with him. Sibat, listen and save us.

  I say it and say it until my focus slips within reach. I imagine Mary’s face, and feel her hand on my shoulder. She is with me, and I am here in the dark, to serve as she would. There’s work to be done; I must borrow her courage.

  We press on. Soon I hear the first ping, and within moments, we find two wounded. A man and a woman, both rebels. But a quick roll of the bio-scanner tells me only the woman will live. A wrist and ankle broken, and maybe a punctured lung, but we get an auto-vent on her and prepare to carry her out.

  Her copilot’s babbling, but it’s only shock. Doesn’t know his guts are gone and he’s bleeding out. I can barely stand to look. There’s nothing to be done—all we can give him is compassion and soft words. While Fahra soothes the soldier, I work quickly on the woman. I’m glad she’s too weak and out of it to notice her companion’s not going to make it. When he’s gone, we carry her back, where Miyu’s waiting with two more injured rebels. I show her how to sedate them, just enough to keep them stretchered and still. I’ve never been more glad for Mary’s careful training.

  “You stay here, while we go back out?” I ask Miyu.

  She nods. “Go ahead. Hal asked me to stay with the wounded. He went back out. He’ll flex if he finds more.”

  “Okay,” I reply. Fahra and I go after him. On the way, the bio-scanner sounds off again. This time, a chute-tangled IP officer, wailing in pain. One look at both his broken legs and I know the landing could’ve been better. The second he sees our approach, in a flinch, he reaches for the headset that’s gone, then for whatever was once at his hip. The movement plays out on his face like the worst kind of agony.

  “Easy now,” I say, sinking into a crouch. “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”

  He doesn’t look like he believes me. Fahra pulls out his dagger to cut him loose.

  “Be still,” he orders the soldier. “Or I’ll cut you instead of the cords.”

  The officer nods.

  Fahra kneels beside me and we cleave the IP from his chute. As I pull away the last knots, my eyes meet the enemy’s. He is so young. “No sides down here, okay?” I say it to him, but also to Fahra, who’s looking cautious. But he doesn’t argue.

  Instead, more gently than the officer probably deserves, Fahra scoops him up and carries him back. But not before I dig into my supplies. I palm a loaded needle and knock the bastard out.

  “Merciful,” Fahra says, eyebrows raised in approval. “But wise.”

  “Maybe he has intel,” I say to Fahra. “Or we can use him to b
argain for our wounded.”

  He doesn’t bother with an answer. He knows the truth as well as I do. I see it in his eyes. Benroyal will not show mercy. There will be no bargaining. But Fahra obeys. He humors me.

  As we drop off our injured at the medic-station-slash-rig, my flex buzzes. It’s Hal.

  HL: HURRY. BY THE OLD ARMORY. I’M GETTING A STEADY READING, BUT I CAN’T GET TO HIM.

  I fumble to reply.

  PV: WHO?

  HL: I DON’T KNOW. CRASH-LANDED TANDAEMO. SURVIVOR, BUT I CAN’T GET IN. NEED FAHRA NOW.

  The captain and I take off running. We make it to the rubble of the old mess hall, nearly a thousand meters out, when I hear the wind-whistle rush of the ground readers Hal warned us about. Drones. Flying disks just big enough to put your arms around, that zoom at eye level. Only you wouldn’t want to put your arms around them, since they scan for heartbeats, then alert all networked enemy vacs where to land their next missile.

  You see them, you run.

  I see three, and I bolt. I look behind me.

  Not Fahra. He’s rooted in place.

  He seems to move so slowly, and I’m just about to scream when he finally raises his weapon. Not a split second too soon.

  Crack. Clunk. Boom.

  Pistol shot. One reader, easily dispatched.

  Two more come at him, but this time, he’s twice as fast. Before I can blink, Fahra dispatches the remaining pair . . . one shot, then pivot. Fire. Again. Three shots, and they’re down. No more whistling in the dark, only the sizzle of burning circuits.

  “Nice,” I tell Fahra, rounding back and catching my breath.

  He opens his mouth, as if to rattle off one of his witty replies, but seems to think better of it. “A hundred more meters” is all I get. We start moving again.

  Soon, we lock onto Hal’s signal. He’s wasn’t kidding. There’s a great hulking Cyanese bird in our path, tail scorched and yet well-landed, a silver-crowned barden half visible on its sunken hull. The image is a Cyanese fighter symbol, just like the one painted on . . .

  Talon One.

  “It could be Bear,” I say, frantic.

  “I know,” Hal says, equally panicked. “Help me open the door!”

  The windshield’s covered in ash and mud, and the rear pilot’s hatch is jammed shut. Hal wrestles with it, probably for the hundredth time, but no luck.

  “Stand back,” Fahra says. We comply.

  But when he sees the pistol, Hal nearly bugs out. “Be careful. Don’t hit the fuel cells or the core.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. Stand back.”

  So we do. Fahra blasts six bolts off the twisted hinges. Under his aim, one by one, they break. By now I know our captain makes no mistakes.

  After the dust settles, we three fly at the hatch, Hal and Fahra pulling hardest. Just when I’m sure the door will never give, it groans and snaps out of its fire-blasted perch.

  “Back!” Fahra shouts, and we barely clear the fall. The door thuds to the ground and, breathless, I scramble over it, into the guts of the wounded bird. Inside, it’s hot and the emergency lights are dead. I feel my way through by chasing the hazy glow of the windshield. The ping of the scanner quickens.

  I reach the com seats, where the light’s just enough. The copilot’s dead, and I shouldn’t thank the stars, but I do; because it’s a Cyanese man, and not Zaide, Bear’s partner. And the pilot’s alive. I hear the low-grade wheeze of his breath. I lean in for a better look and see he’s unconscious, but alive.

  “Survivors?” Hal yells.

  “The pilot. He’s still alive,” I shout back. “It’s Larken.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LARKEN’S THE TOUGHEST PATIENT TO HAUL. HE’S IMPOSSIBLY tall, and it takes all of us to get him into the back of the rig. There, we lay him out, check his vitals, and get him hooked up to a med-monitor before we go back for more. When all is said and done, we’ve filled the back of the Nightcrawler. Six rebels recovered, and two IP prisoners. Not bad for ninety minutes’ work.

  After the patients are loaded, I climb back into the driver’s seat and buckle in. This time, Hal takes the seat beside me. “I’m game for another trip,” I tell him. “If you think we can get back before—”

  I stop, silenced by the magma-hot flash in the sky. An explosive blast ripples through the air; it’s a wild scream of artillery fire and scorched metal.

  “Holy Star of Bisera,” Fahra says, ducking into the rig. “Their biggest bird.”

  I jump out to catch a glimpse. Overhead, we watch the enemy’s uni-carrier. This big black beast is their mother ship, and its underbelly has been breached.

  I blink, and suddenly, two of our fighters sweep underneath it, gunning again. Another volley of rebel fire, seeded into the wounded carrier’s guts. Another white-hot roar, and this time, a fatal hit. At last, the whole monster’s lit up and dying.

  Blazing, it lurches in the sky, dipping below the highest curtain of smoke.

  “Phee,” Miyu calls out.

  “Get back in the rig,” Fahra yells. “Now!”

  He’s right. We are way too close to this thing. Doesn’t matter if the ship’s not right on top of us. When it lands, we’re all going to feel it.

  I jump into the driver’s seat. Fahra and I scramble to buckle back in.

  “All those stretchers locked in tight?” I ask.

  “Strapped down and swaddled,” Miyu answers. “I used every pressure cushion we had.”

  “Better hold on tight,” I warn, snapping into gear. We spit up gravel and haul exhaust like there’s no tomorrow and never was. I need to get us farther northwest. Out of that battle ship’s wake. This pebbled track won’t get us there fast enough, so I slide off-road. Running as hard as the Nightcrawler can go, I angle up and cut through the smoothest path of terrain I can find.

  Not smooth enough. I pray we don’t lose any wounded.

  Bounce. Skid. Turn.

  That beast’s gonna hit the ground any second. I rip back onto the road and hit a long stretch of straightaway. The vac’s behind us, but we still have to watch out for aftershocks and flaming debris.

  “It’s coming,” Fahra warns. “Brace for impact.”

  “Masks on!” Hal screams, putting his on.

  I’m driving, so Hal helps with mine. I duck into it, and just in time too.

  BOOM.

  The shockwave comes, and our windshield shatters. High-grade, speed-tempered, armored glass. Smashed to bits. Already it’s coming down like molten rain. Around us, beside us. Bits and pieces of the ruined ship. A huge hunk of smoking metal, dropped right in our path.

  “Watch out!” Miyu says, but I’m already on it. Swerve. Swing back, and we’re still alive.

  My knuckles are bleeding, and my lenses are too foggy to see through. After the quake settles, I swipe on the Nightcrawler’s headlights. Forget ghost mode. Every muscle in my body clenches up, attuned to one fixed point on the fractured nav screen. Just get back. Just make it back. Just get back alive.

  An eternity later, we pull into camp. The next few minutes are chaos.

  By the infirmary, I rush out of the cab and check out our hold.

  One patient gone. The pilot with the punctured lung. I curse myself for driving too hard and not saving her life. But Fahra will have none of it. “The rest are alive because of you,” he insists.

  A horde of personnel heads our way. The medics sweep past us, to tend to the wounded. Captain Nandan pushes through them. Ignoring me, he’s all over Hal. “You disobeyed a direct command. Hank ordered you. I ordered you.”

  I move between them. “He brought your soldiers home.”

  “You?” He shakes a finger in my face. “You’re lucky—”

  Defiant, I straighten under his glare. “You’re lucky we found Larken. He’s still alive, thanks to us.”

&nb
sp; That gets his attention. He pauses. “See to it that Commander Larken—and the rest of your charges—are afforded proper care. Then restrict yourself to the infirmary and the tomb, until you are ordered otherwise. I’ll let Lieutenant Commander Kinsey and Lieutenant Larssen know you’re all right.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good night, Van Zant.” Stiffly, he starts to turn away, but pauses. “And thank you.”

  I salute. Silent, he returns it.

  We’ve made it just in time to welcome back the last of the rebel fighters—or, at least, the stalwart few who survived the nightmare barrage. Seventy fighters flew out, and less than half that number have returned. For now, the battle’s over. Against all odds, somehow, we held the line and turned away what’s left of Benroyal’s first armada. But they’ll be back. And next time, Benroyal will send five hundred ships. A thousand. Whatever it takes to finish the job. I can’t help but wonder: How soon?

  I wait at the airstrip and watch the vacs coast in. At last, I see Talon One and Broadsword.

  Hank approaches first, looking beat-up. Not surprising, seeing how his fighter’s got more patches of blast residue than a wendel has fleas. Behind him limps Bear, whose own Tandaemo vac looks even worse. He and Zaide pull off their helmets and meet for a victor’s embrace.

  I am grateful to her for flying at his wing and keeping watch over him. Yet a part of me envies her too. I know they’re just friends, but I miss being the one he relies on.

  “Live another day, brother,” she says, and they break apart.

  Finally, he sees me.

  Bear’s eyes tell me he’s too tired to run, but I can’t get there fast enough, and neither can Hal. He hugs Hal first, and then me. I look up; Bear’s face is lit with pride. “Hank and I brought her down,” he says. “The uni-carrier. Sent six magma charges right up her exhaust.”

  “Well done,” Hal says. “Mom would be proud.”

  Bear nods. Another hug and a moment of quiet between them.

  “I have to see to our injured,” Hal says. He wipes the tears and sweat from his eyes. “But you’re not off the hook, son. I want you checked out as well. Meet me in the infirmary.”