by David Ryker
“And if we weren’t, then all this would happen without our intervention, and then things would be even worse.” I was starting to rise now. “You heard what Glaavus said—”
“The fucking android we met four days ago who told us that the fate of the universe rested on the shoulders of four Federation pilots?” She scoffed. “Excuse me if I have my doubts about that.”
Kat was watching us all, and though there wasn’t a sound coming from our rigs I couldn’t help but think that she knew what was going on. “You’ve gone awfully quiet,” she said after a minute, still moving slowly. “Are you deciding on what you’re about to do? Because I think you’ve got about three options here. One — you throw down your weapons, come out of there, get on your knees, and we make it nice and quick for you, while you salute the Federation. Second, you take a shot, try your luck, we take you apart one piece of metal at a time, pry you out of their cold husks, and make it slow… and, might I remind you that Icarus, here,” she said, gesturing to the long-haired Tenshi who’d kicked my ass back on Notia, “has already done it once, single-handedly.” She stopped and folded her arms, looking right through Greg’s hull and into my eyes, it felt like. “Or, number three — and this is only going to be offered once, so I seriously recommend you consider it. You throw down your weapons, come out of there, renounce the fucking Federation, join us, and help take down the Federation once and for all. They’ve taken everything from you, and once again, sent you into the lion’s den to die. A sacrifice on the long-march to victory.” She held the back of her hand to her mouth like she was telling us something no one knew. “Well, let me let you in on a little secret — there’s no such thing as victory — just an endless march on a road paved with the bodies of the Federation soldiers trampled under the treads of their great and terrible war-machine.” She laughed heartily — irritatingly. “So, what do you say? It’s the best offer you’re going to get, but you know, we can’t stand around here all day just chatting. So how’s about this — I’m going to count to three, and then you’re going to make your decision. Alright?” She grinned with her perfect teeth, her beautiful face shadowed and shaded in the twilight of the cave. She drew breath and held her hand up. “One.”
“Fuck this,” I muttered, sick of ultimatums, and jabbed the hatch, drawing my Arcram as I did. It opened and the second I saw her face appear through the gap, I leveled my pistol and fired.
19
I wasn’t trying to hit Fox, despite aiming for her.
If the reflexes of the big guy on Notia were anything to go by, I might as well have been waving a flag saying I was going to shoot. That split second that it took for my arm to come up and my finger to pull the trigger, she saw, calculated, and then moved. Even with my nanite-fuelled speed, I was still way too slow to hit her from this distance, but not so slow as to clue her into what I was actually doing.
My Arcram had been dialed up to the maximum setting since Jokka — lethal. But that wasn’t its only function. On lower settings, it worked more like a taser, with the gelatinous material being fired as a projectile becoming electrically charged. I figured hitting the Iskcara on a high setting would cause a reaction, but at a four, the jelly would just splat on impact. I didn’t hit the Iskcara either way, and nor did I hit Fox. But what she didn’t account for were the totally human reaction times of the troops behind her.
She stepped aside like she was letting someone pass in a corridor and the electrified blop struck the soldier behind her square in the chest. She’d been pacing, and had crossed past her original position and in front of her soldiers.
By the time the first hit, the electricity coursing through the soldier’s body, I was already firing again. The arcing effect kicked in by the second hit and the two blobs, in such close proximity, began conducting the current of the others. A third lump struck the fifth soldier in the line on the left and they all began convulsing, their rifles and the metal fastenings on their gear acting as jump-points.
Fox twisted to look and then snapped back to me, raising her pistol and firing two rounds that would have hit me square in the face if I wasn’t already moving, the hatch snapping closed with the sort of speed that would have saved a lot of Federation lives in similar situations if they’d sprung for the upgrades.
The hatch slammed closed, the bullets ricocheting into the air and hitting the ceiling with puffs of dust.
Fox growled and turned away, running for cover. The six soldiers on the left were all downed and convulsing. The charge was enough to put them down, if just for now. But it would be long enough. We’d put the Tenshi down quickly, or they would do it to us instead. Either way, it wasn’t going to take long.
Fox and the Tenshi she called Icarus both bolted for the outer wall, taking cover behind the pillars. She hadn’t anticipated the first shots, but she wouldn’t give me another chance. The other six soldiers all went to their knees and started firing on us. Four of them were packing regular assault rifles and had their triggers pinned. The other two had plasma rifles — and they were the ones we needed to worry about. The under-barrel mounted grenade launchers on the assault rifles would do some damage with a well-placed shot, but the plasma rifles had enough go in them to put a hole in us, and right now we couldn’t afford a single blown valve or punctured armor plate. And with the Tenshi’s crack aim, the tiniest opening could be the difference between life and death.
“Fish,” I barked, turning and circling toward the walls, out of the gunfire. “Deal with the soldiers — plasma rifles first then the others. Quickly!”
Alice took up a defensive position behind one of the stone pillars. I rolled behind another, pushing my back against it, listening as the rounds tore chunks out of it behind me, the thunderous chug and whistle of the plasma rounds echoing around the cavern.
I didn’t get any confirmation verbally from Fish, but the curdled cries of the soldiers were enough to let me know that he’d taken the initiative.
I twisted from behind the pillar and circled the room, searching for the Tenshi. I knew staying stationary was going to be a great way to catch a bullet. If they had the sort of reactions to dodge one, standing still would be as good as throwing down our weapons.
Blood spurted into the air and splattered the Iskcara tree. One of the soldiers spun to the ground, throat opened to the spine, letting off a stream of fire into the ceiling. Rock chunks fell like rain.
Fish blinked into existence and then stuttered out again, the light from the tree playing off his cloaked hull, his long wrist blades protruding past his clenched fists glistening with the warm blood of the Free soldiers.
They turned to where they thought he was and fired blindly, only to be cut down from behind. One’s legs buckled, another’s arm careened through the air. A severed head hit the ground, rifles spilled from lifeless hands.
I got to Alice, who was checking her rifle. I couldn’t see Fox or Icarus, but I knew they were out there, and we’d need all three of us to stand a chance. Still, I wasn’t going to underestimate them again. I’d been taken for a ride twice by them, and it wasn’t going to happen a third.
“You and Fish take the big guy,” I panted, feeling the adrenaline spiking regardless of the nanites. “I’ll deal with Fox.”
Her hand clanged into my chest, her cam-dome staring straight at mine, as good as looking me dead in the eyes. “No. We’ll deal with Fox. You take the big guy.”
She didn’t trust me. Maybe didn’t think I had it in me to finish things. But there wasn’t time to argue. Alice was under an impression — I’d lied to her, I’d let Fox go, I’d had lots of opportunities to come clean, and I hadn’t. If I was her, I wouldn’t have trusted me either. I’d deal with Icarus and then, if Fox was still standing, I’d cross that bridge if we got to it.
“Okay,” I said, cool and diligent. “You take Fox, I’ll face Icarus.”
She didn’t say another word before turning and moving toward Fish, who was in the process of chasing down the last of the soldi
ers. He tripped in the dirt, landed on his back and fired wildly into the air over his head. The bullets stopped abruptly and he spat blood into the air. Fish’s blade appeared in his chest, the dead man’s fingers weakly clutching it.
Fish looked up at us, his cam-dome nodding to let us know the job was done, and then he took off toward Alice.
The other six soldiers were still down — unconscious. The ones that Fish had seen to weren’t getting back up. He wasn’t the sort of person to do things by halves.
I walked into the middle of the room, trying to calm myself. If Icarus was packing the same hand-cannon that he had been on Notia, then the bite from it would be enough to pop my cam-dome. But I didn’t have any intention of letting that happen again.
“Icarus,” I called, pushing my revolver back into the holster and shouldering the rifle. It was heavy, and though I trusted Greg’s aim, the weight on the left side, the recoil from his shots, they might be enough to throw off my one-handed aim. And even if that was just by a fraction, it would be enough. I needed to shoot true, and there’d be no room for error.
He stepped out from behind a distant pillar. The tree pulsed twenty meters to my left in the center of the room. Icarus gave it a wide berth and stepped into the light, hands wide, pistol hanging comfortably in its holster. He was grinning, his strong features carved into his face, shadowed by the glow of the tree.
Icarus was commanding my attention, but I saw Fox slip from the column and dash around the back wall. Alice and Fish were already heading her off. Five of us tangling in such close quarters would make things difficult. Too many shots. Too many bodies. Too much to aim at, and too great a chance of a shot going astray and hitting the tree. One bullet might do something — I didn’t know the science of it all, but Iskcara was volatile. A plasma round would probably mean disaster.
The Tenshi cast an eye towards the unconscious soldiers. They still weren’t moving. I didn’t know his game, but I didn’t dare look away.
Icarus smirked a little. “Give up and I’ll make it quick.”
I held the rifle tighter against my shoulder, trying to anticipate his movements. I knew what he was capable of, but I was hoping he was underestimating me. I breathed softly, taking myself off external comms. “You ready for this one, Greg?”
“I am ready, James. We shall not be beaten again.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” But I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to do it.
The barrel of my rifle rose up a little and I twisted, pulling my aim from his left knee up across his midriff, firing as I did, going for center mass, hedging my bets.
He spun and drew, the bullet zipping by his shoulder, and fired quickly, going for my cam-dome. The bullet would have obliterated it had I not already been swinging my rifle. The body traveled upward, between the bullet and my cam-dome just in time to deflect the shot. It pinged off the stock just above the trigger and ricocheted into the air.
I was already moving. Blocking the shot was something he hadn’t expected, but that momentary falter wouldn’t be enough to retaliate. He hadn’t used the pistol much the first time around — savoring the fight. Now it was about cleanness, efficiency.
I started strafing, pulling the rifle back down. The ambient temperature in here was much lower than the surface, and though they were fast and smart, they couldn’t hide their skin.
“Smoke,” I said, not taking my sights off Icarus.
It poured out of my wrists and flooded the area, Greg switching seamlessly to the thermal feeds. The cool blue walls exposed the yellowed form of Icarus, standing still and frozen as he calculated his next move, my huge bulk hidden in the thick smoke. His eyesight might have been perfect, but he couldn’t see through smoke.
He was wearing different armor than before — a body suit that covered him entirely up to his throat. His arms were exposed, though, his legs clad in combat trousers, but not kevlar.
I was about to put his reflexes to the test. I stopped abruptly, letting the smoke wash ahead, and went to a knee, steadying the rifle. Armored or not, the caliber of the round would take him off his feet, and that’s if it didn’t break right through to begin with.
I pulled the trigger and kept it against the stock, pouring bullets into the smoke, raking from right to left, measuring the speed of the sweep with the rounds per second, making sure they were spaced closely enough together so that there’d be no slipping between them.
Icarus watched them come, not moving until he had to.
I watched as the yellowed blob that was the Tenshi leaped upwards and turned effortlessly in the air, his knees tucked to his chest, three meters off the ground, the bullets slicing straight underneath. I’d made them low enough just for that. Coming out of the smoke, he’d see the bullet holes, see their spacing, their speed, see that they couldn’t be slipped between or ducked under, only jumped over.
My revolver was rising, unanticipated, cutting through the smoke, the barrel glowing as my finger depressed the trigger. It happened slowly, between measured breaths, under Greg’s steady grip. He shot almost from the hip, wasting no time. One well-placed shot that blasted through the air on a collision course.
Icarus was still up, spinning — thinking himself invincible. But superhuman or not, he couldn’t argue with physics, and there was nothing to push off from, so there was nowhere to go.
The burning round struck him square in the ribs and exploded in a blast of white light, sending him tumbling sideways with a stifled grunt, his pistol coming loose from his grip.
He went one way and the cannon went the other, landing on the dirt and bouncing into the wall. He hit the ground, smoking and rolling, the smell of burnt flesh hanging in the air.
I dashed forward through the smoke and burst into the open, the revolver still coming up. Icarus was still tumbling, the force of the shot enough to blow apart any normal human, and enough to rattle a Tenshi. I couldn’t tell what damage had been done, but I didn’t think he’d be down for long.
“Greg, the pistol,” I muttered, tearing my attention from Icarus reluctantly.
Greg homed in on it and leveled the revolver. It was against the wall, and despite its obvious quality, another well-placed plasma round obliterated it. The projectile struck it right between the grip and the trigger and chunks of molten metal exploded outward, blackening the wall behind it and sizzling into the sand all around.
I turned my attention back to Icarus. By the time I even turned my head, he was gone — but at least he was disarmed.
I scanned the area, but there was no sign of him, only the trail in the sand where he’d landed. “Greg — where is he?”
“I am looking.”
We turned on our heels and I pushed into the thrusters. His tracks said that he’d circled into the sea of lingering smoke. I needed to be out of the middle of the room, with my back to the wall. I didn’t want to get blindsided. Even without his cannon, he’d shown what he could do.
We landed and turned, backing into the runed and etched wall. He didn’t make us wait long.
He came out of the mist like a wraith, leaping forward and pulling off the still smoldering armor. His left flank from chest to hip was bloodied and raw. The armor had stopped the bullet from penetrating, but the round had done its damage, the intense heat searing the flesh to the muscle and sinew.
He was favoring his good side, but not letting on that he was any less dangerous. I pumped the trigger on the revolver, pinning it on the rifle, and watched through the strobe of muzzle flash as he kept coming, dancing and dodging the rounds like a ghost.
He was close now. Too close to anticipate. Too close to shoot. But I knew his game. He was going to get inside my reach, get up on my rig, and decapitate me. He’d go for the cam-dome. The rest of my new rig was well armored, the plate breaks too small for him to get between, the seams too strongly welded to snap open.
I lagged a shot, skipped a trigger pull on the revolver, and let my aim drop on the rifle, bringing him in stra
ight. A revolver round past his right knee kept him pounding toward me.
In the second he jumped I pulled my hands out of the haptic gloves and hit the emergency hatch release with the heel of my hand.
The hatch shot open and I leaped up out of the seat, seeing Icarus rising toward me. My fist clenched and shot outward, hooking towards the ceiling, the nanites doing their work, measuring the angles, calculating the paths. My fist was clenched like an iron lump. Glaavus said that the healed sections would be stronger than before. I was about to put that to the test. My shoulder whined like turning gears, and my gloved hand came up, the reinforced knuckle pads shining in the glow of the tree.
Icarus’ hands extended, opened, zeroed in on my throat, retargeting mid-flight. Where the camera dome had been, my head now was, but that’s how I wanted it.
My heel found the pilot’s seat and I sprang upward toward him. We connected at the same instant, his hands on my collar, and my fist on his chin.
Pain rippled through my wrist and arm, his jaw harder than stone.
His head snapped back and then bounced forward, the force of his jump shunting me backward into the seat, his hands closing about my throat. We landed awkwardly inside the cockpit and my hands went for his elbows, my chest heaving, dragging air in through the pinhole under his thumbs.
Though, that was exactly where I wanted him. I locked onto his arms with all the strength I had, and let Greg do what he did best — thinking for himself.
His huge steel hand swung up outside of Icarus’ peripheral vision; his eyes were locked on my helmet, his teeth bared, flecks of saliva hitting my visor. He was rattled, getting sloppy. He didn't like getting hit, and his mind wasn’t straight. He wasn’t thinking, at least not enough to realize just how autonomous Greg was.
His hand enveloped Icarus, his thumb looping across the ragged flesh under his arm. His palm laid across his back, his fingers looping around his other flank — three fingers across the rips, one over the shoulder — and locked on.