As the Charis rises rapidly from the canyon, out of the line of fire, I wrench at the coupling that joins the wagons together. But it’s useless, the thing is solid metal, the hydraulic screws locked tight and without my pistol…
There’s a cry. Turning my head in the rushing air, I see a mare racing alongside me once again. It struggles to keep speed, overloaded with G’hals; Rat is driving, Bui is balancing on the seat and behind her, bloodied and torn but alive, are Malady Falco and Pegeen.
‘Move!’ Bui bellows, as the automatic gun spins. On her shoulder is a blaster. With my last strength, I scramble back onto the Slug’s platform and cover my head as she pulls the trigger.
The explosion smashes into me, sending shards of hot metal and burning plastic flying. The coupling blows with an ear-splitting shriek and – with a crash that nearly sends me plummeting from the side – the Slug is free. I look up to see the rest of the Air Line carriages speeding away, the distance already increasing. On the mare, Bui aims the blaster once more, this time at the automatic gun.
The explosion shakes the Slug violently, and acrid smoke pours from the apertures, like a creature heaving out its dying breaths. A second later the door flies open and a gunner staggers onto the platform.
I trip them up, throwing them from the edge. Bui is ready; she pulls a smoke grenade from her coat and throws it towards me. I catch it and – before anyone can figure out what is happening – toss it inside the body of the Slug.
Within moments, it is chaos. There are cries from within, the whine of the malfunctioning gun systems, barked orders. Dragging the bandages over my nose and mouth, I stumble inside, trying to stay low. Screens and panels light the darkness a feverish red, more tech than I have seen for years. Eight soldiers: some of them crawl towards the air, others are arming weapons or trying to override the automatic guns. One sees me and brings up their gun, but I drive my elbow into their sternum and they collapse to the floor, wheezing. The smoke burns my own lungs, makes my injured chest heave, but I fight my way on.
There, at the very rear of the carriage, is an internal compartment protected by a thick door. I pull at it, trying not to breathe, but it’s shut firm. In rage, I see a lock, flashing red.
I grab the soldier I sent down, dragging her back by the jacket. She fights back but I swing, driving my fist into her nose. She sags, groaning, but I haul up one of her limp arms, pressing her thumb against the lock.
With a hiss, the door gives.
‘General?’ I choke, pulling the mask from my mouth.
In one corner of the bare, black-walled cell, a figure huddles. The General, her face bruised and bloodless. She looks at me in horror, in hope.
‘Low?’ she whispers.
Smiling wildly, I pull her to her feet. The Slug lurches and jolts to a stop and she falls against me.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘What do you think?’ I say, my eyes burning. ‘Come on, we must—’
She jerks back. ‘Don’t touch me.’
I look at her closer. She’s shaking as if with fever. Lost in her memories again? As I reach out to take her arm, I hear it: a low drone from above, the noise of powerful engines.
‘They’re here,’ she says, eyes huge. ‘The Air Fleet. They have come, just as I ordered.’
Cold wraps my heart, but the General is already moving, stooping to grab the pistol from the soldier who moans outside the door.
I follow at a run.
Together, we stagger through the smoke-filled darkness of the Slug. Two soldiers slump over the panels, unconscious, I hope; the others must have fled the grenades. We burst into the light. The Slug has come to a stop at the very end of the canyon, and all around us is carnage; smoke and soldiers downed by the G’hals, blood in the dust.
‘Doc!’ Falco yells, staring above my head.
I turn. Six hard slaps of silver against the white sky and one dark blot; Air Fleet fighters speeding towards the Charis.
‘No,’ I gasp, but it’s already happening, the terrible vision the Ifs showed me. Two of the fighters split off and strafe the ship’s sides, aiming for the fuel tanks. With an explosion like a bellow, the Charis drops from the sky, engines screaming. At the last moment Silas pulls up out of the descent, but it’s too late. The ship meets the ground with a sickening, deafening impact. I choke and stumble forwards. Through the pall of dust I see that the Charis’s windshield is shattered, smoke rising from the twisted metal of the sides, that in the pilot’s seat, a figure with black, untidy hair slumps, lifeless.
Someone is yelling for me to run. Dazed, eyes burning with tears, I look around as the fighters bank and return, as one of them splits off, and – engines blasting – descends to the dust.
I can’t see, can’t think, all I can do is watch as the fighters fly low, strafing the area. The G’hals run for the mare, Falco covering them, firing wildly into the sky. Then, charges explode, and with a cry and a splatter of blood she spins to the dirt.
‘Falco!’ I lunge towards her, only to stop dead.
The cold mouth of a gun has been jammed hard against my skull, in the killing spot.
‘Don’t move,’ the General orders over the engines, her voice breaking.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What I have to.’ There’s a whine, as the pistol charges up.
