Interceptor City, page 40
It missed by half a yard, and lay sputtering on the platform.
Holy Throne, what’s wrong with you? Your hands are useless. Your aim is shot! You stupid–
She took a hasty step forward to kick the flare into the powder trail. But a red, windblown spark had already spat into the mag-phos.
It went up. It went up with even greater fury than she was braced for. The flash was blinding, bright white like a star, and the heat a sudden wall. She cried out, and fell over backwards, shielding her face, scrambling away.
The powder trail combusted, a bright, rolling surge of incandescent fire. It raced back to the planted decoy, and then rushed out along the powder trails on either side until it felt like the entire platform was on fire. The charging animals were caught in the inferno as it sprang up. Some were engulfed entirely. Others staggered, coats ablaze, rolling and thrashing. One, its back on fire, ran clean off the edge of the platform in its panic to escape. Those still behind the white-hot wall whimpered and howled, and cringed back.
Then the planted decoy cooked off. It detonated like a bomb in a vicious starburst, a blast big enough and hot enough to betray a racing heat-seeker.
She saw dogs lifted into the air, seared by flame. The whining became shrill, a terrible scream.
But though mag-phos burned ultra-hot and ultra-fierce, it also burned fast. The bright white fury died away in seconds. The platform was littered with burned carcasses, and crawling, half-scorched things. In the stairwell doorway, the canids that had been driven back in fear began to pad forward again. They sniffed and growled at the scorch marks and the lifting smoke. A couple began to devour one of the roasted corpses. The others began to wander forward, yapping, their dead eyes fixed on her.
Jagdea took out the last decoy. She peeled back a little of the serrated tear-band, but there was no way to throw it and yank the strip off at the same time. The hounds were approaching, their whining intolerable. She jammed a stick flare into the decoy’s broken seal, tip-first, her tired, locked hands fumbling, then pulled the tab on the other end and threw the whole thing as the stick flare lit.
It landed among the leading dogs, distracting them. They slowed, and hesitated, eyeing the throbbing red glare suspiciously. But it wasn’t hot. Stick flares didn’t burn very hot. There was nothing to be afraid of.
But it was hot enough. The last decoy blew. Another giant starburst, so cruelly bright it hurt her eyes. It showered incendiary mag-phos on the brutes, blowing two over, igniting others.
‘Get away from me!’ Jagdea yelled. ‘Get the frig away from me! There’s more where that came from!’
She was lying. The surviving dogs, milling in panic and anger, didn’t know that. They didn’t understand her. To them, she was just noisy meat.
The light of the last countermeasure died away, leaving a dribble of flame, a haze of smoke and a reek of charred flesh.
The canids, and there were still about a dozen, resumed their advance. They were wary now, hackles up. They didn’t like pain, or heat, and the light hurt their eyes. But they liked food.
The whining grew in intensity. Jagdea wasn’t sure how the remaining monsters could be making such a loud, continuous noise. She knew she’d played it bravely, but played it wrong. She should’ve torched the stairwell, and caught the entire pack in it, but she hadn’t wanted to annihilate her only way back down. She couldn’t trap herself on the roof platform.
Except, that’s how it had ended up anyway.
She turned her back on the dogs, their whining in her ears, and began to walk towards the edge. Her last dogfight. It had been far too literal and not at all what she had ever expected. It had not ended the way she had hoped.
The wind rose, and blew up in her face, almost driving her backwards. Jagdea covered her face. The true source of the whining slowly rose into view beyond the lip of the platform.
It was Saint Sabbat Beati.
Saint Sabbat Beati, clad in golden plate and selpic-blue robes, wielding a flaming sword.
Saint Sabbat Beati, painted on the nose shield of an Aeronautica Imperialis Avenger Strike Fighter, right above the immense, under-snout rotator cannon.
The hook-winged, twin-engined brute rose vertically, its ducts screaming. The scream of wolves. Jagdea stared at it in absolute astonishment.
A voice boomed over the speaker.
‘Get the frig down!’
She dropped into a ball, on her knees with her arms wrapped over her head. The bolt cannon kicked off above her, a roaring, drilling, cycling howl that rattled her skull, her bones, and seemed to quake the entire platform. She felt the heat of a massive muzzle flash. She felt the platform shudder as the hail of explosive rounds raked across it.
The firing ceased. The rotating drum squealed to a halt. The world stopped vibrating. The air was thick with fyceline discharge. She was half-deaf, but she could still hear the ducts whining.
She raised her head, and looked behind her. The top of the stairwell was gone, along with the derelict portico of the passenger dock shelter that had adjoined it. The entire structure, along with the portion of the platform around it, was chewed away, a smoking, cratered ruin. The dogs had vanished, atomised, except for a few hanks of smouldering flesh.
She turned from the devastation and looked up. The Avenger had risen a little higher, sliding sideways on its shrieking ducts. The downdraught was so fierce, she could barely look at it.
‘Pilot Officer Jagdea?’ the speaker blared.
‘Yes,’ she said. Then she raised her hand, because there was no way the crew could hear her.
‘Stay put,’ the speaker boomed. ‘Stay on-site. Your location is marked. Medivalk recovery inbound, four minutes out. Do you understand?’
She raised her hand again.
‘Copy that,’ the speaker echoed. ‘The Emperor protects.’
The whining increased in pitch. The ground-attack bird rose higher, tilted, and began to pull away, climbing towards the patch of sky.
Jagdea eased herself to the deck, and sat cross-legged, head bowed.
‘Well, someone does,’ she said.
DAY –
Medivalk, time unknown
‘What day is it?’ she asked.
The medicae corpsman triaging her was hooking up another hydration pack. He glanced down at her.
‘What day?’ she repeated.
He told her.
‘Three days,’ she murmured. She’d been gone three days.
The corpsman started to clean and dress her hands, which had stiffened into bloody claws. He’d told her his name, but she’d forgotten. His green flightsuit had patches woven onto it. Aeronautica. Intercept 52. Same as the recovery Valk she was riding in. Same as the Avenger that had found her.
The corpsman said something as he applied orange counterseptic wash with a sponge. She couldn’t hear him over the drone of the Valk’s engines.
‘What?’ she asked. She was woozy. He’d given her shots.
‘I said, you were lucky, pilot officer,’ he said, preparing a wrap of synth-flesh.
She was. She knew it. An odd, unfriendly luck that took as much as it gave. She felt the Valkyrie banking steadily. It was running fast. Daylight was flickering through the compartment ports, but she couldn’t see out because she was strapped back on the deck-clamped gurney. All she could see was the low ceiling, and his helmet and glare visor as he worked over her. The visor was a black mirror, like floodwater.
‘Where am I?’ she asked.
‘Safe,’ he said. ‘In flight.’
‘Where was I?’ she asked.
The corpsman was busy with her hands. ‘Try to stay quiet,’ he said.
‘Where was I?’ she asked.
‘Vobiscum,’ he said.
Vobiscum… Vobiscum… that was a district way out to the north-east reach of Vesperus. Way out. One forty, one fifty miles east of Machinko. Probably two hundred north-east of the Campanile. So far. The ram-ride had carried her so far.
‘So far,’ she murmured.
The corpsman nodded.
‘How did you find me?’ she asked.
‘I really need you to shut up and rest,’ he said. ‘You’re banged about, extremely fatigued, dangerously dehydrated–’
‘And lucky,’ she said.
‘And that. So just stop talking and rest.’
‘Then tell me,’ she said. ‘Please. Then I can stop asking.’
‘We picked up the signal from your beacon,’ he said, calibrating a handheld imager. ‘We’d been running sweeps, wider and wider. One of our Avengers picked it up in the end. Tail Forty. You weren’t at the down site, but then the Avenger crew saw a flare. A mag-phos burn. They found you, and called us in.’
He started to run the imager over her head.
‘No one thought you’d made it,’ he said, ‘but no one was giving up. You’ve had recovery sweeps from just about every Intercept up looking for you these last few days. Six-Six put out the call. Everyone put birds up. But you were a long way out, well outside the range projection. It was luck in the end. Just luck Tail Forty picked up the chirp.’
‘So far…’ she murmured.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘A long way. Everyone thought you were lost. They should have scaled back the search, really. But there wasn’t a deck officer in Vesperus who wanted to make that call.’
‘Why?’
‘And risk leaving the hero of the Zoph to die? Seriously?’
Jagdea shut her eyes, and shook her head weakly.
‘We’re running you straight back to Six-Six,’ the corpsman told her. ‘Direct. You understand? You’re going home.’
She nodded.
‘Tail Forty,’ she said.
‘Say again?’
‘Tail Forty? The Avenger?’
‘Tail Forty,’ he said. ‘Beautiful Beati. That’s who found you. Pilot Officer Omar Omarti and Warfare Officer Olga Hodd.’
‘Thank them for me.’
‘I will.’
‘You run Avengers out of Five-Two?’
‘We run anything and everything they send us,’ the corpsman said, checking the imager’s data. ‘Avengers aren’t really fit for purpose out here, but the crews have evolved practices. Hunting in the low hive for surface advances. And operating as ambush predators. They stay low, then pop up when the bats come through. Surprisingly effective. It’s mostly street-level operation. Probably why they found you.’
Jagdea sighed. Her breathing was thready and short. Finding ways to use whatever ill-suited tools they send us, she thought. Learning and adapting. Where have I heard that before?
‘How are things at Five-Two?’ she asked.
He shrugged, and braced his hand on a stanchion as the Valk banked again.
‘Business as usual,’ he said.
‘What about… what about stats? Losses?’
‘Average. By which I mean, high and nasty. You know how it is out here, pilot officer.’
‘I mean… unusual losses. Unexplained losses.’
His glare visor was down, but she could tell he was frowning. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.
She didn’t know how to ask the question. She didn’t even know how he was supposed to reply, even if he knew the answer.
‘I heard things were bad at Five-Two,’ she said. ‘Someone said. Bad mood. Low morale. Ugly.’
‘This is Vesperus,’ he replied. ‘It’s like that everywhere, isn’t it? Now I really need you to stop talking and rest. Your vitals are low, and I need to push more fluids.’
He moved out of her direct vision. She realised he was starting to cut her out of her filthy compression suit.
‘Don’t do that!’ she said, jerking up against the gurney restraints.
‘Relax. I need to get this off you.’
‘I might need it!’ she cried.
He laughed. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said. ‘But not now. When the time comes, someone will find you another one.’
‘But–’
‘Please.’
She lay back and let him work.
‘How are things at Six-Six?’ she asked.
‘I don’t have any information on that,’ she heard him say.
‘Did Lead Garrant–’
The corpsman moved back into view.
‘You really need to rest,’ he said, with greater emphasis. ‘All this talking. You’re coming back from a long way out.’
She saw him prepping an injector shot.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Just relax.’
‘Don’t–’
The injector pushed in.
DAY 101
Infirmary, Intercept 66, Vesperus, time unknown
She woke, briefly, several times. Once on a gurney as it bumped and rattled. Then under moving ceiling lamps. Then in an unfamiliar place that seemed familiar all the same. She drifted in and out, but most of the time she was out.
She woke, and heard monitors beeping, and saw the Six-Six infirmary and Med Stanslaf.
‘There you are,’ he said.
She tried to speak, but her mouth was gummed up. He supported the back of her head, and helped her sip from a spouted flask.
‘We kept you under,’ he told her. ‘Just to get you stable and rehydrated. Pull those vitals back up. You’re going to feel shit for a few days at least. Concussion, exposure. But good news… no major injury or infection. You were lucky, Driver.’
‘So they keep telling me,’ she slurred.
‘I mean, really lucky,’ he said. ‘Frigging miracle Five-Two picked you up after all that time. And I swear by the Throne I have no idea how you walked away from that down.’
‘The Emperor protects,’ she said.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I made a deal,’ she said.
Stanslaf frowned. ‘Let’s… get you resting so you can clear your head,’ he said. He picked up an injector.
‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘It’s just–’
‘Don’t put me under again. Just let me lie here.’
‘All right,’ he said, and put the injector on the tray. ‘But I’m maintaining fluids, and I’m going to give you something for the pain. Just to take the edge off. Your good luck continues.’ He picked up a pharm carton and shook it proudly. ‘Fresh supplies. Not expired shit.’
Jagdea blinked.
‘The replenishment carry came in,’ she said.
‘Finally,’ he said, nodding. ‘Three days ago. Fuel load, munitions, consumables, everything.’
‘Has it gone again?’ she asked.
‘Of course. Overnight turnaround.’
‘I was supposed to leave on it. I was supposed to leave on it with Gumm.’
‘Nothing we can do about that,’ he said.
She turned her head and looked around. The other cots in the infirmary were empty.
‘They took Wilzar?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Driver. They took Wilzar. He’s back in the hive-plex. They’ll take good care of him.’
‘Was he awake before he left? Did he say anything?’
Stanslaf shook his head. ‘Induced coma. Smoke wasn’t talking at all.’
She heard the door open. Badler approached her cot. There was an odd look on his thin face. Deck Dampier stood at his eight.
‘It’s good to see you back,’ said Badler. It actually sounded like he meant it.
Jagdea hoisted herself up on her elbows. Stanslaf started to protest, and then gave up and helped her settle on her pillows in a raised position.
‘The carry came in,’ said Jagdea.
‘Yes,’ said Badler.
‘I was supposed to leave on that,’ said Jagdea. ‘Me and Gumm. Back to Orison. We had a deal with Garrant.’
‘We couldn’t hold it here,’ said Dampier.
‘And you were missing,’ said Badler. ‘Driver… operational profiles have shifted a little. You wouldn’t have been going back anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘We need pilots,’ said Dampier. ‘I’m sorry, Driver, but that’s the way it is. As soon as you’re rated fit again. We’re down several sticks–’
‘I had an agreement with Garrant,’ said Jagdea.
‘And Six-Six have new instructs,’ said Badler.
‘I want to talk to Garrant,’ she said.
Badler hesitated. He looked uncomfortably at Dampier. Her face remained set.
‘Asa didn’t make it,’ Dampier said.
‘What… What do you mean, he didn’t make it?’ asked Jagdea.
‘Lead Garrant didn’t survive the scrap at Machinko,’ said Badler.
‘I saw him eject!’ said Jagdea. ‘I saw the chute!’
‘He ejected,’ said Badler, ‘but…’
‘Recovery found him,’ said Dampier. ‘Impact with a building after bail-out. Severe trauma. Broken neck. It was probably quick.’
‘I saw the chute…’ Jagdea whispered.
‘Badler is now acting lead of Six-Six,’ said Dampier.
‘Congratulations,’ said Jagdea. ‘I had an agreement with Garrant.’
Badler cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry, pilot officer,’ he said. ‘I’m not in a position to honour any informal agreement you may or may not have had with Lead Garrant. Even if you’d been here when the replenishment arrived, I would not have authorised your release. That’s just the way it is. I need sticks.’
Jagdea stared at him until he was forced to look away.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘It really doesn’t matter. I had decided to stay anyway. It would have been a courtesy to get a choice in it, Badler. But I had already decided to stay. I made a deal.’
‘With… Lead Garrant?’
‘No, Lead Badler,’ she said. ‘Another deal. A different deal.’
