Ranger

by William Stacey

  "We've lost signal," a man called out.

  Kargin darted over and took the UAV's controls from him, fiddling with the duo joysticks. "Grandmother's hairy tits," he said sourly. "He's right. Signal's gone."

  "What does that mean?" Huck asked. "Has it crashed?"

  "Could mean a thousand different things," said Kargin. "But even if it crashed, it's robust enough to survive a hard impact and keep transmitting. Thing is, I'm not getting a signal at all."

  "We waste a trip?" Huck's gaze darted to Alex. "Other than to save our friends, I mean?"

  "Not sure yet," Kargin grumbled, still fiddling with the joysticks. "But I think those ruins may be Eladior Haven, which is very, very interesting."

  "Eladior what?" Alex asked.

  "You think we should launch the spare UAV?" Huck asked.

  Kargin stared at the shimmering rift then shook his head. "No, the UAV is programmed to return on its own if we lose contact, but it hasn't, so I suspect it can't. Let's not throw away another keying device until we know more."

  Keying device? Back in the day, Task Force Devil had used keying devices to send homing beacons back to Earth to open gateways home after their recon missions. "What's going on?" Alex asked. "Are the dark elves invading again? Is that why they opened this gateway?"

  "Not a gateway," Kargin said, chewing his lower lip. "Least not as we think of them. And certainly not the ones the fae seelie make with magic. This is something… new. Helena calls 'em rifts, as good a name as any. She thinks—"

  "Sky's darkening on the other side," Huck said. "Clouds… a storm?"

  "Ain't neither," said Kargin with a trace of uncertainty.

  A massive shape filled the rift, hurtling through it. Alex fell back in fear, falling on his ass as a monstrously huge winged form flew through the opening into their world. His mind wrestled with what he was seeing, knowing it was both impossible and true. A dragon!

  Six years ago, the great dragon Bale-Fire had destroyed an entire squadron of armored vehicles. Bale-Fire had been a monster of unimaginable power and destruction.

  And now here was another.

  The dragon, its silver scales flashing in the sunlight, sent a chill down Alex's spine. Its scaled torso was larger than a bus, its triangular head as big as a car. Its gray wings were at least a hundred feet from taloned tip to taloned tip. Those wings snapped out, arresting the dragon's descent in a single lurching, impossible moment. With one beat of its wings, the dragon shot up, gaining altitude and soaring over the forest. It banked to come back again. Nothing this large should be that maneuverable. He stared in breathless wonder.

  "That's another great dragon," said Kargin. "They don't just show up by accident."

  "Weapons free! Weapons free!" yelled Huck. "Engage, engage."

  At once, the soldiers opened fire, sending a torrent of bullets into the air. The dragon seemed nonplussed. Then the soldiers in the exo-suits with the miniguns opened fire with a long, ear-splitting volley of rounds, sending glowing red tracers after the dragon. Alex covered his ears against the tumult. The dragon turned over in flight to avoid a stream of machine-gun fire, but another volley stitched its way across one of its wings. It shrieked in fury, its cry echoing. Then it curled its wings beneath it into a ball, dropped like a meteor, and slammed into the exo-suit soldier who had shot it, throwing up a blinding cloud of dirt akin to a train wreck. Before the dust cleared, the dragon rose into the sky again, this time holding the soldier in one of its massive claws the way a child gripped a handful of potato chips.

  "Stingers now!" yelled Huck.

  Two nearby bright lights flashed, and two antiaircraft Stinger missiles chased the dragon. But before they could strike, the dragon arrested its flight and spun in midair to change direction in a heartbeat. One missile swept past, and the dragon breathed a torrent of blue flames onto the second, incinerating it in a flash. Even from where he stood, Alex felt the intense heat of its fire-breath, which was strong enough to melt steel. Two more antiaircraft launchers fired, and two more Stinger missiles roared into the sky. The dragon dropped the soldier it had picked up, turned in midair once more, and sped back through the rift in the sky, the missiles chasing after it. Dragon and missiles disappeared, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.

  Alex and the others, including a surprisingly fast Kargin, ran to the soldier the dragon had dropped, but he was dead, his exo-suit crushed around him.

  The dragon was gone.

  Alex stood watching as Long Bow and Snow White, working in tandem once more, opened yet another gateway, this one large enough for an armored vehicle to drive through—which was exactly what happened. He heard the bone-jarring rumble of diesel engines as an M1A1 Abrams battle tank roared through the gateway. The tank took up a firing position facing the shimmering rift. Mo hid behind Alex's legs, his frame trembling as three more tanks followed the first, a platoon of heavy armor. Then a half dozen infantry fighting vehicles drove through the gateway. Soldiers piled out of the back of the vehicles, taking up defensive positions. Unlike the Strike Force soldiers, with their futuristic-looking uniforms and weapons, these soldiers looked no different from any Western military force. Alex counted at least four handheld Stinger air-defense missile launchers among the troops. Then four Avenger HMMV-mounted short-range air-defense systems, ideal for low-flying planes and helicopters—and, he hoped, just as effective against dragons—appeared through the portal.

  "We learned our lesson after Bale-Fire destroyed Recce Squadron," Huck said as she joined him. "If anything else pops its scaly head out, we'll blow it apart."

  "I'm sorry for your man."

  "I'm sorry for your team."

  He nodded, his throat tightening, and turned his attention to the air-defense vehicles as they took up firing positions facing the rift. "You may need more of those."

  She shook her head. "They'll have to do. Just doing this much is a strain on our resources. We lost so god-damned much during the Culling."

  "So what's the plan, Huck? You're going to what… garrison the rift?" As soon as he said it, he realized that was the plan.

  "It'll only be open another day or two," she answered. "Some of the others only stayed open a few hours."

  "Others?"

  She sighed. "Best if the old man tells you himself. He wants you in Boulder City."

  He shook his head. "I don't work for Oscar McKnight anymore."

  "Yes, you do, Major Benoit. The Ranger Teams are under North American Council jurisdiction."

  He looked away, watching the new troops dig trenches. "I never joined your Council. Besides, someone once told me ranger rank was more an honorific."

  "Leela is waiting for you."

  "I'm not so sure she is."

  "Alex…"

  "Fine. When?"

  "Now." She motioned to the still-open gateway. Kargin and Paco stood beside it, watching them. The air through the gateway shimmered with heat.

  "My dog?"

  "Leave him with Paco. Kargin's going with you. He's part of this."

  And what is this? "What are you going to do?"

  "McKnight wants us to sweep the Remnant camp. As soon as we're done, we'll pull back to Boulder City. Maybe go drink a busload of beer." She smiled, exposing the gap between her front teeth. "This was our first action. The troops did amazing."

  "They did." He paused, knowing he had to tell her but finding it hard to say the words aloud. "Huck, there's… there's something you need to know. Stay away from that camp."

  "Why?" she asked, her smile faltering.

  "Because there's an active canister of Cyclosarin, and I can't promise it isn't leaking."

  Her smile vanished. "Sarin? The nerve agent Sarin?"

  He nodded, feeling his face heat. Her eyes blazed with disbelief. We're fighting for our survival. I'm not ashamed of what I've done. Yet he looked away first.

  "Go on," she said, dismissing him. "Someone's waiting for you on the other side. I need to warn my people." Huck walked away with
out another word.

  Alex sighed and joined Paco and Kargin, Mo at his side. He dropped on one knee and wrapped an arm around the dog's neck. Mo whined, picking up on what was coming, and buried his snout in Alex's armpit. "No, no. None of that. You go with Paco. And don't drive Clyde crazy. He's too old for your young-dog shit."

  "He'll be fine, brother," Paco said, gripping Mo's fur around the neck. "They'll be eating Slim Jims together this evening, or at least what passes for Slim Jims these days. You'll see each other again."

  "You all right?" Kargin asked. His large, hairy fingers drummed the broad head of his fighting ax.

  "I'm fine. Let's do this." He walked past both, leaving Mo to cry out and lunge after him, but Paco held the dog in check. Alex took a deep breath, staring at the gateway and the bright sunlit base on the other side. The last time he had used a gateway, Elizabeth had sent him to safety while she sacrificed her life to destroy the Culling Machine. I hope it ends better this time.

  He stepped forward.

  Part II

  The Black Knights

  12

  Alex shaded his eyes against the bright Nevada sun. Kargin pulled him aside as a troop of soldiers in ranks double-timed through the gateway to British Columbia.

  Alex and Kargin stood on a parade square complete with an inspection dais at one end flying the flag of the North American Council—a hawk ripping apart a winged snake over red, green, and blue stripes for Canada, the United States, and Mexico. At the opposite end of the square, corrugated-steel warehouses stood next to a huge complex with a sign proclaiming it to be the home of the 1st NAC Strike Force—the Black Knights. Tan-painted military transport vehicles sat on the parade square, with soldiers off-loading equipment and organizing it to go through the gateway. The smell of diesel was strong in the air, reminding Alex of every base he had ever worked on. He stared at the open gateway, seeing the familiar trees of northern British Columbia. In the Task Force Devil days, it had taken enormous power to open a gateway at all.

  "How can you leave it open so long?" he asked Kargin.

  "They're easy to open locally. Well, not easy, but not as hard as a gateway to Faerum. That still takes a lot of juice."

  In the distance, a massive concrete wall, fifteen feet high and topped with razor wire, surrounded the base. On the other side was a barren brown landscape. At regular intervals along the wall sat tall guard towers, each with automated turrets holding Gatling guns and air defense missiles. Someone had designed this base with dragons in mind. Alex had seen firsthand the melted ruin Bale-Fire had made of the Magic Kingdom. "Where are we?"

  "Just north of the city, Fort Dwayne Johnson—one of your heroes, weren't he?"

  Alex snorted. "I was always more of an Arnie fan."

  "There's our ride." Kargin pointed to a military van parked on the road alongside the parade square. A young woman in a blue pantsuit stood beside the open passenger door. Her short brown hair hung limp in the heat. She wore a Bluetooth communication device, an earpiece with a small microphone into which she was talking, watching Kargin and Alex. Kargin waved, storming off toward her, and Alex followed. A shadow darkened the sky as a flock of thousands of birds passed overhead—quail, he thought. The flock was so large he couldn't see where it ended.

  "Watch yer head," Kargin said, picking up the pace. "Practically rains bird shit some days."

  "Watchmaker," the woman said as she stepped forward and extended her hand, a smile on her face. "I understand the mission was a success. You even fought off a dragon."

  "Well," said Kargin, shaking her hand, "we killed a bunch of fae, trolls, and boggarts, so that was lovely. But I'm not so sure we fought off a dragon. More likely, it got bored and moved on—after trashing one of the war rigs and killing a man. Worse, we lost sync with the keying device after it went through the rift. It was a bust."

  Disappointment flashed through her eyes, but she smiled anyhow. "Next time."

  How many rifts have they sent UAVs through?

  Kargin tossed a nod at Alex. "This is Alex Benoit. He's a warrior. Alex, Heather Boone, McKnight's right-hand man… er, woman."

  "I know who he is," Heather said, smiling and offering her hand to Alex. "It's not every day I meet the man who saved humanity."

  Alex shook her hand. "Not me. Elizabeth Chambers. I wasn't even there for the big finish."

  "Well, Chairman McKnight speaks highly of you, Major."

  "Alex."

  "Please, after you, Alex."

  Alex climbed into the van, holding his rifle and sword across his lap. Kargin jumped in beside him, rocking the vehicle with his weight. He was way heavier than he looked. Heather sat up front next to the driver, a kid with a crew cut who looked barely old enough to shave. Heather looked over her seat as the van rolled away. "You're welcome to leave your weapons in the vehicle, Major—Alex. The driver will keep them safe for you."

  As they drove, he unzipped his tactical vest and laid it near his feet then placed his weapons atop it. It felt odd without even a pistol, but there was little danger here. Unlike in British Columbia, with its wilderness, the Sonoran Desert had provided no cover for the Remnant forces to hide, making them easy targets for McKnight and the survivors from the 82nd Airborne. They had steamrolled the confused enemy with artillery, tanks, and aircraft, removing all traces of them from the former United States. And now the Remnant forces were gone in Canada as well.

  We'll kill them all, one country at a time.

  They drove past Quonset huts, guard stations, administrative offices, a PX, a barbershop, a Laundromat, a mess hall, and an officers’ mess. The driver slowed to a crawl as they passed a platoon of jogging soldiers. At the rear of the platoon, two soldiers ran in the armored exo-suits, their booted footsteps clanging on the asphalt.

  "What's with the science-fiction shit?" he asked.

  Kargin grunted. "You think these war rigs are impressive, you should see a Gnorish flame-belcher or gyro-dragon. Then you'd appreciate real magical-mechanical warfare. But the suits are useful, especially the gateway rigs."

  "I wish we had more," said Heather. "There were only a dozen prototypes in DARPA awaiting Marine Corps trials. Fortunately for us, there were several hundred of the Future Warfighter suits you saw the other soldiers wearing, the LAN helmets, Tac rifles, and MR body armor."

  DARPA, he knew, was the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, the US government institute responsible for developing next-generation fighting gear. LAN was Local Area Network, which meant it linked the soldiers for more efficient command and control. That made sense. The Strike Force had deployed and engaged the Remnant forces with remarkable organization. "What's MR body armor?"

  "Magnetorheological fluid," said Kargin as if it were the simplest thing.

  Alex sighed, not wanting to get into a long, incomprehensible technical discussion with him. Although Kargin and his kind existed in a permanent medieval-style civilization, dwarves were surprisingly technically inclined—especially Kargin, who could infuse complex inventions with magical energy, creating wondrous artifacts. "I heard about the Future Warfighter program… although I thought the exo-suits were still in development, decades away."

  Heather shook her head. "DARPA was much further ahead than anyone realized. Their existence was top secret for fear of intellectual theft back when the Chinese and the Russians stole everything they couldn't build themselves. McKnight knew about them because he was the Operations Officer for USSOCOM. If suits passed muster with the Marines, they'd have gone into operational use within the decade. Now they're ours," she said sadly.

  "I can appreciate their potential as heavy weapons' platforms," Alex said. "But the two mag-sens…"

  "Snow White and Long Bow," she said. "Bokomoso Khumalo and Liv Nilsdottir?"

  "Hardly North American names."

  "Liv is American, Swedish descent. Her family was living in a commune in the Sonoran Desert during the Culling. Boko is a survivor from South Africa."

  "You're pullin
g survivors from all over the world now?"

  "Nation-states are a thing of the past, Alex. The chairman is bringing survivors from anywhere he can find them. There are over five hundred thousand people living in Boulder City now."

  "Really?" he asked in genuine wonder.

  "Really," Heather answered, pride in her voice.

  "These two women, they created gateways—without a Gateway Machine or Jump Tube. How is that possible?"

  Now Kargin was grinning, a twinkle in his eyes. "That'd be me," he said. "Well… me and Ylra, a damned fine apprentice Technomancer in her own right. That's how I earned my cool codename, 'Watchmaker.' What do ye think?"

  "Very cool," he said dryly. "You created Shatkur Orbs, didn't you? Like the ones your father built."

  "Not quite. I'll never be the Technomancer my father was. But I built on his craft. And while I couldn't duplicate the Shatkur Orbs themselves, Ylra and I managed to build several Shatkur Crystals—at least that's what we've named them. They're much smaller than the orbs and less powerful, but they can recharge by drawing ambient mana from the surrounding climate on their own, although it can take a week or more. A mag-sens can create a half dozen local gateways, but it has to be a mag-sens to focus mana through the rig."

  "That's amazing."

  Kargin grunted as if it were no big deal. "They have their uses, and it's only because of the suits we could get up north fast enough to save your skinny ass, but they run out of juice fast. Also, if we need to create a gateway over a longer distance, say a thousand kilometers to British Columbia, the suits have to link and work in tandem. Bit of a pain in the arse, really. Version two should fix that."

  "You're talking about a tactical advantage that changes modern warfare. It's astonishing. And you've done all this in the five years since you left Doig River?"

  "More, actually," he said with a hint of pride. "But you'll see soon enough."

  The whine of powerful engines made further speech impossible, and the driver pulled through a gate and onto a small helicopter airfield where a Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft readied for takeoff.