IN THE DISTANCE, SHULGI’S soldiers shouted, “A sail! A sail!”
Shulgi squinted upriver. A blue sail with a white circle—his breath left him in a groan. Susa. Her sail, her barge, heavily laden and low in the water. This changed everything. Susa would see his delay in dealing with the monster as hesitation and interpret it as weakness.
He’d waited too long. Time to attack.
* * *
The Peach skidded across the fields, raking through the crops and throwing a plume of dirt high into the air. It tore through a grove of pistachios and almonds. When it hit a rocky outcropping, the fuselage cracked and split, spilling foam. The two pieces spun and flipped, finally coming to rest in a wide drainage ditch.
Minh clawed to consciousness in darkness, entirely swaddled in foam, with messages, feeds, alerts, and alarms all begging for attention. She slapped them all down, kicked hard, and peeled herself out of the foam, landing face-down in mud. A crack of light glimmered, as if in the distance. She crawled to it, grabbed its edges, and forced herself out into the light.
She struggled to focus. Two Peaches—amber skips smeared with dirt and bits of plants, landing struts ripped away. No, one Peach, but in two pieces—ripped apart as if sawn through by a giant knife. The open sides cupped the earth, edges sunk in sloppy gray mud. Decomposing safety foam floated in the mire.
Overhead, tall palms brushed a bright blue sky. And walking toward her, Shulgi.
“Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she said.
Sunlight gleamed on his bald scalp, glinted off the camera that dogged him. Shulgi hefted his flail casually, as if weighing it. The leather thongs stretched under the weight of the thorn-flowers. His other fist clenched the hilt of his scythe-like sword. Veins bulged under the thin skin of his forearm.
She grabbed the raw edges of the Peach and dragged herself back inside. Alerts and alarms popped into her eye again. She dismissed them—all but Shulgi’s camera feed.
The ripped-in-half cabin was packed with decomposing foam. She lashed out with all her limbs, punching through the foam and pulling it off the bulkheads and lights. Her seat was in the way—she wiggled around it. Behind, Fabian was fully encased, bonded to his seat by a thick layer of safety foam. It would hold until he started moving.
If he started moving.
Hamid and Kiki would be in the other half of the Peach. She pinged their bioms—Fabian’s, too. Green-alive.
Kiki, Hamid, Fabian—are you okay? Answer me.
Hamid’s fake popped up and tipped its hat. She slapped it down. No answer from the others. All alive, but unconscious or nearly so. Hurt—how badly? Fabian was safe for now. But Hamid and Kiki—
Shulgi might put his sword through their throats any moment.
Minh pinged the evac gurneys. They were on the move, five minutes away. Then she painted the broken cabin walls with satellite and camera feeds. Shulgi’s camera showed him pacing the edge of the ditch, naked, his body flecked and streaked with dirt, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. His soldiers—their five cameras showed they were running hard. Three minutes away and moving fast.
And Susa. Her barge was six minutes away.
Minh’s breath caught; her hands started shaking. She killed the feeds. All that mattered was here and now: her team, the four gurneys on the way, Shulgi, and the weapons in his hands.
Shulgi was alone. Infrared showed clusters of people all around but staying well back. The only other large organism nearby was Hamid’s horse, grazing in the shade of a date palm. No threat there.
She needed to run for the river. Hide and wait for a gurney. Save herself, then rescue the others. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
Maybe, if it were only Fabian. But Hamid. Kiki. Her chest squeezed.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Minh beat her fist on Fabian’s foam-entombed body. “Where are your health and safety protocols now?”
No answer.
She’d been ignoring her biom for too long; it slid an alert front and center. Mild concussive trauma across the right side of her torso, including bruising to her liver, spleen, and transverse colon. Internal bleeding well under control. Teratomas fine. Spine, lungs, heart, and brain all fine. Her biom was blocking pain and treating her for shock—no wonder she couldn’t think clearly. Prognosis ninety percent in forty-eight hours.
Her biom wanted her to lie down and put her feet up. Rest and recuperate.
Hah. It should know her better.
Shulgi wouldn’t wait forever, and the soldiers were coming. She had to think of something. Anything.
“I’m the child of your child’s child’s child.” She laughed. It sounded like shattering glass.
Shulgi stepped closer. The babbling was making him curious. She couldn’t think, not like this. Short of breath, heart pounding, hands shaking, blood pressure shooting and dropping. If she kept this up, she’d lose consciousness.
Maybe that would be best. She’d already screwed up in every possible way. If she passed out, fate could take its course.
Before another mad laugh could bubble to the surface, Minh dialed herself down. Way down. A chill calm spread from her sternum out to her limbs. She wiped sweat from her forehead and tagged Shulgi with a proximity alarm.
Okay. Think. What assets did she have? Satellites—great. When Shulgi stabbed her, she could replay the last few minutes of her life from a high angle as she bled out into the mud. She had floats, if any survived when the cargo pit split. She had sensors, gauges, cameras, and sampling nests spread over a hundred thousand square kilometers. And she had yottabytes of data funneling from those sensors through the satellites and into the wireframe’s information core on the other side of the planet.
She had her legs. They were strong. She could kill Shulgi. Distract him with a camera, get a leg around his throat, and lock down the compression. Now. Before the soldiers arrived. If she got legs around his arms, she might even survive.
Her hands started shaking again. Time travel—that’s how to solve this problem. Replay the same scenario over and over, tweaking the decision tree until an acceptable outcome popped out the other end. Wasn’t that the whole reason CEERD formed TERN? To save humanity from its mistakes?
Minh finally understood. After eighty-three years, she finally knew the truth. With some mistakes, all you can do is beg fate to deal you a new hand. Lucky, wasn’t she, to live so long before being confronted with the consequences of her own stupidity?
Deep breaths. Think. She used to be good at solving problems on the ground. She’d already wasted a whole minute.
First things first: Hamid and Kiki.
She grabbed control of Shulgi’s camera and spun it around his head, then pitched it away from the Peach. As he twisted to keep it in sight, she slid across the ditch into the other half of the Peach.
Not much foam. Just filmy sheets and shreds. Hamid hung sideways in his seat, one arm dangling in the mud. His hair was scarlet with blood.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” she chanted. “Hamid, wake up, wake up. Shit, shit, shit.”
His biom was raising a livid life-support goiter on the side of his neck. A deep wound over his eye was crusting over with a thick forced scab.
The safety foam on Hamid’s side of the skip had misfired. He’d ridden out the crash unprotected, secured only by his safety harness. The damage could be catastrophic. His brain might be pulp.
She pinged Hamid’s fake. How badly is he hurt? she demanded.
It grinned. As far as you know, I’m immortal. I’m going to live forever.
She slapped it down and turned her attention back to Shulgi. Had he seen her? No, he was distracted, looking the other direction. Now was her opportunity to get the situation under control.
Nothing she could do for Hamid right now.
Kiki, though. Minh wiggled belly-down in the mud and edged around Hamid, clearing the filmy webs with her fingers. Where Kiki’s seat should be was—nothing. Minh’s gut thudded. The entire floor plate had sheared away. Kiki was gone.
“Kiki, no,” she breathed.
“Where are you?” It came out a whine. Where are you? Where?
Minh pinged her location. Right there—the satellites said she was in the Peach. Except she wasn’t. Minh’s vision swam. She plunged her legs into the mud, hands, too, digging desperately.
Her hand met a hoof. An ankle, a leg. No, part of a leg.
Kiki.
Minh clutched Kiki’s ankle as though she were drowning. Her breath sobbed. She sent the camera scooting out and around the Peach, certain she’d find Kiki’s blood and guts smeared across the fuselage.
No blood, none. Kiki was buried in mud, wedged in shadow between skip and ditch. Only her head and part of one arm were visible. Her neck was wrenched around at an unnatural angle and her hand gripped a clump of grass. Her mouth worked as if she were trying to chew through the mud lapping at her chin.
Minh lunged past Hamid. The proximity alarm blared.
Shulgi was right outside.