‘Two teams, going left and right,’ the commander says. ‘Doors opening in ten, nine …’
We’re about to burst out, to escape this car before the enemy can surround our landing zone.
I feel conspicuous in my light armor, no helmet. The Diego Specials are all in powered exoskeletons, two and a half meters tall. The city’s avatar and I stick out like a pair of—
Its face has changed. Still that smooth complexion, almost too perfect to be lifelike … but now it looks like me.
‘A little diversion,’ they say. ‘In case they are trying to kill you.’
My skins crawls. ‘Thanks?’
The jump doors fly open, and we storm out into the sunlight.
My fireteam of six breaks left across the rugged ground, toward a copse of trees. I can barely keep up with the Specials, carried in huge leaps by the servomotors in their armored legs. The other team takes cover behind the car, ready to fire on anyone who shoots at us.
The city avatar stays close to me. Sniper bait.
Running hard across broken terrain, my body sings. Too long in that cell, too many days without a stand-up fight. Some logic-missing piece of me believes that with a pulse knife in my hand, there’s no way my father can win.
I let that part swell to fill the rest of me.
My own courage mixes with my feels.
We hit the cover of the trees without taking any fire. The brush is dense and full of thorns, scraping at my body armor like fingernails.
We hunker here, watching the other fireteams move into position. They scatter across the landscape, half a dozen of four Specials each. The city AI must be in command—the fire zones interlock perfectly.
I can hear the distant surf from the coast, a few klicks away.
Still no shooting.
‘Doesn’t look like your father wants a bloodbath,’ the city says. ‘Perhaps diplomacy has its uses.’
‘For him it does. It makes people drop their guard.’
We wait. Still nothing—they’re watching us. Or watching me, trying to figure out which twin I am. Of course, with the Diego avatar wearing my face, they might think both of us are here.
That takes an orbital nuke off the table, at least.
A sudden whistling fills the air, like screamer fireworks. Then I see them—a swarm of projectiles streaking at us. Hand-size drones, weaving in random patterns, leaving tiny trails of light blue smoke behind them.
‘Prep for gas,’ the city avatar says. The Specials reach up to seal their helmets.
I pull the rebreather hood out of my armor, covering my head. Then, in case it’s blister gas, I pull my gloves on.
The city doesn’t bother. Apparently, they don’t breathe.
The Specials open fire. The darting little drones fall in droves—only one makes it into our little copse of trees.
I throw my knife, turning it into metal fragments.
But more are coming. Swarms are lifting up from the grass, spread across the field of battle like land mines. Our attackers have prepared this spot carefully.
The Specials open fire again—this time fully automatic. A head-splitting roar, like the air ripping open around us.
Every one of the drones falls to the ground.
There’s a pause, my ears ringing in the silence. The birds have fled, and the surf sounds a thousand klicks away now.
‘Is that all?’ the city of Diego says. ‘Your father seems to have underestimated us.’
‘I doubt it,’ I say through the mask, shaking my head. None of it feels right, this careful attack. No soldiers shooting at us, just remotes.
More drones come.
The Specials’ rifles roar back to life, cutting them down. Bullet casings rain onto the forest floor, a glittering carpet of metal. I can smell the gunfire through my mask.
Then I see it—
‘They’re making you use up all your ammo! Stop shooting! It’s just gas!’
The city avatar glances at me, then nods. All at once, the firing stops.
The drones keep coming.
‘We hope you’re right, Frey,’ the city says. ‘If these drones can do anything else …’
The first wave reaches us. They swarm the camp, whirl around us, filling the trees with light blue smoke. The Specials stand impervious in their armor.
But the drones don’t explode, or stab us with needles. They fly until their smoke runs out, then crash to the ground, expended.
‘Interesting,’ the city says. ‘Your father has learned discretion.’
I shake my head. ‘He’ll hit us hard soon enough.’
One of the Specials points at the ground—a bright red spot drifts across the litter of bullet casings. Then two more.
Laser sights.
Snipers.
The city avatar and I jump behind cover. Our four Specials don’t bother—their armor’s tougher than the thickest tree. They scan for the source of the lasers, then open fire again, spraying at the high ground above us.
No return fire comes.
‘This is still about ammo!’ I yell through my mask. ‘They want us defenseless!’
The Diego avatar shrugs. ‘Shreve isn’t the only city with orbital forces. The rest of us have been preparing. Backup will be here soon.’
The rest of us? It’s still head-spinning that a dozen city AIs think it’s a good idea to put me in charge of Shreve.
The red spots on the ground flicker off one by one—the Specials are hitting their targets. And no one’s firing at us.
What if there are no snipers, just cheap drones with lasers on them?
We haven’t seen a single enemy soldier.
‘Incoming,’ the fireteam commander yells, pointing to the sky.
‘Hold fire,’ the city avatar says. ‘They’re friendly.’
Streaks of light crisscross the clouds, then the long shapes of drogue chutes flutter open. The payloads look big—heavy orbital drones.
Now we’re going to see some shooting.
The drones crack out of their reentry shields, bristling with weapons. I can count the combat livery of four different cities.
For once, my father’s been met with more brute force than he can handle.
A spindly white strand reaches up from the hills above us, wrapping itself around one of the drones. It drops, intact but powerless.
Then I see something odd—a squirrel, frightened by all the gunfire, scampering past on a branch, somehow immune to the knockout gas.
I pull off my hood and take a shallow breath. Then a deeper one.
Nothing. The smoke was only for show. No one’s shooting at us. Even the orbital drones are only being disabled, not destroyed.
And those white strands, just like rebel antiaircraft …
A thousand emotions roil in me, the feels I plumbed in captivity echoing all at once. Anger at being left alone in that cell, Languish for the time lost—but none of it as real as the Joy that someone’s come for me at last.
‘Call off the orbitals!’ I squeeze my knife to full pulse. ‘It’s not my father!’
The city looks at me. ‘What?’
‘My friends are rescuing me. My real friends!’
And I see it in perfect Focus—the avatar of Diego has all the resources of a city, wardens, an army behind it. A mind incomprehensibly vaster than mine, and a continent-spanning alliance against my father.
Compared to that, my friends are a ragtag collection, almost powerless.
But they’re here for me.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to go!’
When I start to move, the city avatar reaches out to grab me.
I swing my pulse knife hard and high, cutting the duplicate of myself in half, top to bottom.
The artificial body explodes—smart plastics and muscles, skin and tissues turned into a billowing cloud of mist.
All of us are blinded, but I already know which way to go.
I start running, my blood thrilling in my veins.