by David Ryker
The Federation were well prepared for any attacks on the transports, and the Guard were authorized to act with extreme prejudice. As I stared at the tower, shimmering in the first flashes of lightning, my blood ran cold. There was three of them, and they were about to hijack a Federation transport carrying a shipment of one of the most valuable materials in the universe. The reason that the Iskcara that had already been stolen had been done so carefully, methodically, and most of all secretly, was because doing it this way was fucking suicidal. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around why they were being asked to do this — what it was supposed to prove? Were they that desperate to get their hands on the Iskcara? I couldn’t see this not devolving into a firefight, at very least. It made no sense that they wanted to hit a transport — unless of course, they weren’t skimming as much as they needed to. Maybe demand had gone up. Who was to say? Either way, it all felt hasty and ragged.
Something wasn’t sitting right — it was there, that thought, swimming below the surface. It was a dark shape, circling slowly, just out of reach. I champed, willing it onto my tongue, but it wouldn’t come.
I sighed and pushed my head back into the headrest. “Greg, we got an ETA?”
“If they’re still planning to tackle the transport as it moves through the jungle band, then it should be arriving in thirty minutes, give or take.”
“Give or take?”
“My programming tells me that intentional inaccuracy makes pilots feel more at ease — more adequate,” he said brightly.
“More adequate? First Volchec, now you. Jesus — what am I? A fragile fucking flower?” I spat. I was getting sick of this cotton-wool routine and everyone tip-toeing around me.
“I apologize, James, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What? I’m not— you know what, forget it.” I waved my hand and closed my eyes. “Wake me when it’s showtime.”
It didn’t take long. It seemed like the moment I closed my eyes, Greg was calling my name. All I’d seen in the darkness of my own mind was Alice leveling her pistol and firing. The flash of the muzzle. The kick. The pain. The cold. Over and over, on repeat.
“James?”
“Yeah?” I said quickly, sitting up.
“It’s time.”
16
It was a speck — quickly growing in the distance. In fact, I couldn’t even see it. All I could see was a dust cloud rising behind it, blotting out the hanging sun blooming through the clouds like a faraway flower.
The storm was starting to throb now, and the rain was sheeting sideways, smashing into the buildings in waves. The Guard Tower swayed gently. Lightning forked in the clouds above and the foliage around the buildings all flapped wildly. It hummed on the shell of my rig, vague and dull through the soundproofing.
“Can we get lower?” I asked.
“It would be unwise,” Greg replied.
A bolt of electricity lanced down from above and connected with a lightning rod a few hundred meters away, riding it down into the ground. I swallowed and pushed my hands into the gloves. “And why exactly is that?” I asked hoarsely.
“Depending on how their exchange goes,” Greg started, unaffected by the storm, “the transport will veer off in one of several directions. Remaining here gives us the best chance of intercepting and aiding our team should they come under heavy resistance.”
“And what are our chances of getting struck by lightning?”
“Fairly high.”
“And you’re sure I’ll be safe if we get hit?”
“It is probable.”
“But not certain?”
“I am not able to accurately estimate the force of the lightning in a storm of this magnitude. But should the charge be sufficient to harm you, my mind will also be destroyed.”
I had to laugh, abject though it was. “That doesn’t make me feel better. Come on, we’re getting the hell off this roof.”
“It is happening,” he cut in.
Through the water, I could see the transport, not unlike the one we’d seen on Draven, a gravilev train — but this one only had two carriages. It was coming out of the desert and into the storm, aiming for one of the main drags into the city, a roadway that rose gently into the towers and then split, banking off down the equator line. It’d take that road, and then either go left or right depending on which spaceport was on the manifest — if it got that far.
It barreled into the prairies and onto the wide and dark roadway there, emptied of traffic for the transport to have a clear run.
There was a flurry of flashes, and white trails zipped upward out of the jungle and then dove back into the canopy as the transport entered. Explosions lit the streets and machine gun fire strobed. The sound of warping metal echoed over the din of the city, and then, encased in flames, the transport shot out the other end and into the pine forests, now ablaze themselves. More missiles followed it, peeling off Mac’s hull. They wound through the wind and died in its wake, exploding in the air and plunging into the roadway as the transport changed up a gear and zoomed toward the inner city. I watched it, suddenly unaware of the storm raging above.
A mech burst through the trees and into the air, taking up the chase, thruster burn glowing behind. Alice. She was going after it.
A turret on top of the transport swiveled and let loose at thin air on its roof, firing backward with high caliber rounds at what seemed like nothing until a few of them exploded in a shower of sparks and Fish’s cloaking tech failed. He spun sideways and bounced into the road, rolling to a stop. I didn’t get a chance to see if he was moving. I had to keep up with the transport and Greg was already giving me options — routes down through the city.
In my peripheral I could see flashing lights as the Fixed-wings all lit up on the tower, sirens blaring, and peeled into the air, spiraling toward the transport, and Alice.
My feet slipped into the cages and I stood, legs pumping. Greg took two steps to the edge and we leaped.
I pushed my toes down and felt the thrusters kick in on my heels, pushing me forward. Greg filled the screen with our trajectory, the time to impact, and our altitude, and deployed the flaps that the new F-Series had to keep it more stable in the air. Though it felt like it was putting paper wings on a brick as we plunged toward the streets.
The buildings swallowed us up and the transport became an outline through them as he mapped its progress. We should have come down just before it got to us — we’d intercept on the raised highway, so at least it would be clear for us to do whatever it was we were going to. It wasn’t about the mission anymore. It wasn’t about getting the Iskcara. No, it was about getting out alive. Alice was chasing it down on her own, but with what goal, I didn’t know. Mac had laid into it and not made a scratch. The flames had now died in the rain and wind rush and the transport was hurtling forward at emergency speed. Alice wasn’t even gaining ground on it. She was swerving and diving to get out of the turret fire. The Fixed-wings would be on her in seconds and then it was lights out. They’d shred her.
“Greg, give me options,” I said quickly. “What can we do here?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Do we have anything that can bring down the transport?”
“No. All of our armaments are too small, and the hull is too thick. Pilot MacAlister had the best chance of causing damage,” Greg said as the ground hurtled toward us.
“Shit.” We needed to do something. “Alice, do you read me?”
Her voice sounded strained in my ears as she corkscrewed through the fire from the cannon. “Yeah, I hear you—”
“Get out of there.”
“I can do this,” she grunted. “I just need an opening.”
“No — the hull’s too thick. It’s no good, and the Guard are closing in. They’re right on your ass.”
“I can do— shit —” She swore in my ear as a stream of cannon fire glanced off her shoulder and sent her spinning. She leveled off and kept pushing.
“Greg, set us
on an interception course!” I demanded.
“Calculating,” he said.
“Calculate faster!”
“Adjusting.”
The thrusters switched direction and started pushing us toward the highway. The ground loomed below and the transport zoomed into the corner of the screen. “Lock onto that cannon turret.”
“Target locked.”
“That’s where we’re landing — right on top of it. We’re going to crush the fucking thing.”
“I cannot guarantee that will happen — the transport is traveling at a very high speed.”
“Just make it happen!”
We came over the top of the highway with the transport still hundreds of meters away, tearing through the rain like a fish. The thrusters were fighting the air but weren’t designed to keep us flying — they were only to aid in ground movement.
Greg rotated us to face the transport, still a ways off, with Alice in tow, and half a dozen Telmareen Fixed-wings behind her, and cut the thrusters.
Thunder crashed, and we sank through the rain, the wind whistling through the plates on Greg’s body. The transport carved the water apart as it daggered toward me, still hammering Alice with cannon fire.
Greg pumped the thrusters a couple of times to adjust our fall rate and then killed them all together, measuring the transport in as it flew toward us.
Everything was still for a second, my heart thumping in my ears. A flash of lightning split the sky and silence reigned before the thunder shook the air.
The transport approached. My feet pulled the huge steel legs into position. Alice burned toward me. The Fixed-wings surged behind.
We hit the transport on the near-side, missing the turret by ten meters. The speed of the thing was crazy. We landed and bounced, and then rolled like someone was ripping the ground from under us. Greg did his best to stabilize and I raked the great steel hands of my rig down the slick roof, showering the roadway with sparks as I looked for a grip that just wasn’t there. The speed of the transport flashed up in front of me — three hundred kilometers per hour.
I dug my toes in and Greg fired the thrusters, finally getting us to a stop. I could hear the cannon fire in the air but couldn’t see it. It’d happened so fast, I didn’t know where the hell I was.
Greg kept the thrusters burning as I forced myself to a stance, leaning forward to keep balance against the wind rush. The rain splattered the screen in front of me, blurring everything. I couldn’t feel it, but I was squinting instinctively. The droplets were like bullets at that speed, hitting the hull and ringing it like a bell.
“The turret is behind you,” Greg announced.
I swore and sank lower, turning. My movements felt heavy and cumbersome — everything fighting against the wind and the rain like moving against a river.
I couldn’t tell what was making so much noise, the cannon or the weather. Thunder roared as I came around on the gun, picking Alice out at the end of the stream of fire pouring out.
“How do we stop it?” I asked desperately, sliding toward it, barely in control.
“The turret is very well armored,” Greg retorted as we ground into the back of it. It was almost a meter high and wider — shaped cylindrically, with a huge barrel protruding from one end. With each chugging shot, it slid back into the turret to deal with the recoil. I could feel the rounds clanging into the chamber as it fired, even through my suit.
“Just smash the fucking thing!” I balled my hands and lifted them over my head, slamming them into it. They bounced off, and my whole rig shook.
“The armor is too thick,” Greg said.
I hit it again. “We have to do something. She’s getting torn apart!” It was true. Every few seconds one of the rounds would catch her and send her spinning before she regained control.
“The barrel is the weakest component.”
I sidled around to the other side of the cannon and reached out for it. It was hot and steam was pouring off it. The rain that hit it was vaporizing and leaving a trail. I reached out, closing my hands around it. “Can we bend this thing?”
“I doubt it. The tensile strength appears to be very high.”
I tried anyway. “Help me, Greg! Everything we have.”
“We’re applying maximum force. The arms of the F-Series were not designed for this kind of heavy-duty application.”
“What else do you suggest?” My voice was strained, and I could feel sweat dripping down my nose inside my helmet. The cabin flashed red all of a sudden as a stream of minigun fire peppered the hull of the transport and ricocheted into the night air. I let go and slid a meter or two, covering the camera dome with my arms.
One of the Fixed-wings soared overhead and peeled off into the sky to circle back around. They’d caught up and now realized that it wasn’t just Alice — that some dumb shit was actually on top of the transport, too — a sitting duck.
I growled and clawed my way back to the turret. “Can we aim it?”
“Adjust its firing path?”
“Whatever you want to call it!” More minigun fire bathed me in sparks. It pinged off my hull and a diagnostic diagram appeared on the screen, plates flashing red where we’d been hit.
“That may work.”
I jumped forward and folded my arm over the barrel, ignoring the climbing heat reading for the hull. I dug my heels in for all the grip they could give me and heaved sideways. The gears in the turret groaned against the force but the barrel moved — minutely, but it did. It was pumping back and forth with each shot and jostling me as it did like I was on an oscillator pad. My teeth felt like castanets in my head.
The fire started diverting away from Alice and she pulled out of its path and engaged her afterburners, gaining ground on us. I pulled the barrel down and sideways as it tried to follow her, directing the fire toward the group of pursuing Fixed-wings, biding their time, looking for an opportunity to strike.
The rounds punctured the storm and flew at them before they knew what was going on, and a single shell clipped one of their wings and shattered it. They weren’t armored like our mech. Flames burst from the undercarriage and it careened toward the highway, spinning into a fireball and exploding.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelled, the cannon fire stopping. Whoever was on the other end of it had no doubt yelled the same thing, realizing they’d gunned down one of their own escorts.
Alice dipped and swooped down, landing on the transport ahead of me, toward the lead car. I turned, still clinging to the barrel for support, to watch her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Finishing the mission!” she retorted, scrambling toward a hatch in the roof.
“The mission’s over! We need to get out of here—”
“We’ve come this far! We need to get it done—”
“It’s a bust! My cover’s blown. These planes are going to tear us apart if we don’t—”
“Then go!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Machine gun fire danced on the hull and I threw my hands up to protect my face, watching as more sections flashed red on the diagnostic. “Why is this so important?”
She ignored the question and bent double, closing her fist. She struck the hatch once and as she did, all the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
It happened in slow motion. From the front of the carriage back, the entire surface of the roof electrified. The rain glowed blue just over it as the charge arced off the metal and into the water. My hands released the turret and I kicked back instinctively. Greg hit the thrusters and the transport disappeared from underneath me. Alice wasn’t lucky enough. She had her fists pressed to the metal, she was on her knees. She couldn’t get away in time.
The charge surged through her rig and all the circuits between the shoulders and across the back of it plumed with smoke and shot sparks into the night air. The bolts lanced through every inch of her rig and it was blasted backward. She turned in the rain, left the transport and fell to the ground with a clang
, lying motionless.
I stared at her as Greg pushed us farther back, watching as she shrank away. The highway rose up and then passed overhead, and she was gone. We hit the street below and rolled backward. I was still staring up at the highway, the transport long gone, the Fixed-wings circling like sharks. Thunder boomed and I stared up into the washing machine sky.
More sirens blared in the distance as the Telmareen Guard converged on Alice. I swallowed and tried to fight Greg, but he was already moving us away, aiming for an alleyway between two huge apartment blocks.
“We have to go back!” I yelled.
“We must escape while we can.”
“We can’t just leave her!” I pushed my toes down and tried to pump my legs but it was no use. Greg was overriding me. I didn’t even know he could. It was the first time we’d really been at odds and I felt powerless, just along for the ride.
He turned us around and forced us forward.
“We cannot take on the Telmareen Guard — we will die.”
“She’ll die!”
“That is possible, but you are my pilot, and I must protect you.” Greg’s voice was stern and unrelenting and echoed in my head as we wound through the tight streets of Telmareen, the sound of sirens slowly fading behind us as we made up ground.
Greg had put on some music — something I’d usually ask for — to try and calm me, but all I could hear was thunder in my head, and all I could see was lightning coming off the hull and surging into Alice’s rig. I remembered what Greg had said about the electricity dampeners our rigs were fitted with — about how they should protect us. But watching Alice’s circuitry blow out like that… I wondered how much of it was just to reassure me, and how much was true. I wondered what would happen to her — whether they’d arrest her, or kill her, or whether they’d just pull her burnt corpse out of the wreckage of her rig and dispose of it.
I closed my eyes, feeling my breath hollow in my chest, the distant feeling of Greg’s churning legs beating beneath me, carrying me into the night.