by M. D. Cooper
She reached the door just as the three horses burst free—singed and a bit bloody, but alive. Rika breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed past the flames and spotted the truck. It had been flipped over, likely from the grenades, but wasn’t going anywhere with the front tires half-melted.
So much for that. She hurried around the back to see if the chaingun or rocket launcher was intact. By some miracle they were, and she wrapped her hand around the cab of the truck, heaving it right-side up before tossing the cases of rockets and ammo into the truck’s box.
She turned to grab the truck’s rear bumper and saw movement in the flames. Rika cycled her vision and saw another aracnidrone pinned under the toppled tractor. Several of its limbs were crushed and it struggled to pull free.
Sucker.
Rika pulled the truck out of the barn, wincing as the torn muscles in her leg screamed in pain. Her armor’s med-systems had already sealed the wound and injected her with biofoam. The pain was just a reminder not to further stress the injury.
A reminder she ignored.
Barne said as she dragged the truck free of the burning structure.
She turned to survey the barn and saw the flames waver before the aracnidrone shot out of the barn—right into Rika’s electron beam. Relativistic electrons shredded the machine, and it fell to the ground beside the truck.
Rika flipped the latches holding the chaingun down and settled it onto the outer socket on her GNR mount. It wasn’t a standard connection, but the mount reconfigured and latched onto the chaingun.
She clipped its ammobox to her thigh, and then loaded four rockets into the launcher before pulling it off the truck’s mount and settling it on her left shoulder.
PRAIRIE
STELLAR DATE: 02.14.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Kessler Wilderness, North of Kandahar City
REGION: Faseema, Oran System, Praesepe Cluster
The rendezvous point was ten klicks to the southeast, and they moved at a brisk pace across the night-shrouded plain.
The girl, whose name turned out to be Amy, had remained mostly silent through the trip, her face buried in Leslie’s shoulder. Only once—when something in the burning barn exploded behind them—did she cry out and tighten her grip around Leslie’s neck.
Barne snorted.
Chase shrugged,
Rika laughed, and Barne’s shoulders rounded.
Rika answered privately.
Chase gave a mental chuckle.
Chase must have sensed her sincerity, because he took a step closer and touched her arm.
Rika responded with a wave of gratitude over the Link, holding back the sadness that they still couldn’t be intimate.
She had spoken to the Marauders’ doctors about rebuilding her genitalia—about making her feel like a whole woman again—but it wasn’t that simple.
Part of the problem was with her. Over the years, she had come to accept that the majority of her body was no longer organic. She didn’t sweat—except for her head—didn’t have to eat if she didn’t want to, didn’t have to worry about pimples, rashes, infections. The matte grey ballistic polymer that served as her skin was perfection.
That realization had come to her when the doctors were talking to her about how she could get organic skin for the rest of her body—not just her head. They had talked about re-growing her limbs, about making her human again.
Thing was, Rika liked being a mech.
A year ago, she would have punched someone in the face just for suggesting such a notion. Her body had been nothing but shame to her.
But in the Marauders, she was all but revered. She was the backbone of Basilisk; her company’s CO gave her team the hardest assignments because of Rika’s effectiveness as a warrior—effectiveness that came from being a mech.
Here, no one derided her; she had a family, and that family accepted and loved her—in their own ways, at least.
She had decided to remain a mech, at least for now.
However, functioning sex organs would require the removal of two of her internal SC batteries. That would make her weak; she wouldn’t be able to go more than a day at most without charging, or she would have to use external batteries for heavy combat.
In the Marauders, Rika was always within comms’ reach of Basilisk team… but the fear of running out of power, of not being able to move her own limbs, of being prey, was still strong.
Power notwithstanding, there was also the matter of dealing with organic waste. Rika had long since realized that she was very happy with the fact that she no longer had to wipe her body clean several times a day. Her san-pack took care of all that.
When she considered all of that, selfish though it may be, Rika had determined to remain as she was. A decision that would have been completely without regret—were it not for Chase.
No one spoke the rest of the way to the pickup location—an old grouping of concrete granaries rising roughly a hundred meters into the prairie sky.
They stood out like dark sentinels against the stars
cape, and the girl whimpered when she saw them, eliciting a few soft words from Leslie.
Rika climbed the tallest granary, glad that its ladder was steel and well anchored. Once on top, she surveyed the landscape, looking for any signs of pursuit.
She could see several swathers in the distance shearing the tall, dry grass for baling, and a truck driving down a road further to the south.
A cry sounded from below, and Rika peered over the edge of the silo that she stood on to see Leslie returning to Amy, her hands stretched out, eliciting calm.
It appeared that Leslie would not be joining Rika atop the granaries for surveillance—not if they wanted to keep Amy quiet.
Rika assessed.
<’Weather’?> Rika peered at the western horizon. She cycled her vision through a few modes, and backscatter revealed that there were clouds low on the horizon and moving in quickly. She could make out a few flickers of light deep within.
Great, a flash prairie storm high on the steppe. Just what we need.
Barne chuckled.
Rika looked toward the farm and saw a small, squat ship descending into the valley.
Rika played back the visuals Chase had captured and saw that the gunship sported a set of rather large missiles on its undercarriage, as well as a pair of chainguns alongside its electron cannons.
Chase commented.
She dispatched her last passel of drones and directed them to set up an overwatch grid two kilometers into the sky. She wanted a clear view of the ship if it sent out search parties or took off, or if more of its friends arrived.
Rika nodded to herself. It could be worse, and there’s nothing we can do about it, anyway.
She turned to examine the structure atop the silo. A conveyer ran between each concrete tower, with different tracks and pipes used to deliver disparate grains to the correct silo. It was aged and rusting, but not so badly that it wouldn’t support her weight.
Rika carefully climbed up the steel struts and wedged the rocket launcher between a pair of beams supporting the conveyer. Then she grabbed one of the smaller support crossmembers, tore it free—wincing as it screeched—and wrapped it around the rocket launcher.
Rika replied.
Barne snorted.
Chase and Barne continued trading barbs while Rika interfaced with the rocket launcher and linked with its launch systems.
The missiles it fired were guided; so long as it was facing in the general direction of the enemy, she should be able to use it effectively without toting it around.
Rika didn’t have the specs on the missiles themselves, but judging by their size, they should have enough fuel to strike targets up to four or five kilometers out—provided she didn’t need to steer them too much.
Satisfied that the launcher was secure, she climbed back down to the domed roof of the silo and took up a position on the leeward side.
She surveyed the darkened prairie, pausing periodically to take in the breathtaking view of the Praesepe Cluster gleaming in the night sky—like a diamond, ruby, and sapphire encrusted sheet of velvet.
A gust of wind raced across the grass, and Rika imagined a swarm of the aracnidrones rushing through the tall stalks toward their position.
Leslie and Amy sat in the shadow of a silo in the second row, so Rika made her way through the discarded equipment to their position. She checked Barne’s position and saw him hunkered down at the end of the row, scanning the horizon to the south—the direction from which Patty would approach.
Amy started as Rika reached the pair, and the girl buried her face into Leslie’s side.
“It’s OK, Amy,” Leslie whispered, stroking Amy’s hair. “Rika is a nice woman.”
Amy peered out at Rika, eyeing her suspiciously. “She’s a mech; most mechs aren’t very nice.”
Rika unlocked her helmet and lifted it enough to show her face.
“Hi, Amy, it’s very nice to meet you.”
A small smile crossed Amy’s lips, and her grip on Leslie loosened a little.
“Oh, you’re a pretty lady! I didn’t think mechs had faces.”
Rika chuckled softly. “Some do. And thank you, Amy. Think you could loosen your grip on Leslie a bit? She needs to get something out of her satchel for me.”
A look of worry flitted across Amy’s features, and Leslie patted her on the shoulder. “Just for a moment, dear.”
Amy nodded and gave Leslie a bit of space while Rika pulled her helmet back on.
“Are we going to be OK?” Amy asked, her voice wavering as she watched Leslie.
“You bet we are. You saw how we took out those bad people holding you. Here we are, hale and whole,” Rika replied.
Amy looked at the gash on Rika’s thigh where bits of biofoam stuck out from the wound.
“That looks bad, though.”
Rika glanced down at her leg. The pain had died down to a dull throb; more because she was practiced at ignoring injuries than because of any lack of severity in the wound.
“Yeah, looks worse than it is, though. I’m pretty tough.”
Amy nodded seriously. “You look tough. Do you work for my father, ma’am?”
Rika let out a quiet laugh. “Rika. You can call me Rika. We were hired by your father to bring you home.”
A strange expression crossed Amy’s face, and Rika couldn’t tell if the girl was happy or sad about the news.
While she was processing that, Leslie handed her the pixie dust.
As Rika moved away, she saw Amy tuck against Leslie’s side once more. Rika ventured out into the tall grass surrounding the granaries, stopping when she had walked five hundred meters.
The pixie dust was a fine film, deposited from a canister onto the grass and ground that the team’s sensors would pick up. It wa
s expensive. Rika wouldn’t use it to detect humans—there was no way those could hide in the dry grass.
The aracnidrones were a different story entirely, and worth the cost of the pixie dust, in Rika’s opinion.
She held the canister out at arm’s length and began to walk in a wide circle around the granaries. She started on the southwest side, determined to first lay the dust down on the side facing the farm.
Behind her, the dusted strip of grass glowed brightly on her HUD. So long as no one else knew the variable set of wavelengths at which the dust reflected, it would be entirely invisible.
If any of those drones came through and picked up the dust, they’d be as bright as searchlights.
Let them try me then, Rika challenged.
She had almost walked a full kilometer when the surveillance drones alerted her to the gunship lifting off from the farm.
It wasn’t that they had been sloppy; traversing ten kilometers of waist-high grass, in armor, was going to leave some broken stalks—even if one avoided the denser patches.
The gunship was flying low and slow, sweeping back and forth across the terrain. Rika and the team had used a few game trails as they moved across the terrain; with any luck, their pursuers would follow some of those, and buy the team enough time for Patty to arrive with their ride.
Chase said.
Rika ignored the barb and continued on her route, depositing the pixie dust. As she passed one hundred and twenty degrees of her circle, she saw movement to her right.
Rika’s lips split into a grin. Not so easy this time.
She took a moment to gauge the drone’s movement and then fired a depleted uranium round. The sabot burned its propellant then fell off, leaving the high-density dart, which hit the aracnidrone with the force of a building falling on it.