‘I do believe I heard the dulcet tones of Bess a moment ago,’ said
Malvery, and chuckled. He lifted himself up and looked over his shoulder out the window. ‘Look at ’em run.’
‘Need you in the back, Doc,’ said Silo. ‘It’s Harkins.’
Malvery became grim, and he got to his feet and hustled past Silo, through the doorway. Silo went to the windows. Beyond, the fires crackled and snapped, and snow was still falling, blanketing the bodies in the courtyard.
Thrusters sounded in the distance. Even muffled, he recognised the sound of Blackmore P-12s. The Ketty Jay was on her way.
I did what I could, Cap’n, he thought. Rest is up to you.
‘I can’t see shit up here!’ Samandra yelled down from the cupola.
‘You and me both!’ Frey replied. It hadn’t stopped him from flying recklessly fast. He’d wasted enough time already.
The Ketty Jay had been slow to wake in the cold. He’d only got her running by using a trick from the old days, before Trinica had his craft overhauled and everything started working as it should. His toe still hurt from that.
Below him and to starboard lay the hamlet. Half the south side was aflame. Nearby, the tangled remains of the generator burned bright in the gloom. He saw one wrecked gunship, but not the other. Belatedly it occurred to him that he should have asked Malvery what the situation was down there, but his earcuff was deep in his pocket and he couldn’t spare the time to dig for it right now.
Is everyone alright down there? Is Crake? Am I already too late?
He slowed and banked to port, searching the blizzard for the second gunship. He spotted the landing pad where the Century Knights’ aircraft waited, mantled in white. There were no troops in sight, but they’d left churned snow in their wake. He followed their tracks with his eye and found Bess, carving a trench across the meadows. Ahead of her, barely visible, frightened figures stumbled and hurried in the direction of the lander which had brought them here.
They’re running, he thought, and hope fluttered inside him. Did we win?
‘Frey! Ten o’clock!’ Samandra called.
It was the second Predator, dropping out of the grey sky, guns angled downward. It wasn’t facing them: the pilot hadn’t seen them yet. The guns were trained on Bess.
Frey boosted the thrusters and hammered towards the Predator. Bess could hold up to small-arms fire well enough, but those cannons would take her to pieces. The pilot was intent on the target, lining up the shot, as Frey raced closer.
Hang on, hang on, just a second more.
But it was a second he didn’t get. The pilot opened up, a hail of bullets lashed through the air, and Bess disappeared in a cloud of vaporised snow.
‘No!’ Frey cried, and he clamped his finger down on the trigger. Tracer fire spat from the Ketty Jay’s underslung machine guns, raking the Predator’s flank, chewing up its ailerons. The craft slewed wildly to starboard, bringing the cockpit into Frey’s line of fire. The windglass smashed and the pilot inside was chopped to meat. Still turning, the Predator dipped its head and its thrusters forced it down, grinding its nose into the earth. It crinkled and exploded in a rolling cloud of flame.
Frey slowed and banked hard, bringing the Ketty Jay around. He had to see what had become of Bess. He’d never been certain whether he thought of her as a living thing or a disposable object, but right then her safety was deeply important to him. He was still uncertain about the fate of his crew, and he dreaded to face his losses. Every survivor was precious. Even the golem.
Come on, Bess. You’re a tough old girl. You’ll be alright. Please be alright.
The snow filled his sight, flurrying against the windglass. The meadows were hazy with fog thrown up by the Predator’s gun. He squinted, looking closer. Was that movement? Was that — ?
Bess!
She came lumbering out of the cloud, turning left and right, searching for Awakeners with the puzzled enthusiasm of a child looking for lost toys. They were all out of sight now, leaving her bewildered but apparently unhurt. The gunship had missed.
Frey let out the breath he’d been holding.
‘Aircraft!’ Samandra shouted.
Frey tensed. The lander! How had it got airborne so quickly? It must have been already halfway to taking off by the time he arrived. They were leaving their men behind in their haste to flee.
Frantically he searched for it. If the lander got away, then all their efforts would be for nothing. The Awakeners would never imagine Frey’s crew capable of capturing an Imperator and forcing information from them, but if the Century Knights were known to be involved, matters were different. The Sentinels would tell the Awakeners what had occurred, and the Awakeners would know their plans had been compromised and change them. But if nobody returned, the Awakeners would simply assume their ambush had failed, or something unforeseen had occurred on the way; there would be no cause to alter anything.
A growing bellow of engines. The lander came thundering out of the blizzard and over their heads, a dark slab of metal flung through the sky.
‘Shoot it!’ Frey cried, but the autocannon was already thumping. He hauled the Ketty Jay around, knowing it was already too late to catch them. He couldn’t turn and accelerate in time, and if he lost sight of them in the snow he’d never find them again.
The back end of the lander came into view, its thrusters diminishing into the gloom. Autocannon shells flew after it. None of them came close to hitting the mark.
‘You’re worse than Malvery!’ Frey shouted in exasperation. He hit the throttle, but the lander was already a grey blur, powering away over the hamlet. He watched it despairingly as it faded from view.
Just before it disappeared completely, its back end exploded.
Frey’s eyes widened in surprise as a ball of flame consumed the lander’s thrusters. It slowed and went into a shallow dive, sailing over the hamlet to disappear into the chasm beyond. There was an almighty detonation, and the chasm lit up along its length. After that, silence, but for the sound of the Ketty Jay’s Blackmore P-12s.
Frey braked to a hover and fell back in his chair. ‘Good shot!’ he called up to the cupola.
‘Wasn’t me, that’s for damn sure. Can barely aim this thing,’ said Samandra, a grin in her voice. ‘Guess we can be sure that Colden is alive down there.’
Grudge. Grudge had taken it down. The thought of the Century Knight brought the possibility of other survivors to mind. He dug out his earcuff and clipped it on.
‘Malvery! Crake! You still there?’
‘Just about,’ said Crake. ‘You ever blown yourself up with dynamite before? It’s quite a thing.’
Frey laughed, relief making him lightheaded. ‘You get ’em?’
‘We got them. Got most of what we needed, too. But you’re not going to like it.’
‘Tell me later. Malvery?’
‘Me, Silo and Ashua still kicking, Cap’n,’ came the doctor’s voice. Frey could have cheered for joy. ‘Harkins took a hit, though.’
Frey’s silent celebration stalled. ‘Bad?’
‘Got a bullet across his scalp. Bled like a stuck pig and it knocked him out, but he’s come round now. Reckon he’ll be fine. Feller’s got a thicker skull than we gave him credit for.’
There was a fondness in Malvery’s tone that warmed him. There was a bond between this crew, a kind of companionship he’d never known elsewhere. He was so immensely glad he hadn’t lost that today.
Rot and damn, they’d really done it. They’d come through the Awakeners’ ambush alive. He could scarcely believe it.
Up yours, Amalicia, he thought, giddy with triumph. Nice try, but you lose.
Then something brought him up short. The count wasn’t right. Somebody was missing. It took him a shamefully long time to remember who.