Lying at the lip of the bottomless maw of the corridor was a man with one arm blackened and sticky with residual fluid from a coil shot. What remained of the rifle he’d been holding had bubbled from heat, stock melted to his armored shoulder. His agonized gaze turned to Yajain.
“Medic, damn it. My arm.”
Yajain scurried to his side, staying low. His entire right side sizzled with tar-like discharge. The bitter stench made Yajain gag, but she controlled herself for the soldier’s sake. She’d never seen a wound like this before. She lacked experience as a medic.
“It’ll be alright. Just let me clear this.”
She cracked open the medical kit and removed a dispersal gun. Trained it on the wound. Pulled the trigger. The stabilizing gas quickly popped the bubbles that remained and made the sizzling stop where it touched the armor and burnt skin.
Her eyes grew teary from the dry backwash of heat. She slid the dispersal gun back into the kit, then realized she didn’t have anything to cut off the armor or separate the rifle from the man’s shoulder.
“Hang on,” she said. “I think the worst damage is done.”
He grunted, fingers of his glove still fused to the grip of his weapon.
“Do your arc lifts work?”
“Burnt out,” he said.
She met his eyes.
“Can you stand up if I help you?”
“I’ll try.”
Yajain buckled the medical kit to her belt. She crouched beside the man and slid an arm around his unburnt shoulder.
“Let’s go. Ready?”
He heaved himself upright, leaning on her. In a straining moment, she dragged him to his feet.
Yajain stepped back from the edge and together they turned toward the tower. Loattun, met them halfway toward the far side.
“I’ll take him from here, doctor.”
“Thanks.” Yajain transferred the man’s good arm to the cabler’s grip. “We’d better get back.”
Loattun nodded.
“Doesn’t look like we’ve got any hostiles local to us.”
The wounded soldier shook his head.
“No. They’re coming back.”
Yajain glanced at the charred man.
“Are you sure?”
His face tightened with pain.
“They’ve been circling the hub for hours. Don’t know what they want.”
Loattun grimaced.
“I’ll radio ahead. Doctor, you should go first. I’ll cover you.”
“Alright.”
Yajain stared at the field. Smoke rose from a patch of burning grain stalks along the curve of the terrace’s outer edge. At the top of a strut several kilometers away, a silver figure flashed into view. She carried a rifle. One of the round-bodied arc fliers bearing the Rakati defense force insignia drifted overhead, slowly in retro.
A projectile weapon fired loudly from high on the strut and cracked the spherical cockpit at the center of the flier.
Yajain ducked reflexively as the sound of the shot whined over the field. Loattun crouched and set down the wounded soldier behind the wall. He took cover and raised his rifle.
“Go, medic.”
She nodded and powered up her lifts. Then she accelerated into the field, skimming so low she narrowly avoided clipping the terrace. Her medical kit bumped against her thigh.
Another gunshot echoed over the field. Yajain grimaced as she approached the edge of the rows of plants. A burst of ballistics roared from behind her. The hiss of a salvo of coil-fluid followed. She was moving to fast to risk looking back.
The earpiece connected to Yajain’s commlink chimed.
“Aksari, what is going on over there?” Boskem asked.
Yajain landed by the edge of the field, just hidden by dense rows of plants. She answered Boskem with one finger on her earpiece.
“We’ve got a survivor. He says the attackers are coming back, but I think they’re already here. There is a sniper on the nearest strut.”
“Damn. They’ve deployed assault troops? Who are these people?”
“I’m almost to your position. Can you spot the sniper for me?”
Boskem’s voice vanished from her ear. She crouched in the field and waited for him to reply. Another gunshot rang out. Boskem’s voice returned.
“We’re drawing her fire. Get moving.”
Yajain took off on her lifts again. Another series of shots were exchanged both projectile and energy. She dodged through rubbled past burn marks to the wall where Boskem, Narayme, and the big cabler had set up.
A shot punctured the cabler’s armor high on one shoulder. He held his rifle one-handed. Blood trickled from the broken plates and torn cloth. Narayme looked up at Yajain from her medical kit, eyes wide. Boskem knelt on the other side of the cabler, speaking into his headset.
“What happened?” Yajain asked.
“That sniper is good,” said the big cabler. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like this before.”
“Damn it, where did they find someone that skilled?” Boskem said.
So much for Finder’s being intelligence officers, Yajain thought. She deactivated her lifts and crept toward Narayme and the cabler she was frantically trying to patch up. Halfway there an explosion shook the field.
Boskem swore.
“You’re shitting me. She just took out a combat flier with a ballistic weapon!”
Yajain turned to Narayme and the wounded cabler. Narayme was trying to pry off the damaged plate of the man’s armor. She grunted and it came loose. The man gritted his teeth.
Yajain gave the young officer time to patch the wound before she slipped past her and the cabler to Boskem.
“Loattun is still pinned down on the other side of the field.”
“That’s where that flier went down.” Boskem’s teeth chattered. “He’s most likely dead already.” The Finder’s eyes clouded. “I’m calling the tumbler doctor. We’re getting out of here.”
Yajain glared at him.
“No way we are! That sniper just shot down a combat flier. Our tumbler isn’t armored at all.”
“It’s our only chance,” Boskem said. “We’re not getting back up.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
“An enemy banner ship was sighted. The rangers are pulling back to protect Castenlock.”
“And the hub?”
“Most of the settlement will survive another raid. But we won’t if we stay here.”
Yajain’s eyes locked on Boskem’s.
“You are not calling in that tumbler. You’ll just get the pilot killed.”
“It’s our only chance.”
“I don’t accept that.”
“I’m in command here.”
Yajain didn’t take her eyes from the Finder’s. Boskem’s face pinched. His hand flew to the pistol at his side. He raised it and trained it on Yajain.
“Don’t countermand my authority.”
She raised her hands slowly.
“Put the gun down. We’re on the same side.”
“Damn it.” Boskem lowered the weapon. His other hand flew to his ear. “They’re saying its too hot.”
“They’re right.” Yajain took a long breath. “Sorry, Finder.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now,” he glared at her. “We’re all going to die here.”
“If we can get inside the pillar itself we’ll be safe.”
“That’s over two kilometers away across open terrace. And that damned sniper won’t give us half that distance.”
Yajain shook her head.
“We try or we give up.”
Boskem’s eyes look white and watery.
“Fine. I’ll try to contact Loattun one more time, then we’ll move one way or another.”
With his retreat cut off, he appeared to have found a bit of courage. If the bastard hadn’t just pointed a coil pistol at Yajain she might be able to apprec
iate that.
She lowered her trembling hands and turned to Narayme and the wounded cabler.
“Can you move?”
“Soon,” Narayme said. “Thanks.”
Boskem touched his ear. His voice was deadened.
“Loattun and that soldier are still alive. They’ll be here in twenty seconds.”
Yajain turned to him.
“That’s a good thing, sir.”
“Yes.” Boskem nodded and then pointed over the wall to the distance. Yajain turned. The massive silhouette of a banner ship rose over the terrace in the distance, shadow cast against shifting cloud layers. Boskem’s eyes found hers. “That is not.”
Kaga Pillar 11 Cycles Ago
In the corridor at school, Yajain walked with her head down, reading pad pressed to her chest. Sixteen cycles old, she kept up with the other top students in her class, though many of the teachers ignored her whenever they could find an excuse. The wave of refugees arriving in the middle of the term a few weeks before brought many new students, new faces everywhere. Almost all of them were nuinn, just like the natives. And almost all of them ignored Yajain, or looked at her with distrust.
Lin, two cycles older than Yajain and with far milder features, fit in better. Yajain never saw her sister during the day, though they were in the same building. Yajain rounded a corner in the hall and glimpsed Mosam emerge from an office ahead. She immediately glanced down at her reading pad, but couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting up to peek at him.
He saw her and walked over, his bag hanging from one shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t catch your name before.”
Yajain glanced down at her pad, then back at Mosam.
“Oh, I’m Yajain.”
“Yajain? Good to meet you.” He offered her a hand.
She grasped his hand, warm and firm, and shook it.
“Is this your first day at school?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just got registered.” He held up his ID card. “My master thinks I ought to attend, to broaden my knowledge.”
She nodded, unsure of herself.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Nineteen. I think.”
“You think?” Yajain frowned in the slight way she did when puzzled. She thought it made her appear less fierce. “You don’t know?”
“Nobody kept track for me early on.”
“You didn’t have parents?”
He shrugged.
“We all have parents. I just didn’t know mine.”
Yajain dropped her gaze to Mosam’s feet.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Mosam touched her arm. “But I guess we’d better get to class.”
“Not for another few minutes.” She looked up at him, searching his face for a reason, an answer to the question she was burning to ask him. Yajain took a deep breath as his hand fell from her arm and past her wrist. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Mosam’s eyebrows rose.
“Is there some reason I should be?”
“I’m—Can’t you tell I’m half-Ditari?”
“I figured you were when I first saw you. Didn’t know how to ask before, and my master, the old doctor was in a hurry.” He smiled down at her. “You’re awfully pretty, Yajain.”
Heat rose in her face and she looked down at the floor.
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry about it. My master taught me all people are one. Ditari may be at war with nuinn now, but the time will come when we’ll all need each other.”
Yajain frowned, but this time more with intent than puzzlement.
“What kind of doctor is your master?”
“The oldest kind there is,” said Mosam. “He’s a Doctor of the Harvest.”
“Harvest? What’s that?”
“It’s the time when people used to gather their crops, before the cold season on the reef.”
“What’s a season?” Don’t ask that, what if he thinks you’re dumb?
“On the reefs, seasons are times when the weather changes.”
“I’ve heard of reefs,” Yajain said. “But people have lived on pillars for so long. It doesn’t make sense anymore.”
Mosam shrugged.
“Tradition can be important even when it doesn’t make any sense. Personally, I have a tougher time with technology. I’d really better get to class.” He maneuvered around her and walked off fast down the hall.
Yajain checked her chronometer. Class starts in less than a minute. She glanced after Mosam.
“I’m pretty good with tech,” she called after him. “Ask me if you want help!”
She flushed with embarrassment at her own outburst as he paused.
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled.
“I’ll remember that.”
Yajain didn’t really believe him. But the next day he asked for her personal pad number and then they started studying together. Over the course of the next cycle, she met him at the Church of Harvest where he lived with the old deaf doctor. She almost got used to his smile and his laugh. Almost.
Loattun and the wounded soldier sailed over the barrier and landed behind Yajain. No shot sounded from the sniper. Yajain cringed against the wall, clutching her medical kit. The banner ship ascended over the terrace.
Far smaller than an explorer like Castenlock, banner ships provided immense firepower in a package tougher than any ranger, named for a practice in ancient times days when leaders would fly into battle on banner birds.
Turrets and larger weapons turned slowly, scanning over the terrace. They searched like hungry eyes.
Loattun crouched, setting down the wounded soldier.
Yajain approached them, staying low.
“How is he?”
The wounded soldier grunted.
“I’m still alive.”
Loattun nodded.
“Let’s keep you that way,” Yajain said. “What’s your name?”
“Devrim.” He looked up at the banner ship. “We’d better go.”
Yajain looked upward.
“It hasn’t spotted us.”
Loattun shook his head.
“A banner ship won’t miss us for long, not with all the arc we’re disturbing.”
The big cabler stepped to Yajain’s side.
“He’s right. We need to find shelter.”
“The terrace has service passages,” Devrim said. “There might be an entrance nearby.”
“Where?” Yajain asked.
Devrim pointed across the scorched thoroughfare behind Yajain.
“There was a building with a cellar that leads to a passage. About fifty meters that way.”
Yajain nodded.
“Good. Now we just need to get there.”
“Just?” Boskem’s voice returned. He stared across the open space where Devrim had pointed. “We can’t do it, not under fire.”
“Are there any other defenders left?” Yajain asked Devrim.
The man nodded and winced at the pain in his rifle-fused arm.
“Commander Chakal had the underside of the terrace secured last time I was in contact.”
Yajain glanced at Boskem. She tried to keep her voice steady.
“Can you try to call them?”
Boskem took a deep breath.
“I can.”
The big cabler turned to Yajain.
“I’ll give covering fire. I owe that sniper.”
“Thanks,” Yajain said. “Narayme—” She turned to the young medical officer. “—Can you help Loattun move Devrim?”
“I’ll try,” said the girl.
Yajain’s gaze went back to the banner ship as it passed overhead. Boskem spoke into his commlink. He listened for a moment then turned to Yajain.
“The squadron is on their way. I warned them about the banner ship, but they’re flying out regardle
ss.”
Before he finished speaking, a rush of wind distracted Yajain. Six arc fighters with spherical bodies and swept back wings darted over the edge of the terrace. Bolts of burning white coil-fluid scattered from them across the side of the rebel banner ship.
“Move!” the big cabler said.
Yajain powered her arc lifts as the banner ship turned on its axis, using the pillar’s arc field to maintain flight, and opened fire on the tiny fighters. Explosions of shrapnel and bursts of hot energy lit the air. Yajain and her group flew over the terrace toward the place Devrim had indicated an entrance to the service passages.
The wounded soldier shouted a warning. A sniper’s bullet whined through the air and a spray of blood shot from Boskem’s forearm. He screamed and folded his arm to his side. He wobbled but kept flying using his legs for motion against the arc.
Devrim waved them toward the ground with his one usable arm. The team landed by a collapsed building. Boskem fell to his knees, cradling his shattered arm.
A pair of fighters swept in low over the terrace nearby. They sprayed coil fire at the strut where the sniper took her shots. Yajain scrambled over a pile of rubble. A ramp in the wreckage led to a darkened passage through the terrace.
“Everybody in,” she said. “Wounded first.”
Boskem nodded to her, an expression of surprise and gratitude on his face, as he descended into the tunnel. Loattun and Narayme followed him, supporting Devrim. The streak of motion of the big cabler shot over the ground and landed beside Yajain. She motioned down into the tunnel.
“Go ahead, I’m right behind you.”
The fighters continued their bombardment on the strut. The sniper must be hidden well if she was still alive.
Another shot rang out over the hisses of the fighter’s coil-fluid, echoing from a different strut across the terrace. The spherical cockpit of the fighter nearest the rubble cracked and the machine bloomed flames.
Yajain ducked into the tunnel, but couldn’t keep her eyes from the falling arc vessel. The fighter’s hull ground into the terrace. A small, limp figure ejected from the back and sailed upward on an arc ripple. The pilot made a sitting target for the sniper.
Yajain crouched, then launched herself toward the unconscious pilot. The fighter exploded between herself and the pillar. Heat washed her face and she averted her gaze to shield her eyes. Her hand snaked out and blindly seized the slack arm of the flying pilot.
Storm Fleet Page 5
