by David Ryker
“We’re pulling into orbit,” she said from what I could piece together. “It’s — storm is really getting — high winds — stay in contact — we’ll — good luck —” And that was it. I leaned forward and stared up through the domed part of the screen in front of me at the darkening storm clouds.
The weather was volatile on Telmareen if nothing else. I was on top of one of the tallest buildings in this zone of the city — a spired tower-block of apartments. Volchec had done a really fancy fly-by where she’d hung the ass of the Tilt-wing just over the edge of the building before she took off toward the clouds. Greg had casually stepped off the ramp and onto the roof, and after I remarked at it, said that it was all about physics and he didn’t expect me to understand — I wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not, so I let it slide.
We’d had word that Alice had arranged to meet up with Mac and Fish and that they were heading across to the sunny side of the world to do what the mercs had described as a ‘quick job.’ They’d put me on overwatch on one of the tallest buildings so I’d have a clear line of sight to where they were — or at least where we thought they might be.
I didn’t really know what to expect on the bright side of the planet. The dark side had been all cold tundra and dirt, and I supposed that the side where it was always light would be all desert. That turned out to be totally wrong.
The city straddled the dark-light border, but while those living on the cold side had to deal with perpetual ice, those in the sun got a choice between meadows, forests, jungles, prairies, and then the endless desert. Just where the light began to strike the streets and sides of buildings, moss and grass were growing — hardy plant life and ragged evergreens jutting out of the ground. From there, it spilled into pines that rose over the buildings and hugged the bases of the blocks and towers.
Further away I could see the lush greenery of a jungle — vines and trees with huge canopies enveloping and creeping up the glass offices and apartments.
Beyond that, the sun was baking the foliage into a pale brown prairie grass, and then, it was nothing but sand. Greg told me that it was imperative that there be as much plant life as possible maintained to keep the atmosphere oxygenated, so the city was built in harmony with what organics already existed. It made sense — and was sort of beautiful, in a weird way. A perfect blend of nature and industry coming together in a way that it never had done on Earth. That’d always been the story that was flying around, anyway — that humans just took advantage of the planet until they’d used it all up, and then they jumped ship and let it float, dead and rancid, in the farthest corners of space.
Greg crouched a little lower against the wind and rested a hand on the concrete surface we were perched on.
The band of jungle was like most jungles supposedly were — humid and hot. The water spilling out of the trees — transpiration, Greg called it — was rising, and then being heated and blown hard into the dark side of the city, where it was hitting the wall of frigid air and being pushed upward.
Greg told me that it was creating a column of hot and cold air that was rising and then super-cooling before folding back on itself and falling, before getting swept up again. As such, it was creating a pretty intense storm. The air was thick and heavy, and the pressure was mounting. The first rumbles of thunder were already brewing and the clouds were swirling overhead. It’d happened in a matter of hours. Everett and Volchec had been doing laps around the area of operations and identifying potential targets as I tracked the mercs through the city, but now they’d been forced to pull out of the atmosphere or get fried.
I’d asked Greg about the spire that was on our building, as well as all of the other buildings that had them, too. Lightning rods, he’d said — before adding that the F-Series was fitted with electrical dampeners that should protect me if we were struck by lightning — though, for the first time since I’d known him, he wasn’t prepared to calculate the odds for me. I didn’t quite know how to feel about it.
After Alice had stepped over my bloodied corpse outside the bar, she’d headed into the city to meet Mac and Fish in some alley with the Mercs, leaving her rig at the bar. Mac and Fish had already been given the heads’ up from us as to the situation, and acted accordingly and sufficiently coldly when they met up. We’d been listening in on comms on the ship.
“Where’s Red?” Mac had asked.
“Red’s out,” Alice replied.
“Your geerl here done shot him to prove dat she seerious ‘bout dis credit,” the blue-skinned woman, who we’d now found out was called Kera, a long-time merc and a regular thorn in the Federation’s side, had said, holding her hand up like a gun. “Pap! Right in de chest.”
Mac had smirked. “Good riddance,” he said, a little too convincingly. “Kid was a soft-touch, anyway. Never cut out for this shit. Was only a matter of time. Least his death was worth something in the end.”
Volchec had stared at me after he said that. “He’s playing a part. Don’t take it to heart,” she’d said.
I hadn’t thought to until she’d said that.
“So what’s the gig?” Mac continued.
Kera was the talker, that much was for sure. “You tree gotta do something for us — make sure we can trust you, aye. Just a little job.”
“Spit it out,” Mac snorted. “I’m on tenta-fucking-hooks.”
“Der be an Iskcara reefinery a hundred kilometers sunny-side. Day be bringing a big shipment into da city in a few hours. ‘Nuff to keep us all in steel for a while to come.”
“And you want us to knock it over?” Mac’s voice was hard and without a hint of incredulity.
“Oh, he sharp,” Kera laughed. “I like him. Yeah, yeah — you get the Iskcara, we tell you where to take it, and den you get de credit.”
There was silence on the line for a few seconds after it as we presumed Mac and Alice were deciding what to do. Saying no would blow their cover, or at least throw it into question. Saying yes meant robbing a Federation Iskcara refinery. And considering none of this was really known to the Federation, it meant that there was a really good chance it was all going to go sideways, and that blood was going to be spilled.
Volchec’s knuckles whitened around the table in the center of the cockpit as we all sat around it in silence. We’d promised to remain quiet not to screw up their flow during the talks, but I could see that Volchec was dying to jump in. We still didn’t know who the mercs were working for, and if Mac and Alice turned on them, managed to apprehend them — it would be an interrogation and all that shit. And during that time, if their employers didn’t get wind of what happened, and the merc cracked, we’d maybe have a line — but that was a lot of ifs.
And that was banking on the fact that the mercs, who must be pretty hardcore to be as embroiled in this shit as they were, didn’t just draw and pump a few bullets into each of them before they could even do it. And without Volchec to guide them, tell them to go either way, they had to make a call — keep the ruse going.
“Alright,” Mac said coolly. “If that’s all.”
“If that’s all!” Kera laughed. “De transport sets off at ten, Feddy Standard,” she finished, her voice dwindling. “Don’t let dat boy death be in vain, now.” The sound faded to nothing and then they were gone.
Mac sighed on the line. “You get all that?”
Volchec folded her arms, gripping her biceps with vice-like fingers. “Yeah,” she said gravely. “We got it.”
I thought back to that conversation as we stood on the rooftop, the first drops of rain starting to spatter on the screen in front of me. Ahead was a wall of concrete and glass, but Greg had painted Mac, Fish, and Alice in red. Their outlines were projected through the buildings, tracking slowly through the jungle portion of the city toward the desert. The refinery was well over the horizon, but time was creeping on and the transport would be leaving soon.
It was a gravilev truck delivering cores to one of the spaceports in the city. The only reason the refinery was so f
ar outside the city was because of how volatile Iskcara was. If anything went wrong, it needed to be at least that far away so that the blast radius wouldn’t engulf the city.
I could see the Central Telmareen Guard Tower a few kilometers away. It was the tallest building in this zone — a narrowing spire littered with fixed wings and other vehicles. They all nested against its sides like roosting bats, ready to peel off and fly to the aid of anyone who might need it.
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 already stolen was 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. Either way, it all felt hasty and ragged.
Something wasn’t sitting right. 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 haze.
The storm was starting to throb overhead now, and the rain was sheeting sideways, smashing into the buildings in waves. The Guard Tower swayed gently. Lightning forked in the clouds and the foliage around the buildings 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 it was headed to — 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 of smoke 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.
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 t
hick. 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.