High Flyer (Verdant String)

by Michelle Diener

  “Let's see how overgrown it is on the outside and whether we can get a runner out at all.”

  She stepped through, and then pulled up so suddenly, Iver ran into the back of her.

  A man in black fatigues stared at her from the trees.

  He gave a sudden, high-pitched whistle, as Iver lifted her up bodily and pulled her back behind the leafy curtain.

  “They're here. The combat flyers.” She felt a calm come over her. Her gaze went to the runners, and she strode over to the one closest to the opening.

  She touched the side, her movements on automatic, as if she had done them a thousand times, and steps creaked out from a panel, sending dust into the air.

  She coughed and wiped her eyes as she climbed up and then stopped short in the open door.

  “What is it?”

  She backed down the stairs, jumped the last few to join him on the ground. “Bodies. Bones.” She shuddered.

  She couldn't use this runner.

  The sound of a shout filtered in from the outside.

  “Let's try the ones at the back,” Iver said. “They're more likely to be empty.”

  She nodded and let him go ahead with the light. One runner was still clipped into place on the deck, its struts held secure.

  “Can you work out how to release those?” she asked Iver as she lowered the stairs.

  She almost slumped against the door in relief when she saw there were no bones in this one, and she made her way to the pilot's chair. She wanted to sink into herself, let her upgrade take over, but fear spiked in her chest at the memory of standing frozen and helpless as Iver picked up the beads.

  She could sense the apology, the regret, but not for the action, only for the loss of her trust, and she lifted her shoulders up and then let them fall.

  It didn't matter now. She had to put her anger and fear aside, and get on with it.

  She put her arms forward, touching the panel in front of her, and let her upgrade take control.

  She tried to note with her conscious mind exactly what was being touched and swiped and pressed and in what order.

  The engine started up.

  “I can't find the release for the struts.” Iver's shout came from the top of the runner's steps as he leaned in, and suddenly her arm reached left, and she flipped a switch. The runner lifted up a little, making Iver stagger.

  “That did it.” He stepped inside, and the steps folded up and the door closed behind him.

  The runner lifted a little higher, making the dried leaves swirl around the flight deck.

  But the way out was blocked by the other runners, and when she looked up, she saw there wasn't enough clearance to simply lift up and over them.

  “I'm going to have to move the runners aside.” She turned to Iver, and he came forward, looking out at the obstacles in their way.

  He obviously came to the same conclusion she had.

  “I'll stand guard while you move them.”

  She left the engine running, so leaves and dust swirled around her, stinging her eyes, as she exited.

  She ran to the closest ship, Iver right behind her, and scrambled inside.

  She held her breath as she stepped into what was a tomb now, bones piled together. In the pilot's seat, the bones lay on the seat of the chair and on either side of it, and she leaned across it carefully to start the engine.

  She lifted the runner up just off the ground and moved it as far to the left as she could.

  When she set it down and jumped back out, she found Iver standing guard at the bottom of the steps, his attention focused on the exit.

  “They're there. I've seen them a few times when the turbulence opens the vines a little. All four of them.”

  She saw a SAL dart on the ground just past the vines and realized someone had tried to take a shot at him.

  “Be careful.” She touched his shoulder, just a quick caress, and ran across to the next runner, checking to see how much she would need to move it.

  Once inside, she gritted her teeth at more bones, some that looked like those of children, and when she got the engine going, she angled the runner to the right, nudging the nose right up against the ships on that side.

  This time, when she got to the ground again, she saw Iver had something in his hand that looked like a weapon.

  She had seen a few of them lying on the ground. He must have figured it was better than nothing.

  The men outside would soon work out they had nothing to lose by going on the attack. As soon as she and Iver were in a runner, they would be almost impossible to stop or capture.

  Iver let out a shout and activated the weapon in his hand as two of the combat flyers ran through the swaying vines.

  The sound it made was like a cough, and she stared at it.

  Whatever Iver had done, the effect on the two men was immediate. One fell back with a blossom of blood on his left shoulder, and the other got his hands under his friend's armpits and dragged him back out.

  Hana forced her gaze away from the vines, and she and Iver stared at each other for a long beat. He looked as shocked as she was.

  He turned the weapon over in his hand, and realizing she was wasting time, she forced herself to move.

  There was one runner left that blocked the way, the one she'd gotten into the first time. It was close to the vines, but the soldiers were gone for now.

  She climbed the stairs and hesitated for a moment in the doorway, just as she had done before.

  There were more bodies in this one than the others. It was obviously the first one ready to go and they must have loaded it up with their most vulnerable. There were very small bones in here. Babies. Children. She shuddered and forced herself to the pilot's seat and started the engine.

  The proximity of the runner to the vines must have galvanized their attackers, because two ran through the vines as soon as she started it up.

  Her reaction was automatic, her hand reaching out and pressing a button that lit both of them up in a strong light beam.

  They had to lift their arms to protect their eyes, and while they were blinded, she moved the runner out of the way, careful to keep the nose pointed in their direction, lights on full.

  She was sorry to shut things down when she was done, but she didn't want them to try and use this runner themselves, and when she cut the engine, the sudden disappearance of the beams plunged the whole deck into darkness as her eyes struggled to adjust.

  Iver stood below, arms extended, slowly sweeping left to right.

  “They're in here somewhere.” He spoke very low, and she only just heard him over the sound of the runner at the back.

  “What is that thing?” she asked, looking at the dark metal object in his hands.

  “Projectile weapon. Not sure what it's projecting, but it made that strange noise, and it definitely wounded one of them.”

  He gestured with the weapon for her to move toward the runner, and then he shielded her as they went, putting his body between her and the now open flight deck.

  She moved slowly, cautiously in the green-tinged gloom.

  The soldiers wouldn't be able to hear their footsteps over the roar of the runner and the swirl of leaves and dust, but she and Iver wouldn't be able to hear theirs, either, although she felt her upgrade straining to do just that.

  When they had almost reached the runner, a man leaped out at them, SAL raised in front of him.

  Iver activated the weapon in his hands again, and the man fell back with a scream. His SAL landed on the ground and skittered away, and Hana crouched down and lunged for it.

  There was still one more soldier in here at least, so she went back to back with Iver, shuffling with him to the steps, and then climbing them with the SAL at the ready.

  The man on the ground wasn't moving, and she had a sick suspicion he was dead.

  She bumped into Iver at the top of the steps, turned her head quickly to check what made him stop, and then froze.

  A soldier stood in the open area
behind the pilot and co-pilot seats, SAL pointed at Iver.

  “Serra! You there?” His shout was obviously to his fallen companion.

  Hana moved a little way back from Iver, to give herself room to move. She was in a high-level magfield, but she was still faster than she would be otherwise.

  “Stay still,” the soldier barked at her. “I don't want you falling down the stairs when I tranq you, but I will if I have to.”

  “Sure.” She moved in one fast, fluid motion, lifting her hands to rest the SAL on Iver's shoulder, and shot.

  Iver turned, grabbed her, and fell into the runner, twisting so she landed on top of him. She sensed rather than saw the dart the soldier had managed to get off flying over her head.

  “You all right?” she asked as she scrambled off him. His ribs must be hurting, but he didn't even flinch.

  He nodded as he got to his feet.

  The soldier was out, the SAL dart in his chest.

  “There's still one out there, but he can stay out there, as far as I'm concerned.”

  She nodded. “We want to bring this one along, right?”

  Iver nodded, reached out and retracted the steps, and she sat in the pilot's chair again.

  She carefully maneuvered the runner through the space, making sure she didn't touch the floor at any time and damage the bones.

  The vines resisted her forward momentum for a beat and then gave, and the runner emerged with what must have looked like a fringe of green hair.

  The fourth soldier stood just outside, beside his wounded teammate, and Hana saw his astonishment as she nudged the runner free of the deck and then lifted straight upward.

  It struggled, battling the magfield and probably centuries of dust, although running the engines for a while may have burned a lot of it off.

  “What fuel does it use?” Iver asked, settling in beside her in the pilot's chair.

  “Whatever it uses, it's currently at three quarters power.” She finally got high enough that the magfield drag diminished, and then she circled over the site.

  The massive ship looked like a hill from this angle, too. Nothing special.

  She looked over at Iver. “Should we circle the camp? See what they're doing before we go to Touka?”

  He gave a reluctant nod. “We better.”

  She turned north west, keeping high, and came at the camp obliquely, circling it in a wide arc.

  The downed Dynastra still lay tilted at a drunken angle in the river, and the second one was parked inside the camp itself. It lifted off as she turned for a second pass, and Iver leaned forward.

  “That has to be a coincidence. They couldn't have noticed us yet.”

  She didn't know if he was right, but the result was the same, the Dynastra was lifting off, coming up to their level, and if this small runner had weapons, she couldn't see where they were.

  The Dynastra rose up in a tight spiral, keeping directly over the camp and then heading into the Spikes, in the direction they had just come.

  “They're going to look for their soldiers.” Iver's hands were tense on the panel in front of him. “And . . . they've just spotted us.”

  He was right. The Dynastra had begun a path deeper into the mountains, when it suddenly wheeled again, turning completely to face them.

  And the Dynastra, as she knew all too well, did have weapons.

  Then she laughed.

  “What?” Iver turned to her.

  “We're high enough that we're out of the magfield's pull. I forgot for a moment.” She felt a sudden sense of relief that her upgrade was an integrated part of herself again, so entwined that she'd taken it for granted.

  The Dynastra shot at them, and she slid the tight, sleek runner out of the way, suddenly in the moment in a way that reminded her of the last months of the war.

  They shot again, and she wasn't where they thought she would be a second time.

  “You're doing this by eye,” Iver said, as if suddenly realizing it. “Why isn't this picking up the laz fire and warning you?”

  “Probably because this is thousand-year-old tech, and whoever designed this didn't have laz fire on the list.”

  Iver's bark of laughter at that made her smile.

  She waited for the Dynastra to shoot again, but instead it gave another of its tight about-turns and raced into the Spikes.

  Hana hovered in place, staring after it, when something slammed into them from behind.

  Iver swore and turned in his seat to check the damage, but she didn't need him to tell her that the back section had been breached. Air howled into the runner, tearing at her hair and screaming in her ears.

  “Who?” she shouted as she fought the runner downward.

  “Looks like . . .” He swore again, a long, protracted, vicious stream of profanity, as he peered through the gaping hole in the back. “It's VSC Special Forces.”

  “What?” She screamed it as she applied herself to keeping them alive, as the runner shuddered beneath her and bucked and twisted as the rip in the back caught the air.

  She headed for the river, trying to remember the deepest section, and then managed to haul the nose up as they came down, so they coasted on the surface for a couple of beats before sinking down.

  As the runner ground against the rocks on the riverbed, she sat, hands on the control panel, eyes closed, and blew out a long, slow breath. “Bastards.”

  She could feel the magfield interfering with her upgrade now she was on the ground, but that was okay. She had had the skills she needed high above the ground, where it really counted.

  She turned to look at Iver, who was shaking his head.

  “Incredible.” He stood, looking back at the gaping wound in the back of the ship.

  The runner trembled in place suddenly, and the sound of a runner landing on the river bank beside them engulfed them.

  “Excuse me.” Hana stood herself.

  Iver looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I've got something I need to sort out.” She smiled, or tried to, but from the look on Iver's face, she did not succeed. Then she walked past him to the back, to where Special Forces had ripped a hole in her runner, jumped the short distance to the bank and headed straight for a second gen Sig that was settling into landing position. She admired it as she stalked toward it. She'd been secretly hoping Iver would invest in one of these babies for the last six months.

  Two Special Forces soldiers appeared as the door opened.

  She smiled. She had a few things to say.

  Chapter 31

  “What's the penalty for friendly fire due to incompetence?” She thought she kept her voice pretty calm as she called the question, even though she was raging inside.

  They shot at Iver. They could have killed him. And they brought down her runner. Her runner!

  They destroyed it.

  Far in the back of her mind, some stray thought tried to question her strength of feeling over the runner itself, because she'd flown it for what amounted to all of five minutes, but something deeper told her no. She had spent hours in that runner. It was hers!

  The man she was headed for dropped lightly to the ground as a modified exit ramp lowered at the back, and Special Forces soldiers streamed out.

  She noticed in some part of her brain that their weapons were mostly pointed at her.

  “Excuse me?” He looked at her like she was crazy.

  “I hope you have skills beyond the armed forces, or you'll be living on the citizen dividend and twiddling your thumbs for the rest of your life after this fuck up.” She openly sneered at him, and pointed behind her at the runner.

  “Fuck up?” The man laughed.

  Iver had followed her out and was walking toward her, and she gestured to him.

  “You just shot down the head-of-planet. I don't know about you, but in my experience, that's at the very least grounds for a job-reevaluation.”

  The asshole obviously recognized Iver, because his eyes widened.

  “We hailed you,�
� he said to her, all humor leeched from his face. “You didn't respond.”

  “Because I was flying an antique that didn't have the tech to pick up your hail. I had no idea you were even there.” She put her hands on her hips. “What happened to coming round to try face-to-face comms when your hail failed? That can't just be Themis military standard practice. Then you'd have seen the head-of-planet, and not shot him out of the fucking sky!” She realized her voice had risen and she drew in a deep breath to get herself under control.

  At that moment, a woman appeared in the doorway, and dropped down beside the man.

  “Oh.” Hana drew in a deep breath and tilted her head to look at her. “You're in charge. Do you go around shooting unprovoked often?”

  The woman looked at her, and then her gaze slid over her shoulder to Iver. “Planetary Commander,” she said, voice tight.

  “Captain Donaldson.” Iver rested a warm hand on Hana's shoulder as he reached her. “You tried to kill my pilot and me.”

  She thought he was calm, and then she felt the tension in his hand where it held her, almost like a lifeline.

  “In fact, if Hana wasn't the pilot she is, you would have killed us.”

  “Not only that,” Hana was far from finished here, “you let the enemy go. They flew away, and you helped them by shooting us. Are you in league with them? Is this a takeover?”

  Donaldson took an actual step back. “The Dynastra that flew away was Faldine military.”

  “Obviously not, as they were trying to shoot us down, and as you seem to know, one of us is the head-of-planet.”

  “They had the codes.” The man she'd accosted first spoke up. “When we came into range, they gave the Faldine military codes and claimed they had exchanged fire with you and their weapons systems were down.”

  “So you happily did their dirty work for them, while they lit out. Well done.”

  “Who did the person you spoke to identify themselves as?” Iver's hand was rubbing her shoulder now, trying to soothe her.

  “A Lieutenant Linnel.” The woman shook her head. “We were played, and we fell for it. I am genuinely sorry we shot you down, and very relieved you're both uninjured.”

  Hana realized she wasn't ready to hear an apology right now. She wanted to do some physical damage to these people, and she took a step back and turned away, hands still on her hips, to try and breathe through it.