by Sara King
“Only certain people can activate the swords, though. Special people.” The woman sighed wistfully, but on her shoulder, the sword was taking on an odd golden shimmer similar to that weird layer above her skin, which made Milar and Jersey both take a nervous step backwards.
The redhead grinned. “Works on Nephyrs too, incidentally, since they stole their skin technology from the Tritons after the Encompate banned the swords.” The luminescence faded from the katana’s blade like it had never been. She then adeptly flipped the sword from her shoulder and chipped the floor where she drove the tip into the linoleum, then casually leaned on it. “So. Guys. What have we learned?”
“To keep our mouths shut,” Milar said.
The redhead turned to look up at Jersey, who nodded vigorously.
“And?” the woman insisted.
“That Jersey is really, really strong,” Milar said.
“Indeed.” She grinned, then yanked the sword out of the floor. Holding out her hand, she said, “Kestrel Klaane. My friends call me KayKay.”
Milar glanced down at her pale, delicate hand and swallowed. Reluctantly, he slid his unbroken hand into hers, surprised that the grip that had shattered titanium musker fingers felt totally human and normal. “Milar Whitecliff. Friends call me Miles.”
“Hey Miles.” She turned to Jersey. “And our shy little glitterbug over there?” She raised a brow. “You got a name, dude?”
“Jersey Brackett,” Jersey said. He made no move to leave the wall, though.
She seemed to think that was funny. “Well, lead on, my brave and heroic rescuers. I am in your debt for saving me from the big, bad glassware.” She made a grand gesture at the exit.
“Actually,” Jersey started, “Milar’s brother is—”
“Not here,” Kestrel said. “I’m guessing maybe the secret installation under Camphor.”
Jersey and Milar glanced at each other, the cyborg obviously wondering if Milar wanted to argue with the five-foot-five woman with the sword.
“Okay,” Milar said.
Hesitantly, Jersey said, “Anna’s robot got all the Ferrises and Gryphons, but I think there’s still some security guys in the east wing that need pacifying.”
She gave a grunt like he’d offered to let her dip her hands into shit. “Not interested in humans. The infantry can take care of the ragtag crew that’s left in there.” She cocked her head. “But if we see Steele again, pause for a moment while I disembowel the cowardly fuck.” She gave a deep, wistful sigh. “Doubt he hung around, though. Orion’s little toady has a habit of slipping through the cracks.” She waved a manicured hand dismissively. “Oh well. I’ll get him later. Until then, take me to your leader.” She slammed the sword back into the hallway floor, burying it to the hilt. “I wanna join up. Ace pilot, you see. Best one you’ll ever meet. Can fly anything with wings, and some without. Just give me your best ship and I’ll win the war for you.” She grinned at them both, obviously excited at the idea of being behind the console.
Milar and Jersey exchanged nervous looks. “Uh,” Milar said, thinking of Tatiana and her vehement dibs on Honor, should Joel ever wind up inexplicably dead or horribly decapitated, or even ‘sick, mind-diseased, zombified, or even slightly mutilated in a way that impedes his ability to fly that ship.’ Tatiana had gone on to insist that a migraine, persistent cough, or even a stubbed little toe counted, because it would distract Joel from the task at hand, and might even get blood on the sensitive equipment. Clearing his throat, Milar said, “We’ve got some really good pilots that are already first in line.”
Kestrel’s green eyes narrowed. “Honey. Think really hard about the last ten minutes and tell me you’ve got one goddamn rebel on Fortune who wouldn’t want me flying the best damned ship you can give me.”
Milar swallowed. He had a pretty good idea where the biggest objections would come from…
CHAPTER 29: Fight or Flight
7th of June, 3006
Rath (Personnel Section)
Fortune, Daytona 6 Cluster, Outer Bounds
Magali took a deep breath, felt the air kicked up by the ship’s engines on her face, and struggled not to shy away as the first outlying farms of Rath came into view cut into the endless emerald jungle beneath them. Her heart was hammering uncontrollably, and her knees refused to hold her, so she had resorted to leaning against a stability bar to keep from falling out the back of the aircraft. Again, she was struck with the horrible realization that Jersey wasn’t going to be there with her because she’d left him to fight robots on the military side of Rath while she and her crew went to the civilian side and took out key infrastructure like propane reserves, solar panels, and water plants.
A hail of tungsten orbital missiles whistled by at Mach 10, precisely taking out the anti-aircraft facilities in concussive, fiery blasts that flattened several square blocks of the base far below. Anna, the little bitch, had come through on that at least.
“They got the anti-aircraft!” Drogire said over the intercom. “Fifteen seconds to drop!”
Oh no, Magali thought, looking at the city below. Her men—good men—were going to expect her to lead them, to kill, and if she didn’t, there was a good chance that everybody—everyone—was going to die…
What had she been thinking, sending Jersey with Milar? She needed him…
“Almost there,” Pan said, startling her. The eight-year-old was wearing full combat gear in case stray weapons-fire hit the ship during disembarkation, his long blond hair braided and tucked inside a proper-sized helmet. His feet, as usual, were bare. “You gonna be okay?”
“Fine,” Magali whispered, swallowing hard. Rath was getting closer fast, and as soon as they landed, Magali had to lead again. Alone.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Pan said, putting his child’s hand on her arm.
Magali jerked away from him. “What do you know about it?”
Pan jerked back, looking confused and hurt, but said nothing more as the ship’s engines roared as Drogire reversed their flow.
Magali watched the buildings of Rath slide under the wings, then over the wings. She felt the ship’s feet unfold, felt the thumps as it settled to the pavement of the empty street.
“You’re good to go!” Drogire shouted over the com.
Seeing the soldiers in Coalition black swarming behind the buildings, Magali opened her mouth to scream, “Attack!” …but nothing happened. Her throat was too tight, and it didn’t feel like she had enough air in her lungs.
Out in the streets, the guys behind the buildings started shooting at them. A bullet bounced off the interior of the ship, followed by an energy beam. Someone in the ship behind Magali screamed and fell.
She swallowed hard several times, feeling the tenseness, the stares of everyone on the ship assaulting her as they waited for her to give the command. She opened her mouth again.
Instead of giving the command to attack, she started to hyperventilate. “Shit,” she whispered. “God. Shit.” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think… She slid down the wall to her ass, clutching her stomach and gasping.
“Close the hatch!” Pan shouted. When no one moved, he pointed at a blinking smuggler by the door. “You. Darrion. Close it! Wu, grab the medkit—make sure there’s nanos! Kelsey, help me get her in the cockpit. Stone, get up front and tell Eyre and the other captains to unload on those fuckers with ship cannon until Mag gives the order. Move!”
For once, Magali was grateful that the little Yolk Baby shit commanded such respect that even hardened veterans jumped to do his bidding. Kelsey and Panner got her back on her feet and into the front of the ship, out of sight of all the worried, nervous grunts. They lowered her to the floor beside the pilot’s chair and closed the cockpit hatch.
“Medkit right here!” Wu cried, running up and cracking it open on the console.
“What’s going on?!” Drogire cried, looking over his shoulder at the intrusion. Beside him, Tatiana Eyre was still focused on manning the guns,
taking out hostiles on the ground. She and her pet ‘tabby’ had snuck onto the ship while Magali had been briefing everyone back at base, and, after finding the petite woman clinging to the pilot’s console with a narrow-eyed death-grip, those creepy green lights blinking in her forehead and a baby ganshi snarling at her feet, nobody really had the balls to make her leave.
“Magali’s been hit,” Panner cried. “Sniper on the ground. Wu, Stone, Kelsey, get back out there and keep them calm. We’re giving her thirty seconds with some nanos, then we’re launching.”
The three wide-eyed soldiers gave Magali nervous looks, then rushed out of the cockpit at a run. Panner closed the door behind them.
“I wasn’t hit,” Magali managed.
“I know,” Panner said. He squatted beside her. “But you’ve gotta pull it together, or this whole thing is gonna fall apart, right here, right now.”
Magali felt the biggest wave of resentment she’d ever felt for another human being. “This is not my Revolution. I never wanted to fight!”
“No,” Panner agreed, with that suave, easy way of his, “but if you don’t, they won’t. You saw the way they were milling around, waiting for you. They need you out there, Magali. You’re their rock. They need—”
“I don’t want to be their fucking rock!” Magali screamed at him.
“Never said you did,” Pan replied smoothly. “But you are.”
“What are we doing?!” Drogire demanded over his shoulder again. “A fucking pep talk? Are you fucking serious?”
“Shut up and shoot the bad guys,” Pan said, without even looking. To Magali, he said, “Look, as far as I can see, you’re the one person in this whole conflict who doesn’t have a dog in this fight.” His words were gentle, kind. “But life’s not fair, and like it or not, you’ve got the lives of six million people riding squarely on your shoulders.” He put his tiny, half-grown hand on her shoulder for emphasis. “It’s a heavy burden.”
“Oh come on,” Tatiana Eyre snapped, lunging out of her seat and rolling her eyes. She grabbed the kid by the scruff of the neck, yanked him out of the way, and squatted down in front of Magali in his place. “You okay there, sister?”
Sister. Even after what Anna had done… Magali’s eyes were immediately drawn to the blinking lights in Tatiana’s forehead, put there care of her demented little sister. Anna could have done that to me…
Magali shook her head, biting her lip.
“You’re shook up,” Captain Eyre said, looking her over. “Thinking about saying ‘float it’ and going to live on some island paradise on Deluvi.”
“She’s having a panic attack,” Panner interrupted. “I need to get her back out there and lead, or everything’s gonna—”
“Drogire, kid.” Captain Eyre gestured rapidly at Pan without looking at him. “Out of my cockpit. Now.”
Drogire grunted. “But the guys on the street—”
“—are shooting at us with projectiles and handheld energy weapons,” Tatiana snapped. “That’s what the reflective, three-foot hull is for. Get him out of here. Magali and I need to have some girl-time.”
Drogire stared at her like the good Captain really was going mad. And, if Milar’s stories were any indication, she was probably high as a kite. “Um, I don’t think that’s—”
Captain Eyre turned and gave him a Look. Kind of like the look someone gives a mosquito that they’re about to enjoy smearing across their forearm. Beside her, the knee-high ganshi had lazily gotten to his feet, cocking its head at the pilot expectantly.
Maybe it was the blinking lights in Tatiana’s forehead, or maybe it was the Look, or maybe it was the mythical beast that was calmly extruding its fangs, but either way, Drogire dropped his gunner’s stick and ran from the cockpit, dragging the protesting eight-year-old with him. When it was evident there wouldn’t be a fight, the striped gray ganshi gave an unmistakably wistful sigh, padded back to his ‘corner’, and immediately went back to sleep.
“All right, girly,” Tatiana said, reaching out and grabbing Magali by the shoulders and leaning forward. “What’s going on in there?”
And, with that simple question, everything Magali had been stuffing away, all of her angst and fear and regret, all of her rage, all of the unfairness, all of it came spewing out in a half-sob, half-babble that not even she could understand.
But Tatiana did. “Okay, well,” she said, “it’s true you never wanted this. I get that. Believe me, I get that.” She tapped the node Anna had put in her head. “But guess what, honey? You got a talent not many people have, just like me. Sure, yours means you’ve gotta get in there and get your hands dirty, but at least you don’t have to lock yourself in a dark bubble of goo for sometimes several days straight, your body paralyzed, tubes connecting your heart and brain to a machine, only your mind at work while people are shooting at you, blowing holes in your lifeline, all the while wondering if you’re ever gonna see the sun or breathe fresh air again. That sucks.”
Magali supposed it did. “But I wanted to be a farmer,” she managed. “I wanted to have kids.” She’d been willing to do anything to get away from her father and his paramilitary crap, even if it meant trying to convince herself and everyone else she was in love.
“You wanted to get yourself pregnant so your Dad would stop forcing you to play his war-games. Yeah, I know.” She cocked her head. “Does Patrick know that?”
Magali’s eyes widened. “So you do—”
“—read minds, yeah.” Tatiana shrugged. “Kind of impossible not to, when you’re two feet away and screaming at the top of your mental lungs about how much your life sucks.”
Magali winced. “Don’t tell Patrick, okay? I didn’t really want to leave Fortune, but if I didn’t do something, Dad was gonna keep me doing those stupid games forever.”
“So you were gonna get pregnant, then ‘forget’ to take the boat to Mezzan with him. Tatiana grunted and patted Magali’s arm. “It’s all good. Daddy sounds like a bastard.”
Magali immediately felt herself clam up, being one of those people who always found herself unable to say something bad about someone she loved.
“You loved him. He was still a bastard.” Tatiana shrugged. “Look. Tootz. You sent my sexy hunk to take out the muskers, which I didn’t really agree with, but you’re in charge, so whatever. But you did send him. And that cute-but-cheats-at-cards Nephyr, too. They’re both on the other side of Rath as we speak, cleaning out facilities that no sane person would try to take on unless they were shroomed up, and guess what?”
“What?” Magali whispered.
“They’re gonna win,” Tatiana said, her purple-blue eyes intense. “You know how I know?”
Magali shook her head.
Tatiana grinned and lowered her eyes to Magali’s chest, which strained against the armor. “Because you got knockers to make a nun cry, and a couple of studs like that, they’re not gonna be outdone by a pretty, boobalicious girl.”
Magali felt herself smile a little.
Tatiana gestured at the city beyond the ship. “There’s Nephyrs out there, Miss Mag. Lots of them. The only reason this part of the mission even got OK’d was you were gonna be out there with the hit squad. Hell, you are the hit squad. I’ve seen what the Nephs can do to people with pitchforks and projectiles. Believe me, honey, it’s not pretty. You need to adjust your thong and get your ass back out there, before the Nephyrs get here, or a lot of people are gonna die on your watch.”
“But I don’t want to be on ‘watch,’” Magali cried, throwing her arm up in frustration. “I never did! They just expect me to.”
Tatiana shrugged. “Don’t do it ’cause those idiots out there are expecting you to. Do it ’cause, at the end of the day, you wanna look all those idiots in the eye again, not drop flowers on their coffins. You get me?” She squeezed Magali’s shoulder again. “They’re some badass sheep, but they need a shepherd,” she paused and grabbed Magali by the chin, forcing her to look up at her again, “and you’re the only one
carrying a crook.”
Magali swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered.
Tatiana nonetheless held her jaw a few moments longer, peering into her eyes. Eventually, she said, “Good.” She stood, holding out her hand to help Magali to her feet. “Now let’s go kick some Nephyr ass.” Immediately, the ganshi cub lunged to his feet with what was unmistakably a growl of enthusiasm.
Magali frowned at ‘let’s,’ but Tatiana went to the door, yanking a familiar Laserat from her belt. At seeing Milar’s gun, Magali blurted, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take down Rath with you,” Tatiana said cheerfully. Then, looking Magali up and down, she shrugged. “Or Babe and I are about to run out into the streets, all alone, and get shot completely to shit.”
The ganshi growled something and Tatiana cocked her head, her near-purple eyes going distant.
“No,” Tatiana said, “he says I would be the only one shot to shit, because he’s got bulletproof fur.” She shook herself. “Lucky him. Glad it’s good for something—it’s hell to rub up against with a bare leg in the middle of the night. I seriously thought I was gonna need stitches.”
Magali swallowed, eyes on the ganshi. The cub gave her a placid look back, like it was waiting for her to hurry up and adjust her thong so he could sink his claws into something interesting.
“But I won’t get shot,” Tatiana said. “Patrick’s drawn pictures of me in places I haven’t seen before, so I’m guessing you’re gonna be there to keep that from happening.” She reached for the door. The ganshi immediately moved to the exit with her.
Magali grabbed the woman’s hand and tugged it back. “What are you doing?! You’re not suited up, you don’t have armor…”
