by Alex White
“Pull up,” whispered Nilah.
A tiny star flared behind the Capricious: the Midnight Runner. Boots had ridden out the engagement behind her marauder, protected from the ground defenses. Both ships jerked hard, like they were secured by a tow cable, and Nilah’s heart soared. The little fighter surged out in front, its engines blinding bright like a distant welder’s flare, and it began yanking up the Capricious’s nose. The marauder’s weight obviously burdened the fighter’s flight, but their descent had slowed a hair.
Those engines weren’t designed for a load like that, but if Boots could just get the nose up—
“Pull up,” Nilah urged, and Orna echoed her from the driver’s seat.
Maneuvering thrusters flashed across the Capricious’s keel, and every control surface tilted upward—Cordell was awake and fighting. With enough thrust from the main drive, they could drop him on his hardened belly.
“I’ve got you!” cried Boots, her Runner’s cockpit rattling over the comm. “Nice and easy!”
Orna pumped her fist. “Yes!”
Then the cable snapped, and the Midnight Runner went spinning in one direction while the Capricious plummeted in the other, his engines weeping smoke. The helical trail arced toward an ancient cityscape, towering buildings presiding over the valley. The falling ship pointed center-mass at the tallest building.
“Pull up!” screamed Nilah as the Capricious went smashing through the skyscraper, becoming a flaming fountain of debris. The cold sun of Origin painted silver fire along the edges of the catastrophe while ancient power sources exploded inside.
Nilah yanked a rebreather out of its cubby on the wall and jerked it over her face before rushing outside. Hot air ruffled her hair, the remains of their arrival jump, and flakes of ash rushed between her feet to flee the pressure. She spotted the falling building as the deafening boom of the Capricious’s crash reached her.
“No…” she said, words strangled by her rebreather.
No shields. Nothing to slow the impact. No crew to save him.
“No!”
Then Orna’s hands were on her, dragging her back inside the Devil. The quartermaster gave her a harsh shove into one of the corner seats and snatched a comm off the wall.
“Boots, come in,” said Orna.
“I had him,” was the fighter jock’s quiet response.
“We’ve still got a site to crack and a big stupid crystal to… to go get or…” said Orna, swallowing her tears. “If the people on Bastion are smart, they’ll go wherever we go. They’ll be here, soon. Got to move.”
Nilah shook her head. “The captain—”
“Never stopped to mourn until the job was done,” Orna interrupted. “Now check the energy readings. We need to get to the Graveyard of the Poets, and, Boots—”
“Yeah?”
Orna’s eyes hardened. “We better have landed at the right site.”
For a moment, all Nilah heard was the whistling wind through the door, and then Boots said, “Copy.”
Nilah winced as Teacup and Charger struck the ground several klicks away. She felt the bot through her circlet and found no significant damage, so she ordered it to make its way to them.
“Okay,” said Malik. “We’re all going to take a moment to regroup, and—”
“Contact, bogey spades,” said Boots. “My scanners just picked up a teleportation. Six ships, probably troop transports, headed for the site. No way they don’t see me up here in the bare atmosphere.”
Nilah tried to imagine the best strategic approach, but that had been Cordell’s specialty, not hers. “You think there are gods with them? If not, maybe we could make a run at them before they get established.”
“They teleported,” said Boots, “so Harriet Fulsom is probably with them.”
Malik unbuckled his seat belt and stretched his arms. The others looked to him, and Nilah knew what each of them was wondering: did he have what it took to lead them?
“Bastion was evenly matched in the skies,” he said, gently taking the comm from Orna. “Those gods will have to return to the station if they want to save it.”
“So you’re saying…” Boots began.
Malik held the mic in stoic consideration, far calmer than he needed to be. “I think they’re vulnerable. Prepare for assault. The Devil will be on station in ten. Hunter Two, get us underway, now.”
In another time, this had been a place of wonders. There should’ve been gargantuan buildings, interlinked by millions of tunnels, undulating with the hours as though they respired. Billions should’ve made their lives inside spectacular arcologies, their days filled with miracles of magic and science.
Long abandoned to the ravages of entropy, the labyrinth of skyscrapers buckled at every seam, the old concrete surfaces shedding their lime to a vaguely acidic atmosphere, forming soft grit. The sands of different buildings mixed and gathered in every corner, forming smooth dunes and polishing any exposed titanium superstructures. With a long enough jaunt outside, Nilah felt certain she’d be getting treated for lung cancer.
The Midnight Runner blasted through the concrete canyon overhead, engines shaking loose cakes of dust. Nilah twisted the Devil’s imagers to look up at the towering structures, wondering just how much punishment they could take.
Certainly not a crashing marauder.
“Sleepy,” said Boots, just as slinger fire rumbled through the valley. “Those enemy ships are dropping tanks. Tanks that don’t—” She grunted, and Nilah picked out the sound of a disperser firing. “Tanks that don’t seem to like me! One of the bastards is a big boy.”
“Copy that. Launching drones,” said Nilah, switching the view to battlespace mode. The rooftop clanked a few times as bots shot from its surface to whiz away through the city. On the topo map projection, a series of red triangles threaded their way through blocky projections of buildings. Imager feeds filtered into the cockpit, depicting a series of muscular enemy craft spreading out to set up a perimeter.
Without a second’s pause, several of the tanks spun their turrets and iced the drones. The drones’ location pins froze in place, question marks hovering over them to indicate stale positioning data.
“Eighty grand for ten seconds of drone flight,” said Nilah.
“But there’s nothing more precious than combat intel,” said the Devil, plotting a path for them. “I believe this route will cause us to be exposed to no more than one enemy unit at a time.”
“What about this part here?” asked Nilah, pointing to the flashing yellow segment near the end.
“Without intervention,” said the Devil, “the craft in that sector will almost certainly score a disabling hit.”
“Which means…” said Nilah.
“We’ll be dead,” said Orna. “Give me forward cannon control.”
“Yes, Orna Sokol,” said the Devil.
“And I’ll take driver,” said Nilah.
“Yes, Supreme Being.”
“Mister… Captain Jan,” Nilah called into the back compartment.
“Commander Jan, I’m afraid,” he replied. “No starship.”
“Commander,” she corrected. “We’re going to have to scrap with enemy tanks.”
He nodded somberly, straightening out his cuffs. “I was infantry, light armor. Former tank commander before I joined up with Captain Lamarr. I’ll guide you through. Devil, I’m in command.”
Acknowledging the requests, the Devil cycled all of its consoles to put them in front of the most relevant person. Malik got battlespace topsight. Aisha got one of the slinger cannons, and Jeannie and Alister grabbed the other two sides. Nilah’s console gave her readouts of the jump drive, suspension, revs, engine temps, and a host of other complex data.
“Boots,” said Malik, “how is the Runner?”
“One missile left on the pod, ammo at twelve percent, but otherwise, he’s meaner than a cut snake, sir.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m designating our current coordinates for spatial lock, code n
ame Cistern. Confirm that you’ve got our location.”
“Confirmed, sir.”
“Then I want a hundred-meter-wide path cleared to Cistern one-twenty-niner, distance eighteen hundred meters,” he said, and a red exclusion zone appeared on Nilah’s HUD in the shape of a long, thin rectangle. “Please prosecute everything in that area you can lay eyes on.”
“With pleasure, sir,” said Boots.
A waypoint appeared on the windscreen, obstructed by a wide array of buildings, detritus, and hills. Nilah pivoted the Devil toward it.
“That’s the Graveyard on your map,” said Malik. “Lay on, Miss Brio.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nilah, easing the throttle forward.
Another one of the drone feeds beside her died in a sudden slinger flash. They only had eyes on about a third of the enemy armor; the rest lay hidden in the urban sprawl. The Devil trundled down a flight of stairs, grinding the center handrail into a stony spray. Proximity alerts blared on all sides as they bounced into the nearest intersection in a cloud of dust.
“Bandit!” called Malik. “Cistern one-oh-five, distance one-twenty!”
“Acquired!” said Aisha, the flash of her glyph spilling in from the crew compartment.
Malik shouted, “Fire!” and the Devil shook with the thud of its cannon. Nilah looked out the right-side window to see a projectile go flying down the cross street and burst against something barely poking out from behind a building. White plasma flame exploded from the impact point, and the enemy armor glided out into the middle of the street, pouring smoke like some ghostly carriage.
“Reactive armor,” said Aisha, and the Devil’s roof clank-clanked with the action of its automated breechloader. “Blew up into my shell. I need a second shot.”
“Take it,” said Malik. “Driver, find us some cover.”
Nilah was accustomed to seeking cover behind crates, or a wall, or if she was very lucky, a shield. Here in the wide streets of an ancient downtown, she looked for a large, abandoned car or pile of junk that might obscure the Devil. A deafening crack punched through the cabin as they took a glancing hit, and her ears rang like she’d just been walloped with a metal pipe.
“Your eye trackers indicate confusion. May I make a suggestion?” asked the Devil.
“Uh, sure?” said Nilah, still searching the scene for safety.
“You are in a tank. Tanks can drive through most things.”
She wrinkled her nose. Race cars typically avoided walls. “Right-o, then.”
She revved the engine and launched the Devil across the street. It went bashing through the main lobby of the nearest building, taking stone columns and sheets of clouded duraplast windows with it. Nothing could stop her forward momentum.
“That’s what I’m bloody well talking about,” she said, easing the throttle forward to plow through another wall into a large, open office. The remains of furniture and computers washed over them in waves of historically relevant, extremely rare junk.
“I don’t have a shot!” said Aisha.
“Mister Ferrier, get him when he follows us,” said Malik. “Steady on, driver. Last known enemy locations up ahead.”
A torrent of broken rock poured into the office as an enemy tank ramped into their building from the left.
“Bandit! Cistern two-niner-five distance one hundred!” said Malik.
“Acquired!” said Jeannie.
“Take the shot,” Malik said as he sent a new heading to Nilah.
Jeannie put one right down the barrel of the enemy tank, and either it didn’t have reactive armor, or she’d scored one hell of a perfect shot. Its large turret popped off like a toy, spilling liquid fire across its surroundings. The concussion wave knocked down the remaining temporary office walls.
Clank-clank went the breechloader.
“I see my target! Firing!” called Alister.
“Wait for a clean shot,” said Malik.
Their chassis bucked as Alister fired, leaving a soft report as his shell went into the lobby wall behind them—a tiny circular hole for Nilah to glare at on her imagers. The enemy vehicle went smashing past without a single scratch. The next round thunked into the breech, and Alister fired again—this time blowing a hole in the ceiling, which collapsed all around their adversary’s armor.
“Keep firing, then, Mister Ferrier,” said Malik. “Shoot until you see an explosion. Missus Jan, be ready. If they’re smart, they’ll flank us from that street window.” Malik banged the ceiling—not angrily, but loud enough to surprise Nilah. “Driver, get the lead out. We can’t get bottled up in here.”
She had just been trying to negotiate her way past a block of interior rooms when his order came through. She didn’t want to simply run over the rooms, since they might mess up her articulating wheels. She glanced back at him to find his features set in concentration.
His golden eyes snapped onto hers. “Go or we die.”
The Devil shook with power as she pressed her foot down. A shot came up the back side, bursting against a nearby column, coating the windscreen with orange flame.
“Phase gunner, fire!” shouted Malik.
Alister pumped another shell after the enemy tank, and it looked like a direct hit until the vehicle bounded through the explosion missing a front armor plate.
“More reactive armor!” Alister said.
“Then shoot him again,” ordered Malik as another round came in from the street-side windows, exactly as he’d predicted.
It was a near miss, but close enough that Nilah yelped. She steered left to put a few obstructions between them.
“Where’s the weak spot?” asked Aisha, her glyph flashing once more.
“Just below the turret,” said Malik. “Right side, in shadow.”
“Copy that.”
Just as they crossed out of cover, she loosed her shell, which traveled away down the corridor of cubicles, through the window, through a parked car, and into the chink in the enemy vehicle’s defenses. The street outside lit up with destruction as Alister whooped. The breechloader’s clank was applause to Nilah’s ears.
“My turn,” said Alister.
Their pursuer gained on them, rolling over their trail of carnage instead of having to punch through. Alister fired, and his shot sank into the unarmored front. Large fragments of enemy tank went clattering off their rooftop.
And the breechloader up there went grinding to a halt.
“The loader is jammed up!” said Nilah, reading off the red warning stripe on her console.
“Then we’ve got three shots still loaded,” said Malik. “Make them count.”
“I can get out and repair it in Charger,” said Orna. “Mister—Commander Jan, can you take the main cannon?”
“Not yet,” said Malik. “There—” Nilah’s map flashed with input from him; he’d marked one of the perimeter walls.
The topo map showed that the building was on a hill, and ramming through that wall would bring them out two stories above the street. If they landed on their side or back, they’d be like a turtle, waiting to die.
Nilah raised a finger. “Concern—”
“Noted,” interrupted Malik. “Now floor it.”
They raced toward a bank of lifts, hammer down the whole way, then skidded around an ancient reception area. Nilah took the turn hard, savoring her precise footwork as she lined up Malik’s designated egress point on her HUD.
“Here we go!”
Nilah crashed through the scratched duraplast windows into the open air above the ancient thoroughfare. The Devil’s nose began to tip a little too far, and cracked pavement rose to meet them. She saw a dark future: smashing onto their roof to wait helplessly for the enemy tanks. Then the Devil’s front tires shot down to hit the road spinning and yank itself forward, juddering to a halt in the concrete canyon.
“Yes, Devil!” shrieked Nilah, pumping the throttle to peel out. “You absolute bloody masterpiece!”
“Pop smoke,” said Malik. “Drive by image, and take
it slow.”
“Drive by what?”
Nilah’s windscreen flashed as the Devil took a quick scan, rendering everything in a powdery-blue hologram. Then canisters of smoke popped off in every direction, exploding in an ever-expanding pattern to fill the city streets with impenetrable fog. Acoustic projectors shot audible images into the soup of particles, and a warning appeared on Nilah’s screen: IMAGE STALENESS—1.2S.
That smoke was designed to screw up almost every type of imager out there, but with the blue glow of the building scan, she’d be able to find her way.
The engine went dead silent, and a warning scrolled across the bottom of her projection: STEALTH LIMITER ENGAGED // MAX SPEED 30 KPH. The only sound the Devil made was the crunch of gravel, and that was covered by the loud hiss of many smoke grenades.
“Acoustic alert,” whispered Jeannie. “The other tanks are at the window above.”
“Don’t shoot,” said Malik.
“The Devil gives me a ninety-nine percent chance of a lethal hit,” Jeannie said. “Are you sure?”
“Two more acoustic alerts,” said Orna. “Cistern fifteen, distance one thousand. That’s at the end of the block.”
A pair of red orbs appeared in the distance, then immediately began to stutter. Two new enemy tanks rolled up and popped smoke of their own, seeming to multiply into a hundred decoys before vanishing altogether.
“If we shoot,” said Malik, “those tanks at the end of the street will nail down our location. No more than twenty percent throttle, Missus Brio.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nilah, squinting at her path. It was easy to untangle the yellow guideline from the building images, but the smoke unnerved her. What if they crashed into someone? “Our waypoint takes us straight through the enemy tanks.”
“I know,” said Malik. “Boots? Remove these armors now, please.”
“I see your location. Lining up for a strafing run,” came Boots’s reply over the comm.
“We go on your mark,” said Malik. “Missus Brio, I want us going full speed when we hit the edge of the cloud. Missus Jan, aim as far back as you can. Take the shot when it’s clear.”
“Yes, Commander,” came the whispered responses.
