The Worst of All Possible Worlds

by Alex White

  Power was something that could be routed.

  With the defense program down, Nilah dove into the cell block power infrastructure but kept one eye open to watch the failing shield. She wasn’t sure what that would do to help her, but at least she’d see the end coming.

  The system wasn’t designed to steal power from one cell and pump it to another. She’d have to write code. The water tumors inside the shield had covered almost one-half of her room, and one pressed ominously against the corner of her bunk. If they all ruptured at the same time, the resultant wave would smash her against the back wall.

  Thirty seconds to write the program. The shield wouldn’t last another five. She needed to vent the water slowly if she wanted more time.

  She raced to the nearest polyp and struck it hard with a void: a Flicker attack with the pointer finger to take out an eye. Her index finger sank through the surface with a mild shock, and a spurt of water came spraying through. At least then, the shield might fail gracefully.

  But that was too much to ask.

  The hole widened, magic tearing, and Nilah backed against the far wall. The shield failed entirely, flooding the cell. She had just enough time to take a deep breath before the weight of the water squeezed it from her.

  Her eyes bulged. Her instincts begged her to draw a breath. She needed something, anything in her lungs. She’d have desperately breathed in the water if the pressure hadn’t been crushing her chest.

  Nilah was drowning, and that realization drove all rationality from her mind.

  She thrashed until exhaustion burned her muscles. Not like this played on repeat in her brain. She’d always thought of death as peaceful, as the body giving up and going to sleep—but now she knew the mind never rested. Its full-throated scream only grew quieter and quieter as the darkness of the grave came to choke it out.

  A metal beam struck her face. Steel cables wrapped around her arms. She tumbled as something forced her into confinement, trapping her in a tiny space filled with water. She fought, but she was too weak to resist whatever had dragged her into its depths.

  Precious, cool bubbles of air sprayed her face, torso, and legs as the weight fell away. Nilah let out an involuntary shout as she took huge gulps of atmosphere. Actuation rings wrapped around her fingers on both arms. Water sloshed around her legs as it drained, and bright light filled her vision.

  “Venting complete,” came the bored voice of Teacup. “Vital signs stable.”

  She spluttered for a moment and opened her eyes to find the submerged brig, its contents swaying in the cold water. Then, elements of her HUD spun to life before her eyes, bright gold on the field of marine blue. When her breath stilled, Teacup’s comm chimed.

  “That’s the second rescue you owe me for,” said Orna.

  “What was the first?” Nilah coughed. The banter helped with the uncontrollable, post-near-fatality shakes.

  “Hammerhead. How could you forget me arriving in a drop pod?”

  Nilah had braved worse dangers and plunged into icier climes, but there was nothing as terrifying as drowning. It’d leeched the heat from her very bones as the water tried to claim her. Warmers clicked on through Teacup’s suit, delivering pure joy. It was an even greater sensation than the Prokarthic Baths of Duke Vayle Thiollier’s palace: the warmth of future dawns and Orna’s embrace.

  “I didn’t forget it, love. I just assumed you had accounted for getting saved twice on the Harrow,” said Nilah.

  No circlet; no advanced control. Using basic function, she could cast a glyph, and her magic flooded Teacup’s systems. The joints fell into perfect time with her movements, and the clunkiness fell away.

  Her dermaluxes were mapped to projectors on Teacup’s forearms, and Nilah cued up a light show, illuminating the murky depths. “Now I stroll upstairs, yes?”

  “You’re not out of this yet, babe. There are battle armors teleporting in all over the Ambrosini—dozens at a time.”

  An electric jolt shot across Nilah’s body. “Teleportation means Claire… Harriet is here.”

  “The battle is over. We have to evacuate right now,” Orna said, almost cautiously. Had she sensed the fury? Was she worried Nilah would shut her out and go after Harriet alone?

  Her father’s kind smile flashed through her mind. His sanity-broken death rictus chased it away. Only one substance could wash that image from her mind: Harriet Fulsom’s blood.

  “When are we going to get another shot like this?” asked Nilah.

  “What shot?” said Orna. “You’re not thinking straight. Without preparation, a God of the Harrow will absolutely kill you.”

  “So come help me.”

  “I have to”—she made a frustrated noise—“I have to bootstrap the ship’s net. It got scrambled by a virus, and I need every second.”

  “So I’d have to go it alone.”

  “You wouldn’t go it at all, Nilah!”

  “She killed my dad!” she screamed, voice reverberating through Teacup’s helmet. It was the first time she’d said the words aloud, and they unexpectedly bowled her over. In the depths, alone, the bot sank to its knees.

  She listened to her breaths in the quiet—shuddering at first, but growing steadier by the second.

  “I’m sorry,” said her fiancée at long last. “I know how that feels and—”

  “And you stuck your thumbs into Bill Scar’s eye sockets,” said Nilah, surprised at the calm in her voice.

  “Yeah, but that was blind luck,” said Orna, affecting a gentle tone Nilah had never heard from her before. “You’ve used up yours for the day getting this rescue. Just come to the ship.”

  Maybe she should leave her friends out of her vendetta and go handle things her way. She had spent the last seventy-two hours polishing Teacup’s pathing algorithm so it would run smoother and swifter than ever before. What Charger had in power, Teacup had in speed.

  She hoped.

  It was untested.

  “Bollocks to that.” Nilah flexed her fingers. She’d have to get a slinger, but that would be easy enough. “I can lure Harriet out if I kill enough of her people.”

  “Nilah!”

  “I said I wanted to show up for work. Killing gods is my job.” She cycled through the status of all of Teacup’s systems—green across the board, combat ready. She started for the upper levels, powerful servos pushing her through the water. “And I’ll do it with a smile. If I’m not at the Capricious in five minutes, I want you to leave.”

  “Please. I’m begging here.”

  “You said you know how this feels,” said Nilah, steel filling her heart. “Then you know I can’t stop, either.”

  She muted the channel and slogged her way through the darkening graveyard of the lower decks.

  Chapter Nine

  Hue

  Nilah poked Teacup’s finger around the corner, ejecting an imager lens for a peek. She’d been working her way toward the Capricious’s docking bay over the past few minutes, harrying any other armors and troops she found. They weren’t built for the kind of speed Teacup could muster, so she could hit-and-run.

  Two battle armors stood guard outside the staging concourse, their tan paint glistening with water. Judging from the scars on their carapaces, they’d been in some pretty rough fighting.

  Good. They’d be exhausted and low on ammunition.

  She launched from her hiding place, Teacup’s performance servos whining with each bounding stride. The enemy armors turned on her, and she switched on Teacup’s projectors, sending out dazzling arrays of holograms and acoustic pulses in every direction.

  She came flying out of the cloud of confusion at the nearest armor, shredding its optics with the swipe of a talon before crushing its chest plate with a devastating kick. The other armor ejected its plasma bayonet and rushed her, but she leapt onto its shoulders, jamming her claws into the soft gaskets of its neck. She dug into it like a prospector and was rewarded with a geyser of hydraulic fluid and blood.

  The armor st
aggered back against the wall and sunk down. Keeping one hand inside, Nilah traced her mechanist’s mark and connected to the brains.

  >>PILOT CRITICAL

  >>BP FAULT LOW

  >>HR FAULT LOW

  The armor’s processor had cracked in the exchange, so Nilah shut off the life support to free up some cycles. The pilot was just another scumbag bleeding out, anyway. She snatched their radio encryption keys from the armor’s brain and patched into enemy comms.

  “Bravo Leader, what’s the status on that HVT in bay sixty-eight?”

  “Still trying to crack him open. It’d be easier if we blew it up.”

  “Can’t confirm the kills that way, Bravo.”

  “Then send us an arsonist who can cut this bastard open!”

  “What happened to the last one?”

  Bravo Leader sighed. “KIA. We’ve lost two patrols, too.”

  Three now, mate, thought Nilah.

  “Can you handle it, Bravo?” asked the first voice.

  “Of course, Commander.”

  “We’re sending a specialist, just in case. Be ready.”

  She only hoped they had the same idea she did: send Harriet. A light patter of footsteps, far too quiet to be a human’s, pinged Teacup’s sensitive acoustics behind Nilah. She spun, slinger snapping up into her hand.

  Charger crept out of the shadows, alongside Malik, the Ferriers, and Cordell. The look on her captain’s face could’ve frozen magma. Charger was standing oddly stiff, as though the woman inside had no affinity for Nilah whatsoever. Why should she? Nilah had made it clear that killing Harriet mattered more to her than anything, including seeing everyone else again. She craved the chance to trade her life on the ship for the head of her hated enemy.

  Nilah walked toward him, feeling Cordell’s anger like a high-pressure wave, switched on her speakers, and said, “It’s good that you’re here. I think Harriet might be coming and I need backup—”

  “Orna told us your father is dead,” said Cordell. “And that’s what gets you exactly one free pass for the shit you just pulled. I ought to break you in half for muting your comm and ghosting.”

  Alister and Jeannie were pretty banged up. One of his cheeks had gone as red as an apple, and swelled up just as shiny. Malik didn’t have any obvious damage, but there was a slight limp in his step. Cordell’s arm hung at his side, crooked at the elbow and in obvious need of a sling.

  “We can take on Harriet if we work together.” Nilah looked to Charger. “Back me up on this, babe.”

  But Charger didn’t respond, and Orna’s lack of support hit her harder than whatever had wrecked the Ambrosini.

  “No one is ‘backing you up,’ because this isn’t a democracy,” said Cordell, voice rumbling as he advanced on her. Then he slapped Teacup’s aural receiver, sending static and a high-pitched whine through Nilah’s speakers. “You screw your head on straight, or you’re off the crew. Your future wife called me, begging us to get you back. We had to look for you on a sinking ship.” He poked her lens with a finger, and she blinked on instinct. “So talk back to me and see what happens. It’ll be your last official act. I am not playing. Do not test me.”

  His eyes were wide and bloodshot. His nostrils flared, and she was genuinely worried he might lose control. Boots had always talked about the man he used to be, how scary he really was. These weren’t just words, coming from an officer who’d decided life and death plenty of times. If she spoke to him again, she might be out of the family forever.

  A lump formed in Nilah’s throat. If his friendship hadn’t meant so much to her, she would’ve gladly tested his resolve. It was one thing to shut off her comms. It was another to do this in person.

  “I know you’re hurting,” he added quietly. “Survive now. Quit being a liability.”

  That stung her like a slap, but she held her fury inside.

  “Also, I’m Boots.” With this, Charger gave an awkward wave.

  “Why would she…” Nilah began, leaving off the let you ride in her precious armor, for fear of upsetting the captain.

  “Because that’s how badly she wanted you back. Switch on your comms and let’s get,” said Cordell. “You’ve already stirred up enough trouble, and the Children are closing in. Had to dodge two patrols on the way over, and they’re already trying to crack the Capricious open.” He looked pointedly at Nilah. “I don’t have to tell you what happens if they capture your fiancée because we dawdled.”

  Nilah opened a comm channel, and Orna’s relieved voice came sweeping into her ears. “Listen, babe. We will take out Harriet, but you have to come back, okay? Please, I am begging you to get back here.”

  She looked over the assembled, bloodied crew. “Okay.”

  “Boots, take point,” said Cordell. “Hunter Two, watch our phase.”

  They moved in formation, Nilah bringing up the rear. He’d put her there because she was less likely to initiate an attack—she was sure of that much. They moved quickly, and twice, the bots had to act as decoys to draw off a patrol with their speed and agility. Boots wasn’t half bad, but she was no Orna.

  When they emerged onto a catwalk overlooking docking bay sixty-eight, they found a dozen tan armors standing around the Capricious. The marauder lay on its belly, wedged lopsided by one of its landing struts. Soldiers had their hands against the ship, their palms aglow with magic—mechanists. An infantry unit had settled a large transit case near the ship, and they fiddled with the equipment inside.

  “Capricious,” said Cordell, “what’s your status?”

  “Had to disconnect the core,” said Orna. “We’re playing dead so those mechanists can’t open the cargo ramp.”

  Two of the soldiers donned welding masks and gloves, both drawing radial plasma grinders from the case—the kind that used arsonist’s magic to cut through anything.

  “Looks like we’ve got to rumble,” said Cordell to the crew. “Top priority, take out those mechanists. That’s you, Boots and Hunter Two. The second you hit the deck, Boots, you start shooting. Hunter One, you’ll connect the power and open the cargo ramp. Zipper, how you doing in there?”

  “If she can turn the ship on,” said Aisha, “I can get us out of here.”

  “We can’t do this quietly, and those bastards are going to call for help the second we start shooting,” said Cordell.

  Nilah’s myriad emotions fused inside her like a star, grief at its massive core. Fury at her captain’s blunting of her attack sublimated into shame, because she’d been willing to abandon Orna. Then, she’d remember her father’s screams, and do it all over again. Or the gnashing of teeth. Or the way the sweat had beaded on his brow, and run into his wide eyes, so pained they could not blink.

  “Hunter Two.” Cordell’s voice shook her from her reverie.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “I’m trusting you here. Get us onto that ship.”

  She sent a diagnostic rippling through Teacup to find a frame worthy of so many opponents. “Yes, sir.”

  Time to go supernova.

  Nilah leapt from the catwalk, the bot’s slingers coming to her hands mid-flight, and loosed a volley before she hit the ground, striking one of the mechanists squarely in the spine. Teacup’s automatic descenders fired as she touched down, cushioning her landing with a burst of phantoplasm.

  Performance motors launched her from her landing spot as the enemy turned on her and filled up the space with bright discus rounds. She zigzagged toward the nearest armor, sinking shot after shot into its chest before drop-kicking it across the docking bay deck into one of its fellows.

  Boots came slamming down after, clumsily landing like she’d just hopped off the back of a truck. Charger’s rifle snapped onto the other caster with her palms against the belly of the Capricious, and Boots ventilated her.

  “Both mechanists down!” called Boots. “Clear to connect power.”

  A trio of tan armors emerged through a bay door, slingers ablaze, and Cordell landed in the middle of them with a wid
e shield, destabilizing their aim. He forced his blue field into each of them in turn, batting them away before darting for cover. He’d only stunned them. They’d be getting back up.

  Every breath these people took grated on Nilah’s very soul.

  The Capricious whined to life, retracting its struts and rolling across its great belly to its center of gravity. A nearby soldier gave a truncated shout before being crushed.

  “Stand by for fire support,” said Aisha as the righted ship began pumping its struts to get space for the keel slinger.

  Another volley forced Nilah into the air, where she spiraled once before centering on her target.

  She’d heard her father’s jaw clench so hard his teeth cracked.

  Nilah clicked the trigger and sprayed a bot’s arms and legs, leaving it writhing, pilot screaming. Another suit charged her as she landed, claws outstretched, and she seized its arm, ripped it off, and spun, bashing its head so hard the brain case went bouncing away. She roared a battle cry, casting aside the appendage, crimson with blood and hydraulic fluid.

  More battle armors clambered out of the entrances to the bay, and the Capricious’s heavy keel slinger spun up, lancing any group stupid enough to stay bunched together. A part of Nilah was glad for her team’s clockwork support.

  Another part wanted these soldiers all to herself.

  Sinking low, she charged into a pack of battle armors, perforating the first as she closed ranks. Her regraded steel claws easily shredded their weak husks, exposing critical systems and terrified pilots. She didn’t need Teacup’s fancy projectors and bot-assisted Flicker for these insects. She cracked them like eggs, spilling their contents across the deck with wild abandon. They wouldn’t shoot into their own ranks, and she’d make that a fatal mistake for anyone she could reach.

  She’d just closed the distance with another fire team when the call went out from Cordell.

  “The cargo bay is open! Let’s go!”

  But she didn’t want to leave. She wished to slake her thirst for revenge until there was more blood on the decks than water. She tore the chest plate from another battle armor and gave the pilot just enough time to be terrified before caving his face in.