REVENANT

  The access elevator comes to a stop with a ding, a green light blinking in the corner of the door. Then, the door whooshes open, revealing a portal to a furious dimension of wind and sand. The rush of air is deafening. Fine grains of thickly clustered sand spin and thrash in an insane vortex. Beneath the layer of sand, shiny, smooth chrome sections of the actual roof of the ship gleam through.

  I activate my thermal vision, peering into and through the turbulent storm. Little, faintly glowing red orbs are scattered around, hiding in dozens of tufts of sand across the massive domed roof of the ship.

  That crafty bitch. And of course, there's no way for me to communicate with Echo, no way to warn him. Artifice has seen to that.

  The ship’s trajectory suddenly levels off, creating an almost dreamlike calm. There's still a steady rush of air, but now it’s more like a river than a vortex—a comparatively calm river.

  The sky is clear, a dark troop of ridgeback mountains framing the horizon. Above that, against the grey-blue sky, a dark, insect-like cluster of Corsair ships. Coming in fast.

  A series of grinding clunks echo from within the hull beneath my feet. All across the roof, massive sentry turrets extend upward, rotating to aim in the direction of the Corsair ships.

  These are the same turrets that were used to shoot down all those MALAK drones, back when the HERALD touched down. That was when the ship was still submerged in the ground.

  The tops of the turrets are sloped, made of the same armor-plating material as the rest of the ship’s exterior. While dormant, they couldn't be attacked or sabotaged. Now, the turrets are exposed.

  And now those red orbs in the sand are beginning to move. Only, they’re not just red orbs. Out in the open, bursting from their sandy hiding places, I can see them for what they are. Shiny, glinting beetles, scuttling their way across the roof. Dozens of them, heading straight for the turrets.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Activating one of my latent auxiliary protocols, I make my boots magnetic so I don’t fall off the ship, and I rush forward. The Sand Beetles are explosive, designed to carry a payload more than anything else. Their shiny armor is bulletproof—really tough to get past. Salvo alone won’t be enough.

  I make use of a hard-won skill of mine: Synthesis, which allows me to combine two of my Protocols together. Blast and Salvo, in this case.

  I summon a pistol in each hand. The plates and joint components of the pistols split apart, held together by yellow glowing lines that connect the seams, running all the way from the handle to bore.

  I pull back one of the hammers, checking to make sure the bullets have Printed properly. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. But no—there it is in the chamber. Both the bullet and the casing are bright yellow, practically incandescent.

  I let the hammer slam back into place. Aiming at two scurrying beetles at once, I pull the triggers. The muzzles flash, bright with little plasma charges. The plasma projectiles fly, hitting each of the beetles and boring through their protective plating, making them explode in a flash of fire and bright metal shrapnel.

  I immediately take aim at two more. I need to act quickly if I’m going to mitigate the damage to the ship’s guns.

  Something hits me in the side. Something sharp and multi-faceted, bifurcating as it travels up and down my midsection. Too late, my OS hits me with a hazard proximity warning. I seize up, fingers on end, dropping my pistols as I fall to my knees. My vision flickers as dozens of Biodroids pop into existence just a few paces in front of me. Most of them are Corsairs, adorned in black combat fatigues, outfitted with rifles and pistols and grenades. Black masks cover their faces. On their chests are two little emblems, one of which I recognize as a type of shield tech. If I had to guess, the other one is some kind of advanced camo tech.

  At the head of the Corsairs, nearest me, are Parallax and Artifice. Parallax with her glowing purple plasma staves, her black cape flowing in the wind behind her. The tails of Artifice’s long duster coat mirror the movements of Parallax’s cape, flapping in the window like two flags behind her.

  Artifice reaches up and grabs the set of goggles over her eyes, lifting them and resting them on her forehead.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I did tell you I was cooking something up, didn’t I?”