She rolled onto her back, gazing up at the fluttering interface of starry space and breathable air. When the sun vanished over the horizon, Pavo stooped into her vision, hand extended.
“Besides, your angel helped us. He was right about the air, so they must deserve it.” He pulled her up, but didn’t let go right away. “You okay?”
Armpits made for poor concealment of trembling hands. “I’ll be okay once we get moving, it’s the waiting… the quiet.” She looked away, then moved, wandering over to the start of a footpath she’d spotted on the ride in.
He’s mocking me. Must think I’m Cat-6. Heck, I probably look it. Sullen, hair wild in the wind, kicking at rocks like a frightened kid. She concentrated on metered breathing. This isn’t fear, but how can I feel guilt for something I haven’t done yet?
Pavo gathered the explosive and followed, seeming to find every inopportune stone and patch of soft dust on the way down. She cringed at each grunt, scrape, or muttered oath, expecting three hundred pounds of man-bomb to come barreling down on her.
“You’re as graceful as a Cydonian crab.”
He bumped into her sudden halt. “Considering they’re the size of hovercars, they are graceful. You’re more than welcome to carry this thing if I’m being too noisy, princess.”
Her eyes peeled away the darkness―brick-red ground became gradient green, weak searchlights flared into blinding orbs. At the bottom of the path, she crouched against a three-foot-high rock, waiting, watching. As soon as the expected sentry passed, she darted from cover in four silent bounds to the largest drop building. Augmented hearing alerted her of approaching boots; a guard rounded the corner a second and a half after Myofiber boosters in her legs launched her straight up, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a bewildered guard. She flipped over him, hanging upside-down for a few stretched seconds, mere inches from his head, and landed without a noise behind him. Before he could take another step, she pounced, muffling his scream with a hand over his mouth as her canine teeth extended with a motorized whirr that echoed in her skull.
She bit down on the side of his neck, injecting venom by mental command. The metallic taste of blood brushed her tongue; repulsive as it was, she held on as the struggling man pulled a pistol from his belt. His weapon slipped from his unresponsive fingers as soon as it cleared the holster. Risa guided the inert man to the ground and spat, a thin trickle of crimson running down her paper-white chin. Pavo shuffled across the clearing when the spotlight abandoned it, arriving as she rolled the guard under the elevated pod.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Tranq?”
“Yeah. I try not to load my teeth with neurotoxin.” Risa scooted into the two-foot gap between the bottom of the portable building and the ground.
“You know, most people use a spitting cobra for that. Less intimate.” He held up one finger. “Or a shock prong.”
“Spitting cobra?” She glared, shivering from the sensation of her skull vibrating as the fangs retracted. “That’s worse. I don’t want to kiss them.”
Pavo sighed. “Oh, and biting them on the neck is much less personal.”
She crawled past the sleeping guard to a maintenance hatch embedded in the ground.
“This is it.” Her claws brushed away bolts as easily as if they were loose pebbles.
After giving him a little scowl, she opened the hatch and peered in at a polished plastisteel surface glinting silver from several weak lights. Her eyes calculated the distance to the subterranean floor at forty feet. It would make for a stiff landing, but the Myofiber assists in her legs that boosted her agility would also absorb the fall.
“No ladder,” said Pavo. “Must be an emergency vent. We’ll have to look for―”
Risa glanced at him again and jumped. Ten feet of smooth metal ductwork shot by in a blink; after a short free fall, she landed in a three-point stance amid a large storage area.
「Well, okay then.」
Pavo’s voice crackled through static in her head. A little copy of his face appeared floating in the top-left of her field of vision. 「How’s it look down there?」
She panned over tarp-covered cargo boxes and canisters, freezing when something moved.
Grey metal panels lifted and turned amid the whine of actuators as one of the boxes reshaped itself into a towering humanoid figure. Glowing red eyes glared down at her from ten feet off the ground. Shit. Combat cyborg. Heavily armored. It snarled, a demonic, digital sound like two bits of metal scraping over each other. Not a scrap of living tissue remained anywhere on the body. If the thing had a living brain, it was protected by at least an inch of armor.
Risa sighed. 「It looks complicated.」
arkness provided a sense of security Risa had grown to trust. No sooner had she landed in the room than the primal part of her mind that had kept her alive as a child kicked in. The construct of plastisteel and menace stared down at her. A military model would surely have thermal vision. The faintest tremble rattled her limbs. Not since her first night alone in a vent with the scent of burned innocence in her lungs had she felt afraid in the dark.
For an instant, she heard her father screaming.
Her muscles tensed, waiting. A massive metal limb raised, two metal doors along the forearm opening to allow a weapon mechanism to extend.
Heat traced lines through her muscles as speedware boosted her perception, agility, and reaction time to the edge of human potential. She sprinted to the side, inches ahead of a pulse of laser blasts that melted spots into the storage room floor. It ceased firing as she dove into a somersault between a stack of cargo boxes and slammed to a halt with her back against cold metal. Heavy clonks reverberated off the walls of the chamber as the great war machine maneuvered in a circle, searching for her. Hazy ghosts of shipping containers shimmered for a second or two and faded as the Wraith detected them vibrate with each step the cyborg took. The one hope she clung to was the rarity of speedware in the heavy hitters―combat models of that size relied on armor and strength. Out in the open, its targeting computers could tag her no matter how fast she went in a straight line. Staying in close quarters, with plenty of boxes to hide behind, would be her only chance, especially since her laser pistols didn’t have enough power to penetrate its armor.
Risa shut her eyes and concentrated on the grey-on-black world fed to her senses by platinum wires. Motion illuminated a hulking phantasm. The vague approximation of the cyborg’s outline, estimated by acoustic resonance, shimmered among unmoving cuboids. She kept low and scurried on all fours behind cargo boxes, circling to the side in an attempt to get behind it.
It pointed its arm at the container in front of her.
Shit! It can see me.
She leapt to the side as a beam of orange light seared through her former hiding place. Wires in her arms and legs burned; her muscles screamed. Her dive landed in a roll that became a run. The already lumbering cyborg slowed further to her accelerated perception. Two more blasts left glowing smears in the scorched ground behind her. She skidded to an abrupt halt a fraction of a second before a third shot struck the ground where she would have been.
Of course this thing has a predictive targeting system.
A metallic growl of frustration tingled down her spine.
Pavo’s virtual head appeared in the corner of her eye. 「Risa, what the hell is going on down there?」
His crackling voice rattled her skull, interspersed with static. She had no time to answer. A zigzag run with random changes in speed got her behind another crate, though two near misses spattered her with hot OmniSoy slime.
Scraping nylon echoed from the shaft accompanied by puffs of dust falling into the room. Actuators whirred as the grey specter swiveled to face the disturbance. Knee to breast, she crouched. Ballistic stealth armor would not stop lasers; she had zero room for error. Speedware wires heated again. Over-tuned muscles burned, threatening to separate from her bones as they flung her lithe form through lingering dust, ten streaks of crystal gleaming from her fi
ngertips. Everything turned green. She traded the Wraith for night vision as she flew up and over the stacked containers. Her claws raked at its forearm, shredding its mounted laser before the huge machine could react.
Risa twisted away from the blinding sparks.
A metal fist as wide as her chest rounded. She slipped under the punch, which caved the face of a one-ton cargo box in behind her. Concussion from the impact left her dazed and deaf for a few seconds. The arm lifted and came down. Like a sylph in the wind, she leaned left. Razor-studded knuckles passed a hair’s breadth from her fluid dance. She sprang back as the plastisteel giant recovered its balance. Her combat computer plotted dozens of amber octagons superimposed over its massive body, searching for weak spots.
I need bigger claws.
One of the octagons flashed and stayed brighter than the rest, highlighting an opportunity where the design of the armor plating offered a point of vulnerability. She waited for the ‘borg to lunge again, and slithered around the massive metal arm as its fist drove into the floor, denting it. Risa whirled about on tiptoe, swiping her claws across the upper triceps. Her diamond blades found a gap between armor panels, severing a control linkage and rendering the limb useless. She rolled away from a shower of electrical arcs and dark green fluid.
The cyborg spun its torso around to face backwards over its legs, raising its left arm. Expecting another pounding fist, Risa leaned back―but the punch turned out to be a ruse; her posture presented the perfect target for a grasping hand. Metal fingers as thick as her forearms closed around her chest, one beneath her arm, one over each shoulder.
Struggling was useless, screaming even more so.
The cyborg held her aloft like a hamster in the grasp of a huge, murderous child. She gave up on straining against the unyielding grip and lanced ten bladed fingers into the back of its hand, digging them in as hard as she could. Hot lubricant streamed onto its chest and filled the air with the stale, metallic flavor of grease and metal shavings. Her legs pedaled as it swung her from side to side, looking for something to smash her against.
Clank.
The hundred-pound bomb bounced off the cyborg’s head, knocking it three steps to the side before tumbling end over end to the ground. The monstrosity held her higher and swiveled in search of what had hit it. Metal irises dilated to their widest with a whirr-click at the sight of the NE6 brick. It backed up another step, gaze drawn up to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Pavo slid down, landing astride the bomb, gun raised. A bright orange line seared the darkness as he put one shot into its cheek before it swung Risa out in front of itself, a ragdoll shield.
She tugged, unable to dislodge her claws from the thick armor, trapped within a cage of enormous fingers. The only chance she had lay in Pavo and his roguish smirk.
I am going to die.
Grunting, she struggled to pull her tiny blades out another quarter-inch. “You’re late.”
Metal fingers crushed her ribs and gouged into her back. Legs dangling limp, Risa swayed with each motion as the sentry adjusted its hold to keep her in Pavo’s line of fire. She swallowed the urge to whimper. I always thought a screw up would involve a bomb, like with Genevieve. A lone tear ran down her cheek. That’s gotta be a better way to go… she didn’t feel a damn thing. Probably didn’t even have time to think ‘oh shit.’
Pavo grinned and winked. “Is that thing military enough for you to kill?”
Risa bristled at the voice, unable to tell whether Pavo was mocking her or if he merely had a lousy sense of humor and even worse timing. Her peripheral vision shrank to a blackening haze as the grip forced the air from her lungs. She yanked at the blades; they refused to dislodge from the armor-plated hand, sending threads of hurt up her fingers as though she attempted to tear her bones out. There’s nothing but plastisteel in there anymore. She gritted her teeth in pain. At least the skin’s still mine.
The arm torqued left, foiling Pavo’s aim, and the sharp motion tugged her claws loose by a millimeter. The last of her breath leaked into a desperate moan. Risa stopped pulling on her claws and tried rocking them. Pavo aimed high. The cyborg jerked its arm upward in a hard, precise shift. He dove to the side, landing with a whump, and tried to aim under her, but the machine shoved her down too fast for him to get a clean shot. The jolt from the rapid motion knocked her right hand free. Nano claws gleamed in the dark. She scrabbled at the wrist joint, scratching rather than stabbing. Three frantic swipes clicked over plastisteel. Synthetic diamond blades grown with an edge one atom wide scored the dense metal like a knife on frozen butter. She kept scraping as Pavo played the distraction. Seconds later, a blue spark flashed from its wrist.
Machine panic.
It thrashed her up and down, but she held fast. After six more raking slashes, the main strut of the wrist failed with a loud crack. She landed on her feet, staggering backwards under the weight of the giant severed hand clamped around her. Despite a weak growl of determination, her legs refused to support the burden, and the severed appendage dragged her to the ground. Without power, the Myofiber muscles in the fingers slackened enough to let her draw in a rattling breath. Laser blasts streaked overhead; the first, a surprise, burned into her electronic retina, painfully bright to her night vision.
She held the scream long enough to smother it with her forearm and tried to curl in on herself defensively, but the fingers that still caged her torso pinned her down. Her eyes reverted to standard vision as more laser pulses flashed overhead. Eight shots in five seconds: two hit it in each eye and four went into the mouth. The cyborg’s angry roar degenerated into digitized warbles. Something inside its head exploded with a spray of orange sparks. The machine bent forward and toppled over with a heavy, clattering crash. Black smoke poured from metal eye sockets that stared at her like the void.
The faint double beep of Pavo’s MDF-12 heavy laser pistol announcing itself ready to fire again broke the silence. Risa lowered her free arm from her face, and blinked at the prostrate combat machine―snaps of light flashed in the hollow eyes and fire burned in its mouth.
He shot its eyes out…
Pavo approached the bomb, holstering his weapon and gathering the duffel. “I know you’re not big on asking for help. You don’t even like working with someone else. I’ll assume you got that.”
Risa gingerly grasped each claw of her still-trapped left hand with three fingers and wiggled them loose. Once she had both arms free, she swung them from side to side, trying to roll on her back, but couldn’t budge the massive piece of scrap locked around her body. With its palm at her chest, she had little leverage to bend the fingers curled behind her. The thumb under her right arm seemed like a better target, but it refused to move.
Damn. Her face burned with embarrassment. Asking for help was as good as being dead. Help was never a guarantee. She extended one claw and tried sawing through the base of its index finger, but succeeded only in leaving shallow scratches.
“Watching you stuck like that would amuse me for days, but we don’t have that kind of time.” Pavo hooked a hand around the finger over her shoulder and dragged her across the room.
Feeling like one of those toys from a grippy-claw game, she glared at him.
Serious face softened as he lifted her into a sitting position and propped her back against a cargo box. “I won’t make you ask.”
The genuine quality in his smile proved impossible to scowl at. She averted her gaze, certain her snow-white Marsborn face had gone pink. Resignation set in and she retracted the claw. While Nano blades could cut almost anything, their effectiveness on hard materials depended on the amount of strength one could put behind them. Vibroblades did most of the work for you, but those didn’t come in finger sizes.
Pavo spun her around and grasped the fingers behind her back. She glowered down at herself as he grunted and pulled; dark-green fluid burbled from the ten little holes her claws made with each tug. He managed to get the thumb and index finger open far enough for her to squirm free. She
curled forward, head atop her knees, and breathed deep for several seconds. No one said anything about a damn Class 4 cyborg. Pavo leaned on the shipping box, hovering so close his breath moved her hair.
“You okay?”
She lifted her head. His slate-grey eyes widened with concern.
He looks sincere… like Garrison. Risa pulled her hair away from her face. The only thing I ever see in men’s eyes is lust or the fear that comes with the last seconds of life. She reached up, tracing her fingers over his armored chest. What would it feel like to touch a man without trying to kill him?
Distant footsteps, too faint for him to hear, distracted her from her fantasy.
“They’re coming.” She slipped under his arm and bounded to the door leading deeper into the facility. Claws snapped out in mid-swing, slashing open an access panel. She picked among the wires, hunting for the two flashing ones in the schematic diagram her eyes generated. “Pavo?”
He came up behind her, the burden of the explosive audible in his gait. “Yeah?”
The door hissed open and the circuit map faded to darkness. She fought the urge to look at him.
“Thanks.”
“Mmm,” he grunted. “Don’t mention it.”
Risa stood still, taking a deep breath while listening to the sound of activity outside. Rifles chirped, doors squeaked open, boots struck metal flooring.
“Risa?”
She bowed her head in meditation as her hands tightened around the pistols hanging under her arms. “What?”
He flashed a crooked smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Heat raced down her limbs along wirepaths embedded in her flesh. She lurched through the doorway into the corridor, entering the viscous time of accelerated perception. Arms uncrossed, her weapons slipped from the harness. Soldiers in maroon battle armor emerged from parting doors. Two violet targeting reticules darted about, unaffected by the slowed time. Her brain pulsed. Each cybernetic eye slaved to its own pistol, spatial processing offloaded to a Russian-made Cerberus multitasker. Her arms moved as if two copies of her consciousness shared one body: right eye to right pistol, left eye to left. Each targeting spot landed on a man for mere hundredths of a second. To her, it felt like shooting paper targets on a training range. Emerald light streaked, flesh charred, and the scent of burned plastic fouled her nostrils. Sprays of boiling blood fanned into the air in a gentle cascade, suspended as one second stretched to ten. Abandoned rifles floated, dead men lingered on their feet. Twenty yards, two seconds, and nine corpses later, she stopped. Her speedware shut down; death hit the floor.
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 3
