by Jacob Magnus
The dawn sun painted the ragged line of rigs red and gold, and lit their windows with the glitter of diamonds. Flint had ordered the riggers to run down the way to a point where the cliffs sank down and became a narrow strip of pebble beach, lapped by the sea, while the inland side of the way sprouted the stubby red rocks of a petrified forest. Here, where the way narrowed, where nature barred both exits, he had told the men to park their rigs in a staggered blockade. Their size and their need for space to maneuver meant the rigs couldn’t form a neat line, but he had been able to set them up in two layers, and the rear layer covered the gaps between those in front. They faced away from the city, towards the tower that shone like molten gold in the rising sun, towards the inland route, towards the Comet.
Flint sat in the driver’s seat of the Rhino, the centre rig in the front rank. He’d insisted on the position, and the other riggers had been happy to give it to him. Diana sat across from him and gazed up at the tower. “It’s so beautiful.”
He took his eyes off the bend in the way where it rose up in a slope, then curved east past a rock and out of sight. “The tower? I guess.”
She wore a white blouse and a red tartan skirt, and her hair framed her face, which looked as luminous as the tower. Her eyes shone with moisture. “No, not the tower, silly.”
“Then…?”
She wiped her eyes. “Everyone’s helping each other. They’ve been racing for days, and they were all ready to have a big fight when we got here, but now… They’re so different from Vistor.”
“Hey, remember, your uncle’s not the only Ambrel. Your father...” He paused, unsure if he’d crossed a line, but decided to press on. “If Buck Ambrel could be here, he would be right on this line with us.” Better him than the girl, he thought. He’d tried to leave her somewhere safe, but it was getting harder to argue with her, and besides, the Rhino probably was the safest place in the bay.
“Thank you, Flint. I- Oh! Look at that.”
He shot her a wry grin “See a kangaroo in the rock forest?”
“No, Flint, look at that.” She grabbed his ear and turned his head, and he saw a bright shape flash past the bend in the way and hurtle towards them.
His hands closed on the wheel. “The Comet.”
It raced towards them, and he believed it would slam into the blockade, but it began to shed speed, and at last it coasted to a halt some distance up the way. He saw the hooked beak of the rig, and the sun glittered on the feather pattern. He felt he could make out two figures in the cockpit, but that might have been his imagination.
They sat that way for a time, and then Flint hit the radio and called up the Comet. “Nathor, I know that’s you driving that hulk. You can’t go any further. Stop here, and we can settle all this.”
A few moments passed and then Nathor’s voice sounded from the speakers. “You won’t stop me, Flint.”
“Dammit, Nathor, it’s not you I need to stop. It’s that murdering bastard from the wild lands.”
“Funny, coming from you. But it’s no use. One and the same, we are, one and the same. Once we get to the city, I’m going to get my just reward.”
He clenched the wheel. “You can’t listen to that maniac. He’ll say anything. Vistor won’t reward you for this, he wants all the power for himself.”
“I won’t need Vistor. With these weapons I can take the power for myself. President Nathor. How does that sound, Flint?”
“You’re a deluded puppet, Nathor. He’s lying to you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re not going to the city. You’re not going any further.”
“…we’ll see.”
The Comet started to move again, and Flint braced himself for a collision, but Nathor turned the other rig and took it up the slope and faced it sideways, at right angles to the way and the rigs waiting below. For a time nothing happened, and Flint considered firing up the turbine and ramming the Comet, although the thought of all those bombs made his skin crawl.
Diana chewed her lip. “What’s he doing?”
He didn’t answer. Then he caught some movement, leaned forward, and saw a cargo door open in the Comet’s flank. A lanky figure appeared, framed in the door, and he knew it for Nathor.
“Now,” he said, and triggered the engines.
Diana squealed. “What are you doing?”
He began to pull forward. “He’s out of the cockpit. If I can nudge that rig just enough, he’ll be stuck outside with the door open.”
“And we can get in there and catch Caerlion.”
“Right.”
“But Flint, wait, what’s that?”
He continued to move forwards, and noticed that some of the other rigs had also started their engines, though he didn’t know whether they had seen the same opportunity, or whether they were just following him. Diana pointed, and he saw Nathor heft a big steel barrel out of the cargo door and set it down on its side. He kicked it, and the barrel started to roll down the slope.
Flint paused, his eyes locked on the rolling barrel.
“Flint,” said Diana. “Flint, what’s that?”
“I don’t-”
“Flint, it’s coming right at us.”
Nathor stood at the head of the hill and looked down at the line of rigs, his head high and arms crossed. Flint’s eyes widened and his scalp prickled. He started to turn the Rhino, but he bumped into the rig on his right wing. He turned away, and scraped another rig on his left.
Diana moaned.“Flint, get us out of here.”
“There’s nowhere to go.”
“It’s getting closer.”
He did the only thing he could, and gunned the engines to full power. The Rhino put on a burst of speed and flung him back in his seat. Diana tumbled out of her chair, but he couldn’t spare the time to help her. He pushed the Rhino to move as fast as it could, and managed to pull ahead of the crowd. He punched the radio to a general call. “Spread out,” he said. “There’s a bomb running down the way. Spread or die.”
The barrel rolled towards him, faster now. He took his own advice, spun the wheel, and pulled the Rhino onto the strip of pebble beach, though the sight of the sea, so close to his rig, made his guts twist.
Safe for the moment, he halted the rig and helped Diana to her feet. Then they stood, entranced by the sight of the barrel that rushed down into the midst of the fragmented blockade. The first line of rigs had started moving fast enough to take his advice, pulled left and right, and buffeted one another as they went. The second line hadn’t seen the Comet, and by the time that Flint had warned them, the barrel had already come a long way down the slope. A couple of rigs in the middle hadn’t even started to move, and Flint, horrified, wondered if they hadn’t heard his broadcast. He reached for the radio to try again, but by then it was already too late. The barrel had rolled straight down the middle of the way, but after a bit it hit a dent or something, and veered inland. At first Flint thought it would run into the petrified tree stumps and waste its power on the rocks, but it had already come too far.
Diana grabbed his arm. “Flint, those men...”
He saw it too, and it sickened him. The rigs on his left had pulled that way, and hugged the edge of the forest in an attempt to avoid the rolling bomb. Now they sat in a thick cluster right in its path, with no time left to move. He leaned forward, put his hands on the dash, and willed the barrel to turn, or the men to get away. They tried to escape, but the barrel had come too far, and it rolled too fast. It ran in between two tight-packed rigs and vanished from sight. Flint held his breath and gouged his nails into the dash. The two front rigs vanished in a massive explosion that shook the ground and scattered the nearest rigs. The blast hurled one rig into the rocks, where it went up in a second, fiery blast. The remaining rigs skidded or rolled back across the way, to bash and scrape one another.
Flint punched the dash.
Diana put her hand on his shoulder. “Flint.”
“No now, Diana.” He shook his head. “Not now.”
When she spoke again she
put iron in her voice. “Look up.”
He lifted his head, though his muscles felt icy and slow. He saw a flicker of movement at the head of the hill. Nathor turned his back on the scene of wreckage below, climbed into the Comet, and shut the door. Moments later the Comet bucked, turned, and began to skim down the slope.
Flint stared at the onrushing rig, and a small voice pleaded with him to do something, but his body and mind felt chilled and numb. He didn’t seem able to move.
“Flint, please,” said Diana.
He watched the Comet speed towards the tattered line, and knew they had failed. He had failed. No matter how strong or quick he was, no matter how hard he had worked to set up the blockade, he couldn’t protect it from Nathor’s weapons, and he couldn’t out-speed Nathor’s rig.
He shuddered. “It’s over.”
“Flint, you have to do something.”
He watched the Comet rush towards the massive gap in the blockade. “Didn’t you hear me, girl? I said it’s over.”
The Comet whipped between two rigs and continued on beyond the line, beyond their reach. Diana squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed. Flint sank into his seat and stared straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes.
Failure. He hadn’t imagined it was possible. He’d believed they would find a way, they’d think of a plan or a clever ploy, they’d outsmart Nathor and Caerlion, or just beat them with plain old Rhino toughness. The other riggers had bought into it, and Jerethy had sent them off with a vengeful blessing. Yes, Jerethy had believed they could succeed, especially since they now knew about Nathor’s treachery and his vile weapons. The plan had been sound. They could have closed in on the Comet, surrounded it, forced it to stop. They could have held it in place until Nathor ran out of food or water, and, starving, had given himself up. They could have beaten him. But he had outsmarted them. No, thought Flint, he hadn’t been smarter, he hadn’t beaten them on brains. He’d beaten them on violence, beaten them on butchery. The men had called Flint, a murderer, but he had taken Burl’s life for justice, and been willing to hang for it. Nathor had tossed a bomb into a crowd without thought for who or how many he hurt. No one had imagined a living human, a man from the bay, could do such a thing.
Nathor had beaten them on sheer, mindless destruction. And worse, Flint saw now, he would carry that same destruction down to the city. The rules and laws and traditions they had lived by for all the ages since the end of the old world, Nathor and Caerlion would rip them apart and burn the shreds. Flint had wanted an end to the aged, custom-bound way of thinking, but not at the price of the city itself.
“It’s gone. It’s all gone.”