Unconquerable Sun

by Elliott, Kate

  “Don’t you have military-grade satellite access imbedded, Chief?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Only the CO and XO. Faculty links in via the sky-tower.”

  “Doesn’t the industrial park have its own regional local shell, like the academy does?”

  “Sure, but getting everyone clearance will take time. We’ll communicate with the walkie-talkies. Just remember, the Phene will probably be able to overhear you.”

  “The radios aren’t encrypted?” I ask.

  “They’re Phene-made. Recovered and refurbished from the storage cellars here. They date from the occupation.”

  Solomon whistles softly. “I didn’t realize they were that old.”

  “For now they’re all we’ve got.”

  “Your Highness?” the chief speaks to the air as he projects a map on the crew car table, an aerial view of the academy township. It’s not a real-time map; it’s an exercise image for classwork. “Are you seeing this?”

  The royal sunburst appears in my left eye view, showing Sun has dropped into the academy loop.

  “Go on,” she says, the sound of her voice accompanied by the grumble of engines and the grinding thump of vehicles racing at speed across uneven ground.

  By closing his hand Chief Dara zooms the map scale outward. Then he slides the view westward until CeDCA gleams at one side of the table with the industrial park appearing at the opposite edge, sited on a flat plain. An expanse of forest fills in the gently hilly space between. This is the land Sun is currently crossing with the rest of the cadets, twenty-five to twenty-seven klicks depending on what route she takes.

  “You’ll reach the industrial park along its eastern edge,” he says. “The rail line and its depot connect at the northern edge.”

  The chief centers the map on the industrial park. Its grid is an exact square, five klicks by five klicks. I briefly admire the complete lack of imagination displayed by the original zone planners. With a road around the outer edge to separate it from the forest and four north-south avenues crossed by four east-west avenues, the park looks from above like a five-by-five-sided tic-tac-toe board. The sky-tower rises from the centermost square, surrounded by administrative buildings and citizen housing. Each square kilometer is a walled block whose buildings orient inward, to control access. Except for an extension to the north for the floater barracks and greenhouses, everything else lies within one of the twenty-five smaller squares: train depot, warehouses, and factories as well as the big ore refinery and its smokestacks taking up most of the southwest quadrant.

  “Do you have any idea where the secret lab is?” he asks.

  Static blurs her answer. She repeats. “No. We have wasps hunting to try to find where the Phene have set down.”

  “You’re sure they’ll set down? They might just bomb the zone into rubble.”

  “They’d have done it already if they meant to. They’ll land as close as possible to an entry zone. We have to follow them in. Hold on. Hold—”

  Static interrupts. All background chop cuts to silence.

  “We’re out of range.” Lips pressed tight, Dara scans the orderly layout of the industrial park. “You remember from our field exercises how the avenues intersect at big plazas. If the lab is in the park, they’ll have to land a gunship in the closest plaza. Any approach up one of the main avenues is a killer line of sight, simple to negotiate but hells to attack.”

  With a thoughtful frown, Solomon says, “It was almost impossible to dislodge a defensive force set up with sufficient cover in the plazas if they also had control of the immediate surrounding buildings. Not without a massive assault wave willing to endure massive casualties.”

  “Sun said she’d use Whales to screen her advance,” I remind him.

  “We might be able to get the barges started since we disembark here.” The chief taps the depot and its rail sidings, situated at the northeast corner of the grid. The big cargo barges known as Whales rest beside long loading docks. “I’ll send a team in to the depot comms center to see about getting control of the Whales. The rest will split into three groups. Lǐ, your people will not have live-fire weapons. Take mechs as your vanguard. Under cover of their advance, go block by block and sweep for civilians. Get them to safety in the forest. The Phene may decide to destroy the park as they depart.”

  If I were a different person I’d wish I had a more bellicose assignment, but I’m aware of my limitations.

  “Solomon, your people will share spider rifles and live-fire weapons. Your mission is to divert and distract so my group can take out as many of the enemy as possible and leave an open path for the overland group to enter here along the eastern edge.” He taps the four east-west avenue terminuses at the eastern edge, then adds, musingly, “Princess Sun fought well at Na Iri. She didn’t lose her nerve.”

  We spend seven minutes marking out lines of sight, tagging entry gates into the factory blocks, and identifying places squads can retreat to take cover, just as we would in any training exercise. The familiar cadence keeps us focused.

  “Take control of your units. Countdown commences now. Eight minutes.”

  I clip the stinger to my back and pull down the mesh telemetry helmets we’ve all grabbed. Then I climb up an interior ladder through a hatch onto the train’s roof.

  All transcontinental trains have horizontal ladders secured along the top for raptor shooting. Cadets are already up top as visual spotters, recording through the camera on their telemetry gear and relaying the view to the chief. The air tears at me as I swing up and over, grabbing hold of the nearest set of rungs. The park’s sky-tower should be visible from here, but it’s enveloped in a churning cylinder of black smoke.

  Part of my mind is careening with the realization I could be responsible for walking people to their deaths. The other part is so calm it’s flatlined.

  Solomon clambers up beside me. To get away from his double-dealing justifications I crawl forward along the ladder. He’s right on my tail, and he grabs my ankle and shouts over the rush of air.

  “I did my best to just report in rubbish and trivial nuisance stuff. I didn’t—”

  “You shivved me in exchange for a place you hadn’t earned.”

  “I didn’t approach them. They approached me. They threatened my family. They blackmailed me.”

  I want to believe him. Part of me does believe him.

  I shake my foot out of his grip. He doesn’t try to hold on. There’s no time for anything else, and we shouldn’t have said this much. Yet I can’t walk away with my back turned to him, not like this.

  “Stay alive. You can make your pathetic excuses afterward.”

  “Keep your head down, Perse.”

  He drops off midway down the twelve-car line. I smell spices, and recognize the boxcar we rode in to get here. I guess Hetty decided not to bother to unload the sacks.

  I crawl along to the last car, sure I’m about to be flung off into the trees. There must be a way for me to visually situate everyone in Sun’s ring network, but I don’t know what it is and this isn’t the time for me to figure it out. Where is Zizou? What will happen to him?

  What if we die and I never get to hear Solomon’s voice again?

  I reach the last car and drop down among the cadets waiting in nervous silence. I have charge of three boxcars of cadets, including Ay and Minh. I give the other walkie-talkie to Ay. Using a close-range platoon circuit I flash out a map of the industrial park as well as withdrawal points in the forest.

  “Squad leaders, this is platoon leader. We’re about to reach the limit of the CeDCA network. Go to hand signals. Our mission is defense and rescue of civilians.”

  The train’s brakes squeal as we start a slowdown on a slope descending toward the plain. The trees thin, giving way to cleared ground. I lean out the open boxcar doors to get a better view. My gaze is drawn inexorably to the pillar of smoke spearing up into the sky. I can’t see the spire; it’s consumed inside a living, breathing, writhing creature made out
of dense, dark ash.

  Beyond it undamaged smokestacks stand as placidly as if it were any ordinary day. The plain here is as flat as an unfolded pancake, and since none of the buildings in the factory blocks are more than three stories high it’s possible to get a sense of what’s going on. Nothing moves. Several Whales sit motionless on the avenues. There’s not even a district-wide alarm blasting, just the rumble of flames and erratic pops as objects inside the sky-tower break off or explode from the heat, which slams as pressure into my face. Are the civilians hiding in their domiciles or locked down in their work blocks? How many are already dead?

  The sky spreads blue and bright beyond the smoke, no sign of enemy ships. Did Sun jump to the wrong conclusion? Did Zizou lie about seeing the sky-tower? What if this is a feint meant to knock down the continental sky-towers in preparation for a Phene invasion over Argos?

  A new sound whines at a pitch higher than the wind roaring in my ears and the death rumble of the burning sky-tower. For an instant I want to cheer, thinking a new flight of alert fighters has reached us already. Then I realize it’s six gulls flying in a V wedge. They’ve come in too soon. We’re not boots on the actual ground yet.

  The Phene react before I even spot their gunships. A thunk chases through the air. A gull spins a full circle and drops crazily toward the ground. A second gull explodes in a sickening burst of flame.

  A third gull gets clipped and, tipping sideways, veers wildly as the pilot struggles to stay in control. A wing tip clips the side of a smoke stack, tearing off. As the bulk of the vessel crashes through a field of greenhouses and sparkling glass, the detached wing flies straight toward us.

  We all duck. An impact smashes into the train, which lurches horribly. I stumble, grabbing on to the person next to me, and we both slam into the boxcar wall. A painful squeal pierces the air. The train jolts to a grinding halt.

  I stare with horror toward the other end of the train. The wing has sliced right through a crew car, severing the locomotive, and gone on to dig a gouge through the trees. The derailed locomotive has cranked around to an acute angle, blocking the tracks. The three boxcars nearest the devastated crew car are also off the rails, one pitched over onto its side.

  Cadets stream from the middle cars, Solomon waving them on.

  “Get the janitors out!” Ay calls. Her words electrify me.

  “Move! Move!” I shout, jumping to the ground.

  My squads scramble out as they would in any field exercise where we are judged on speed and effectiveness, as if this monstrous conflagration is merely an augmented-reality obstacle arranged by our instructors.

  My walkie-talkie squawks. “Lǐ. Over.” It’s Solomon.

  “You’re senior cadet. What orders? Over.” I’m shamefully relieved to pass the responsibility to him.

  “Sending Ikenna to you. Get to the depot comms center. Patch us in. Get a real-time map view. May have a bead on hostiles on north-south one at plaza two. I’m taking all mechs. Over.”

  “Affirmative. Over.”

  “Out,” he says.

  I turn to Minh, on my right. “Take one squad for recovery. You’re in charge of medical. There will be more casualties. Ay, take a squad with Minh. Strip every live-fire weapon from any cadet who’s dead or too injured to fight.”

  Ay winces. “That’s cold, Perse.”

  “This is not a drill. Follow me when you’ve got the weapons.”

  She knows. It’s just that it’s so ugly. They hurry toward the wrecked train cars.

  High overhead a fourth gull gets hit, screaming sideways in a trail of smoke. A puff of white blooms in the sky. As I lead my group at a run across a siding toward a nondescript building identified on the map as the depot comms center, I pray the pilot has ejected safely. Maybe Candace. Maybe Jade. Have they bought us time with their own lives? I don’t have leisure to feel anything as the last two gulls from the first V make tight turns and fly east back toward CeDCA. Where are the other six gulls?

  The doors of the depot’s comms center aren’t even on lockdown. They slide open as Ikenna and I and our accompanying squad use close-quarters tactics to secure the space. The single-room building is fitted with a transparent wall placed to overlook the most easterly north-south avenue, which must be the “one” Solomon mentioned. On the side walls, multiple screens cycle through various camera views of the industrial park’s plazas, avenues, and factory blocks. A pair of shock-faced techs gasp with relief as they identify our uniforms.

  “What’s going on?” demands one with long hair and tear-streaked cheeks. He’s breathing as hard as if he’s been running. “Admin is gone. Blown away.”

  “This is not a drill. We need access to your local network shell.”

  “We barely had time to send a shelter-in-place to the barracks before workday start. Then everything went down. Even the fire and rescue mechs. Everything.”

  “Fuck,” I observe wisely.

  Ikenna moves to the control board. “You must have an emergency workaround.”

  “Everything went down,” rasps Long Hair again, a broken loop.

  Even inside the comms center we can hear the rumble of the burning sky-tower, see the greasy smoke and black ash swirling heavenward. The clear wall gives me a view straight down an avenue, but the haze means I can’t see the full five kilometers to the southern edge. Below the comms center, Solomon has already massed our mechs into rows and started them rolling on the wide avenue in a staggered phalanx. He’s stacked a second wave of janitors with big sacks of spices and salt, a smart move since the sacks can be piled to form protective walls. Cadets advance behind them. The civilians are going to have to help themselves, keep their heads down. We don’t have enough resources for both assault and recovery.

  Two of the mechs in the front row of Solomon’s assault line jolt to a halt as they’re hit by hostile fire. I telescope my vision back along the trajectory. One point eight klicks south, a Whale has been abandoned in one of the big intersections. This intersection must be Solomon’s “plaza two,” the second plaza on this avenue counting from the north. The glint of a barrel peeps out from behind the cargo barge.

  “Hostiles ahead!” I shout into the walkie-talkie, then realize I forgot to push the Talk button.

  The air ripples. Another janitor lurches backward on its treads, sensor stalk peeled right off. The broom attachment of a second janitor goes flying. Every cadet advancing behind the phalanx of mechs drops to the ground.

  “There!” says the short-haired tech, pointing at one of the screens.

  Seen in close-camera view, two enemy soldiers are using the grounded barge for cover as they scan north, south, east, and west along two intersecting avenues. They’re tall, more like Solomon than like the average stocky Chaonian. They look and move like us. They are us, the same us, descendants of the Celestial Empire, but I can’t restrain a shudder when I see their four arms, one pair cradling a spare weapon and the other pair aiming with a main weapon. It just seems wrong.

  Before I can warn Solomon again, before I can ask Ikenna if he’s figured out a workaround to at least get the general alarm to sound, the sky-tower falls. It appears at a slow sideways lean out of its pillar of smoke and fire. Then gravity drags it crashing across the southern half of the park. Our glass observation wall rumbles amid the deafening roar, and we all flinch.

  Behind us, the comms center doors whisk open. Too late I whirl with stinger raised. Three cadets appear, weapons ready. One shouts over a shoulder, “All clear!”

  Two Bears and three Wolverines rev on the siding as a handsome figure gracefully hops off the nearest Bear. The mouths of both techs drop open as the Handsome Alika strides into the room carrying a glorious max-model stinger and an attitude to match, no Channel Idol smiles for this audience.

  “Put down that junk stinger, Lee,” he says with a harsh curl of the lips. “I’m taking over the Whales operation.”

  “You got here fast,” I say stupidly.

  “As you would have kn
own had you checked your pings.”

  “What pings? We’re out of range.”

  “Unbelievable.” He jerks his perfect chin toward Solomon’s formation. “Go with that group. They look like they know what they’re doing. I’ll keep the techs.” His gesture includes Ikenna.

  I turn away to hide my hot flush, in case he’s the kind who would be glad to know he got under my skin. My eyes catch on a screen just as one of the Phene troopers calmly lifts their gun, aims at the camera as if at me, and shoots. The screen pops to obliterating black.

  “Go!” snaps Alika. “And answer your damn pings, like Percy would have.”

  28

  There’s Only One Body Outside

  Sun balanced in one of the Wolverines, gripping a rail as Isis drove the vehicle at a bone-jarring pace through the forest. No speed could be fast enough to suit her, so she was grateful the coniferous forest was light on ground cover, mostly snake grass and ferns. Other vehicles hurtled along to either side, spread out through the trees in a flexible, open formation. The engines were built to run as quietly as possible. Even so, the speed of their approach made a fair bit of noise.

  The academy network had long since dropped out when Alika pinged her.

  THE HOSTILES ARE ON THE GROUND. He attached a clip of two Phene troopers shooting out surveillance cameras, with a pin marking their position on a map.

  GUNSHIPS? She pinged James. His blip moved parallel to her a half klick south of her unit, exactly where she expected him to be.

  CONTACT. He pinged back a live image. One of his wasps had found a ship landed atilt in a clearing half a klick from the eastern edge of the industrial park, less than a klick from where she was now. Figures were shepherding human-sized cylindrical lifepods down a damaged ramp. Smoke eked from the fuselage. This must be the ship hit by the second alert fighter.

  Without warning the view disintegrated. Wasp down.

  “I want that ship,” she said.

  Isis did not take her eyes off the ground ahead. “They’ll blow it up before they abandon it. You have a brigade of untested cadets. How many lives is it worth to you?”