Dangling one meter off the ground by her head, Lucy instinctively grabbed the entity’s arm with two of her free hands and impotently struggled to free herself. Her lower arms, still clutching the Macuahuitl, twisted and brought the toothed club up in a sweep, severing the Tektonic's arm. The ploy worked. Lucy dropped back down to the ground, along with the rest of the trash that had held her a moment before. Free, she stepped back, raising her club into a defensive position as the thing regrew its severed arm. A meter-and-a-half stick of bloodied rebar landed near her feet. She glanced in the direction it came from and saw Jon standing over an unconscious Carbine.
"Get him up and get the hell out of here!" Lucy screamed, a touch of uncharacteristic panic in her voice. That hint of worry gave Jon real cause for concern. He had seen Lucy in action; if she was scared, then he should be too. He knelt down and lifted his best friend onto his shoulders, straining and groaning.
"I don't think those calorie monitors are working, bud," Jon said, more to himself than to Carbine, and came to a standing position, his legs wobbling as they straightened.
The way across the pit proved to be tough; every other step he took, he sank up to his knees into the loose and wet trash. Come on. Come on.
"That's right. Right here. Come to mami," Lucy taunted, shifting her sword-club back and forth into different guards, matching the Beastie’s changing positions. She caught a glimpse of the encumbered Jon, only halfway to the hole in the wall. "Hurry up!" she shouted. Just then, the entity pounced on her. Jon watched as its arms engulfed her, doubling in size, wrapping around her like a cocoon and once again lifting her off the ground. The tornado limbs continued to spin, twisting and tightening in on themselves, squeezing and crushing Lucy like a boa constrictor.
"Go!" she screamed over the sounds of whining and buckling metal.
Jon made it to the hole and was surprised to see a three-story drop to the street below. There was nothing soft to land on, just some kind of broken vehicle. He doubted the give in its roof would be enough, but he also knew he didn't have much choice. He turned around just in time to see Lucy's tail uncoil itself down from between her legs and shoot up, plunging itself into the belly of the Tektonic. A split-second later it pulled back out. Jon heard a loud crack, then watched in amazement as the entity scattered across the room in a shower of debris.
Lucy was flung away from the exploding creature along with the bits of debris, but she landed on her back, rolled right over and stood up, unfazed. Throughout the action, she had managed to maintain a death grip on her club and now re-saddled it.
"Grenade," she explained as she ran towards Jon. "Come on, it'll be back, and quick." Jon glanced over to where it had been and saw the stirring of trash on the floor already taking the shape of a funnel. He felt Lucy's hands on him, and then she lifted him and Carbine both up, carrying them. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped from the hole to the city outside. She landed perfectly in a kneel, one knee to the ground, denting the concrete ground around her in a small crater. She gently put Jon and Carbine down and said, "Let's go," like it was nothing.
Imploringly, Jon looked at her and nodded to Carbine, still draped over him. "I won't be able to keep up, carrying him."
Scowling, Lucy took Carbine from Jon as easily as one takes a sack of foodstuffs from a shelf and slung him roughly over her shoulders. Without a word, she began to run off, and Jon followed.
A second later, Carbine slowly came to and realized that Lucy was carrying him. "You... you saved me?" he asked.
Without slowing or stopping, Lucy replied coldly, "No, that was all your dumb friend’s doing. If it were up to me, we would have left you back there. Let's get one thing straight, Army Boy: you are not my people." Then, raising her voice so that Jon could hear better, she called out, "Those types of elementals are territorial. If we put enough distance between us, it won't pursue. Keep up."
They ran on through the dark, their only thought to put as much distance between them and the elemental as possible. Even carrying Carbine, Lucy moved like a machine, no longer holding back, forcing Jon to push himself to his limits. His ragged breathing punctuated the silence of the dead city as he willed himself to keep going. Sweat no longer beaded on his brow and pooled in his eyes, and that worried him. He knew enough about the human body to know that he was far into the red, that soon, he would succumb to dehydration and exhaustion. Blissfully, as if she had read his mind, Lucy slowed to a halt.
Jon bent at the waist, his hands on his thighs, and sucked air. He wanted to thank her but couldn't manage to speak just yet. They had entered a wide space of some kind; its dimensions and nature eluded Jon, for without the electric torch he only had the dimmest of distant ceiling light to see by.
His breathing slowed eventually, and he straightened up, preparing to ask Lucy if she happened to have any water hiding on or in her body.
Just then the air around them blossomed in a wash of bright light. Jon heard primitive, pre-Storm engines turn over and rev in a semi-circle around them. More lights bloomed, these ones belonging to the idling vehicles. It was only then that Jon realized Lucy hadn't stopped for his benefit.
Jon squinted and held up his hand, trying in vain to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Silhouettes moved in front of the lights, revealing perhaps a dozen or more humanoids.
"Of all the cursed luck..." Lucy mumbled to herself.
"What's going on?" Carbine asked weakly, straining his head to see, then giving up with a moan of pain.
"Well, well, well," a voice called out from near the center of the semicircle of lights and rumbling engines. "We just get done bumping down some pickers and who but stumbles into our lap? My favorite whore."
"You could never afford me, Radi8tr," Lucy replied calmly. The speaking man chuckled, which prompted laughter and murmurs from his unseen companions.
"That's funny, Lucy." The man now stepped out far enough in front of the vehicles’ beams for Jon to get a decent look at him. Dark skin, closer to Carbine's hue than Elena's; hair cut so short it was barely more than stubble on his skull; gangland tattoos, like stickers or badges of honor, spotted his wiry arms. His clothes, starched crisp and white, were cleaner and nicer than Jon would have expected for a denizen of the Underground, which perhaps signified his station. A shiny chrome pistol hung from one ring-and watch-studded hand. "I guess if I can't afford to fuck you, I'll just have to rip you apart and sell you for spare parts." More laughter. Radi8tr grinned like a coyote over a fresh kill. His teeth glinted, reflecting the light of the beams, flashing gold and silver.
"Jon, these are the East Side Lords. They will kill you. Get down and stay down. I will handle this." Lucy spoke as quietly as possible. Jon heard her but didn't move; not yet. He didn't want to provoke violence if it could be avoided. He saw Lucy hesitate, and understood. If she launched into an attack, the way she had with the troops in the transport, there was a more than good chance Carbine and himself could get hurt or killed. Collateral damage. And Lucy needs us, or at least me.
"Come on, you wetback slut. Your lady death makeup don't scare me. Let's dance!" Radi8tr called out, his pistol and jewelry-laden hand twitched invitingly. Lucy adjusted her grip on Carbine and whispered to him, "I'm going to throw you to the ground. Stay there and play dead." Her lower right arm crossed over her abs and found the hilt of her Macuahuitl. A slight push of her thumb popped the sword-club out from its saddle. Her fingers folded around the leather-wrapped handle and she flexed the corded steel and hydraulic muscles in her enhanced thighs, preparing to spring into a fight that pitted her with a melee weapon against two dozen men with guns.
Jon sensed what was coming and felt the weight of the empty pistol in his hands. He thought about lifting it up, to intimidate the thugs, but realized the time for a standoff was nearly up, and that making any threat at this point would only invite a hail of bullets and certain death. Holding his breath, he waited for either the gang leader or Lucy to set it off.
Suddenly a b
right flash accompanied by a deafening crackle of electricity lit up the entire cavern. Jon thought the East Side Lords had deployed a weapon of some kind and ducked. Lucy tossed Carbine to the ground and likewise dipped into a low squat, ready to lunge towards Radi8tr. The members of the gang began to shout and scream, many of them opening fire. Jon flinched, but the bullets never came. The thugs were shooting up into the sky. Jon spun around and beheld the single largest Drop he had ever heard of.
Framed by expanding cubes of various dimensions, each flashing black and white; a rip in the very fabric of reality hung above the desolate ruin. Yonic in shape and function, the rift continued to open until its edges nearly touched both the ceiling and floor. Jon watched as tracer rounds blazed through the night, greeting the Invasive the Drop was currently giving birth to. A bizarre, digital-sounding buzz, the tell-tale sound of the Drops, heralded the arrival of the Beastie. Stunned, jaw slack, Jon could tell even at this distance that it had to be a Class VII—the category that classed the largest recorded Invasives.
The near-hypnotic strobing of the Drop's cubes illuminated the beast of legend as it sailed slowly and smoothly out of the dimensional portal. Jon expected it to fall or crawl down to the streets but then realized why the Beastie moved the way it did. Wings, each as large as the body of the creature itself, cleared the rift and unfolded. A long tail followed, lazily side-winding; and then as quick as it had appeared, the Drop snapped closed. A gust of cordite-scented wind kicked up dust into Jon's face, making him cough, but he never stopped watching the flying creature. He knew it somehow, had seen its visage before. From where? Nursery stories in the Academy? Yes! The name of the creature arrived on Jon's lips, just as it arrived at the far end of the field that he, his friends, and the East Side Lords occupied.
Dragon.
Radi8tr and his Lords had forgotten about Lucy and were now shooting the flying beast with abandon. Bullets plinked harmlessly off the dragon's armored scales. It swooped up, its sheer size giving the illusion that it was moving in slow motion, and then began to circle back. Jon could see intense fire burning in its mouth, glowing like the tip of a cigar in a dark lounge.
As it turned to face them, the approaching dragon opened its massive hinged jaw and spilled forth a carpet of red flame.
The Lords lost their nerve. The already idling trucks were quickly filled by as many men as each could carry and the myriad of ancient automobiles sped out across the field in all directions as fast as they could go.
Jon wanted to run too, but again his thoughts turned to Carbine, and he couldn't leave, wouldn't leave any man, let alone his friend behind. He called to Lucy, who was standing there like a ship’s prow, waiting to take the brunt of the rushing river of flame that even now descended upon them. In a pathetic display of self-preservation, Jon ducked and covered his head with his arms as the dragon's breath washed over them. The fire came, for Jon could see its brilliance behind his tightly closed eyelids, but he felt nothing. No heat, no pain, nothing. And then the light was gone. He looked up in shock and saw the dragon circling again in the space above them and making another pass at the fleeing gang members.
A young man's voice floated in from the darkness. "The Sand People are easily startled. But they will soon be back, and in greater numbers."
"About time you showed up," Lucy said, sheathing her sword-club. "You won't believe the day I had."
A lantern flicked on, casting its glow on a young kid's bespectacled face. He floated towards them, as smoothly as the dragon. Jon quickly realized the kid was standing on some sort of moving platform, shaped like a flattened torpedo, and it hovered a half-meter off the ground. He held the lantern up high, illuminating the general area, and turned his hoverboard into a sideways stop.
The newcomer wore aviator goggles, and his hair was spiky, with what seemed like multi-colored bangs, though it was hard to tell what colors exactly in the yellow-green electric light. His clothes were a complete mystery to Jon, him having never seen their like before. Baggy pants with big, oversized pockets, thin silver chains dripping from his waistline, and a short-sleeved, form-hugging shirt bearing a logogram and words that made no sense to Jon. 'Ramones,' it read.
"’Sup?" He nodded his chin upwards towards Jon. "Name's Ratt."
"Sandpeople?" Jon muttered in confusion, not sure of what was going on. Ratt grinned at him.
"It's a line from an old classic. Same thing with my lovely over there. The wind blast was just a small concussion grenade. A little sumpin' sumpin' to sell the illusion." Ratt looked off in the direction of the circling dragon, now quite a ways from them. "Let's bring him down low so that nobody sees..." He offered Jon the lantern. "Here, take this please." Jon took what was offered and watched as Ratt stuck out the tip of his twisted tongue and bit down gently on it while simultaneously raising his left arm up to his face. His eyes looked large behind the round lenses of his goggles, which only added to his comical appearance. His fingers flew across the touch screen of what looked to be a modified N-Tab that had been mounted to his arm, while his tongue wrestled with his lips.
The dragon swooped down and came to rest in a wide street framed on three sides by moldering city blocks. The Easels had long cleared out and were nowhere in sight; even the sounds of their vehicles engines were like distant thunder and fading ever quieter by the second. Ratt tapped his wrist-mounted N-Tab a few more times, and Jon watched, bewildered, as the dragon vanished into thin air.
"I wanted to use Drogon, but the model isn't quite finished yet. So, I went with another classic staple, Jackson's Smaug," Ratt said as if that explanation made all the sense in the world. "Pre-Storm cinema. You a fan?"
"He's of the Zigg, Ratt," Lucy said casually.
"Oh, right! I should have known from the uniform. Duh." Ratt smiled and mock-whacked himself on the side of his head, then a look of apprehension washed over him, his already magnified eyes becoming even wider. "Wait. Is he...?"
"Yes. Apparently," Lucy said and walked over to where Carbine still lay.
"Is he what?" Jon asked, thinking he knew, but tired of being pulled along and kept in the dark.
"This one is wounded," Lucy said as she helped Carbine to his feet.
"Thanks, I'm a... I'm feeling a little... light... headed." Carbine mumbled, his head lolling and then his body went limp. Lucy caught him, preventing the fall, and carried him over and placing him down on Ratt's hoverboard.
"Whoa! Jeez, man. I, like, totally didn't see that he was bleeding. It looks pretty bad. Here, hang on, man," Ratt said and reached into one of his baggy pants’ oversized cargo pockets. A second later he fished out a cylindrical probe. Jon recognized it as a nano-medi-bot injector, similar to the ones the Republic Military used, but different. Perhaps an older model. Ratt pointed the tube at Carbine’s leg and lowered it to his wound, depressing a small button on the side with his thumb. Almost as fast as the Tektonic had put itself back together, Carbine's puncture wound sealed itself closed. The air around the hole in his leg looked blurry for a second, then the injury closed up, leaving minimal scarring.
"The bleeding has stopped, and the nanites are working on the internal bleeding and muscle damage as we speak. It won't be back to normal until later. Best take it easy," Ratt instructed. Carbine nodded his understanding and then they all looked to Lucy for orders on what to do next.
"Let's get to the Vault. We're already way behind schedule. We screw around too long, and it'll be too late," Lucy said and walked over, expecting the others to follow.
"Too late?" Jon asked.
"My Lady is scheduled for execution," Lucy replied without even so much as a glance back.
Jon kept pace with Lucy, while Ratt and Carbine floated behind a ways. Carbine felt well enough to sit up halfway and scooted out of Ratt's way as much as possible. Looking around at the changing scenery of the ruined underground city as they went along, he decided to make conversation.
"So. You guys buddies? Resistance pals?" Carbine asked Ratt.
Carbine frowned. "You a couple?" he asked.
Ratt laughed so abruptly that he involuntarily snorted. "Lucy? Ha! Hell nah, man! She ain't nobody's girl. That shit's funny. No, man. She saved my life a long time ago. When I was a kid. Brought me into the fold."
"When you were a kid? You still are a kid!" Carbine said, then winced at how insulting it sounded. Ratt's wide smile dropped, and he looked off into the distance. In a somber tone, he said, "The Underground makes you grow up fast, man."
"Okay." Carbine recovered from his faux pas and moved to get his inquiry back on track. "So, what's the deal with her anyway?"
"The deal?" Ratt asked, glancing down to Carbine, a raised eyebrow magnified behind the ridiculous goggles.
"Yeah, you know. Why does she act like she hates everybody so much? What's with the giant chip on her shoulder?"
Ratt looked up in the distance to where Lucy and Jon walked. He rubbed his chin and appeared to be deep in thought.
"Man, she would cut my heart out like the Aztec warrior she is if she knew I told you..." Ratt looked back down to Carbine, saw the earnest look plastered on his face, and his already weak resolve broke, the urge to gossip too strong. "But you seem pretty legit. Not everybody can take a lick like that." Ratt nodded at Carbine's leg. "So, check it out," Ratt began. "Lucy was sold into slavery when she was just a little girl in the Shanty. The Military had killed her parents, and her uncle, a real scumbag, didn't want to take care of her, so he sold her. The guy who bought her was the original owner of the Underground. Not down here Underground, but the cathouse upstairs. So anyways, this guy forced her to all kinds of unspeakable shit, ya catch me? And bro, she was young. Yah-ung."
The Goddess Gambit Page 21
