The Burning Skies

Jesus Christ,” says Garrick.

“What the fuck is it?” asks Lynx. “A secret weapon,” says the Operative.

One that bears an uncanny resemblance to a miniature brontosaurus. Four legs sprouting off an elongated body that narrows into a kind of head. It seems more organic than mechanic. It doesn’t even seem to be made of metal. More like …

“Is that skin?” asks Sarmax.

“Let’s not get carried away,” says the Operative. “This thing’s pretty much a tweaked-up Mark IIB crawler.”

“Some tweak,” says Garrick.

“Fuck, I hope so,” says the Operative. “It’s pretty much soundless. And what looks like skin is actually a kind of grown plastic. The latest camo alloys we could dream up.”

“Have they put this thing into production yet?” asks Lynx.

“No,” says the Operative. “It’s a prototype. The Remoraz.”

“How did it perform in field testing?”

“Who said it had been field tested?”

“Let’s load up,” says Sarmax.

They start unloading their containers, slotting pieces of machinery into the machine that crouches before them.

• • •

Almost makes me wish we were still part of Carson’s entourage,” says Linehan. “No it doesn’t,” says Spencer.

“I said almost.”

But even when the Europa Platform was running like clockwork, this place probably wasn’t a destination spot. It’s basically a single room, a bunker that bulges out slightly from the curved edge of the asteroid. Narrow windows slice through the walls on all sides. And in those windows …

“Did you see the expression on his face?” asks Linehan.

“Whose?”

“The sergeant’s. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

“What the hell did you think he was going to do, break out a flask and share it with us?”

“He could have at least said thanks.”

“Linehan. We’re in a fucking war. No one says thanks. All they say is go here and die.”

“And here we are.”

“With the only suspense being whether we’ll even see it coming.”

Though they certainly have a good enough view. Protruding over one end of the sharply curved horizon are the topmost ramparts of the gun-towers that form the inner perimeter around the hangar. The fact that they’re only just visible gives the two onlookers a sense of just how far out on the edge of things they are. The view in the other direction confirms it: a couple of strategically placed mirrors extend the line of sight into the field of fire of the Helios, show the asteroid falling away along a slope of rock and metal. Beyond that’s the mammoth hulking shape of the cylinder itself, the nearer parts illuminated by the sun, the farther parts largely in shadow, though visible nonetheless as a gigantic shape carved among the stars.

Spencer blinks.

“Did you see something move?” he asks.

“You’re imagining things,” says Linehan.

“I don’t think so,” says Spencer, and downloads the vid-feed he’s just taken to Linehan. “Take a look at that.”

Linehan does. Frowns. “That’s just a shadow— oh.”

“See what I mean?”

“What the fuck is it?”

“Whatever it is, it’s gone now.”

“The way it was moving—almost looked like some kind of animal.”

“In a vacuum? I don’t think so.”

“At least it was heading away from us.”

“If it comes back this way, we nail it,” says Spencer. He makes some adjustments to the control board that’s connected to the plasma minicannon mounted beneath their feet. Linehan snorts.

“How many shots do you think we’re gonna get off with that thing?”

“One if we’re lucky,” says Spencer.

Get your foot out of my ear,” says Sarmax. “Sorry,” replies the Operative. “Any way you can move your left arm back a little farther?” says Lynx.

“I’m trying,” says Sarmax.

Though he doesn’t have much room to maneuver. None of them do. It’s a tight fit, especially since they’ve got a lot of equipment and the Operative has insisted they keep their suits on. He’s driving. He’s pushed himself forward, into the head/cockpit. Sarmax is ensconsed in the midquarter, Lynx in the rear. Screens are slung all around them, showing the corridors through which they’re creeping. They started off across the exterior of the asteroid—and then cut back inward, crawled up a long network of elevator shafts. It’s heavy going. And conditions inside aren’t making it any easier.

“So maybe we should talk about the mission,” says Lynx.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” says the Operative.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“We saw how far that got us earlier,” mutters Sarmax.

“Hey man, I’m clean now. Superbitch scrubbed me.”

“She should have cauterized your mouth while she was at it.”

The Remoraz keeps moving. So far they’ve avoided combat, but not without some close shaves. Once some nano flew by while they sat there, frozen—swirled past them without noticing that they weren’t just some lumpy feature of the shaft-walls. Another time they saw some droids hauling what looked like a piece of artillery. They weren’t about to put it to a close inspection. But the overall picture’s clear enough. The Rain are building up hardware all along the Praetorian perimeter.

But this thing they’re in seems to have made it through the siege lines. They’re now near the axis of the asteroid, moving through rooms in which the first round of fighting took place. Ripped-apart Praetorians are everywhere. Holes pock-mark the walls. The Operative switches gears, transitions into zero-G mode. A faint vibration passes through the craft.

“Normally a little louder inside a crawler,” says Sarmax.

“Nothing’s normal about this thing,” says the Operative.

He’s not kidding. Background noise is virtually nonexistent within the Remoraz’s cramped compartments. But the movement of the craft keeps humming against them all the same. It’s almost as if it’s sidling along somehow—a loping rhythm that starts to permeate the brain. A rhythm that’s getting all the more insistent now that they’re making their way through shattered walls and into …

“Check it out,” says the Operative

“Do you know a way through?” asks Lynx.

“Gonna have to improvise.”

Or just get lucky. The asteroid staved in the entire south end of the cylinder, turning a chunk of itself to rubble in the process. Any trail that now winds through that rock probably wasn’t a trail to start with. But the