Several explosions rocked the city all at once, briefly turning night into day. One of the blasts blew heat right into her face but Callista pressed on. Her jacket was scorched in places and her boots were caked with the fire-resistant foam that the Chippers had spewed across the road, dousing the walls of flames the Alcazaar had erected to keep their pursuers at bay.
The string of lights in this pleasant neighbourhood were now lifeless and stood watch over handfuls of shattered glass. Some windows in the nearby buildings had followed suit, though others were protected from harm by humming shields. Callista sensed the fear of the people trapped inside their residential prisons and felt no sympathy for them; they had been content to live in a city with a gang problem so long as they didn’t have to see or hear any evidence of it for themselves.
Callista skidded and swore. The foam was slippery and the vision that sprang up to blind her didn’t help matters; she nearly missed seeing the potentially fatal steam of lasbolts in real time as it thundered down the middle of the road towards her. Callista held up her shielding device and gritted her teeth, painfully aware that she was the sole person in the group with defensive tech. The people behind her only carried lasguns and the small shield she was carrying would barely protect her, let alone them.
Her head throbbed in protest as she reached for her overtaxed powers once more.
Sparks showered around her in a V-shape, colourful and deadly, but none of the Maria fell. Callista had ordered her clanspeople to follow several paces behind her and was glad they’d obeyed her. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could lead them. Her arms ached from holding her lasgun and the shielding device for hours, her eyes burned from the heat of too many too-near lasbolts, her telekinetic forcefield trembled and thinned — and then something inhuman tore its way out of her throat, a tortured shriek that even made the Alcazaar pause.
The stream of lasbolts abruptly petered out.
‘Come on, keep at it!’ Callista shouted. ‘Let’s get that Alcazaar scum!’
‘They’re behind us!’ someone screamed in response.
Callista flicked a look over her shoulder and counted two hovercars bearing down on their position. ‘Bock! Try the codes!’
Without checking to see if they were lucky enough to immobilise any of the hovercars with the codes Vom had given them, Callista dropped her hold on her powers and moved forward, relying on the shielding device instead. She knew her limits — and she wasn’t stupid enough to think she was invincible, not like some of the younger members of the Maria who had fallen across her feet during the night. Her fingers had itched to heal them, but each injury was an hour she could not afford to waste.
A cheer went up behind her — the hovercars must have stalled. The ensuing cracks of windshields splitting open spoke of doomed Alcazaar falling into the hands of her clanspeople. Still more Maria followed Callista; she relished hearing their footfalls and drew strength from their presence, even as the red forcefield filling the oval frame she carried spluttered out and groaned back into life. The device was failing. It was probably only good for one more lasbolt.
The street almost disappeared beneath a swarm of lasgun bolts when they reached the bowl-shaped cul-de-sac where the Alcazaar were waiting for them. The wealthy denizens here always kept their vehicles hidden away in subterranean garages so there was no barricade of hovercars. No, here there were streetlights knocked over, gutters and piping ripped down from roofs and discarded armaments that had failed their owners. Littered among the debris were hundreds of flesh-rending tacks.
Callista hissed when one punctured the side of her boot, biting into her skin. With each step a lance of pain shot through her ankle, tensing her calf muscle, but she did not dare bend over and remove it. One second of lost concentration could cost her. The Maria supporting her fanned out to either side of the cul-de-sac, undaunted by the lasbolts that continued to rain down on them.
Callista strode through it all, trusting her clanspeople to cover her. She was their subofficer, their superior, and they would defend her until her last breath — and then someone else would step up and enjoy the protection granted by their sacrifices. Right now they were helping her reach the lowest lying balcony, the first tier of Alcazaar defences that spread up the front-facing sides of the buildings.
Callista’s shield winged away the shot aimed at her head and her lasgun took down the clansman who’d been waiting for her. She spent some time studying the tank-sized lascannon he’d left behind. The controls were easy enough and, better still, the flexible mount allowed her to aim it at a steep angle. She smiled and slid into the seat, caressing the trigger for a long moment. Then she began to strafe the balconies above her, screaming with triumph as lasbolts tore through metal and flesh like an electroknife through butter. Around her bodies fell from the sky.
‘Subofficer!’ a Maria clansman called up at her. ‘Subofficer — there’s no one left up there!’
She swung the heavy, rounded butt of the weapon towards the ground. ‘Anyone down here?’
‘We’ve won, Subofficer Dancer!’
Callista blinked and took in the destruction around her. Three houses had lost their top stories entirely and multiple balconies had broken apart on the road below. She scanned the area with her powers and found no innocent lives lost, only frightened souls hunkering down in the lower levels of the buildings.
Who says rich folk don’t have any sense of self preservation? she thought. Then she remembered that once she had been one of them and laughed. She was now a subofficer and ruled the streets while they hid like cowards.
She descended into the cul-de-sac and wrinkled her nose. It reeked of smoke and scalded flesh. Chunks of tar and pavement had been uplifted — the road was ruined, and so too was the decades-long peace of the No-Go Zone. But no one dared come out to challenge what was happening and what would continue to happen until either the Maria or the Alcazaar were wiped completely from the sandy surface of Yalsa 5.
Callista counted her companions. Eight out of ten left was a roaring success. She had lost seven out of twelve on a previous charge only half an hour ago. She smiled vacantly at her clanspeople, preparing a rousing speech for them, but then her knees gave out and brought her to the ground.
Callista groaned. ‘I just want to sleep.’
‘I feel that,’ Bock said, crouched nearby and grinning fiercely, a cracked tooth peeking over his lip. Callista had used her rank to countermand Ala’s orders and get him out onto the streets. She hadn’t done it out of pity — a vision had shown her how many lives he could save if she brought him along. She didn’t regret it.
A bolt had scored Bock’s cheek, leaving a burn that was angled up from his jaw to his temple. Some of his hair was gone too. The acne that had plagued the teenager now seemed obscenely unimportant. He was a man now, one who wore his torn shirt and sole-stripped boots with pride. His belt, too, spoke of his bravery — it was warped from a close blast that had mercifully left flesh and vital organs alone.
Callista assessed her own injuries as sunlight poured into Atsa City for the first time since the war had begun. The mark on her arm was new, both a lasbolt wound and a sign that she had fought and been injured just like the rest of them. Her fellow clanspeople grinned at her as they passed, beginning the journey that would take them back to headquarters.
They were almost on Canat Road when a tank with wheezing hoverpads intercepted them. The vehicle’s purple paint was more obvious now that the shadows of night had receded. Despite the tenuous alliance that existed between them and the Chippers, the Maria baulked and drew up their weapons until Bartan emerged from the top hatch, arms spread to show he was unarmed.
‘Your Subofficer Ala wants you at the Agency’s outpost!’ he called down at Callista. When she hesitated, he added, ‘It’s just two blocks away. And I could kill you right now if I wanted.’
Callista gave Bartan a nod, waved off her companion’s concerns, then turned to Bock. ‘I think Bolt’s waking up. Go get him for me.’
‘You can tell that from here?’ Bock asked, his eyes gleaming. ‘Cool.’
‘Yes, cool,’ Callista said, smiling when she felt nothing but admiration from him.
‘I bet if I had them fancy powers Ala would notice me,’ Bock grumbled.
Laughing, Callista slapped his shoulder then climbed up the ladder set into the side of the tank. Bartan was there to help her through the hatch. Once she found a place to stand inside the passenger compartment she noticed that the décor was at odds with the colourful exterior and the uniforms of those who owned the tank. Everything was utilitarian, with sharp, grey edges. Even the seats looked like they would be more at home in a hovercar mechanic’s garage. The driver, who was crammed into the cockpit, could apparently see through the tinting that seemed so uniformly purple on the outside because she whipped the tank around a corner so fast that some of the Chippers were thrown to one side. A few of them had managed to hook their hands into various notches on the wall in time. Being one of the latter, Bartan kept Callista upright, grinning at her discomfort.
By the time they reached the steps of the outpost, Callista felt wired, as though someone had pumped her veins full of coffein instead of blood. Dizzy, she paused on her way out of the hatch, her elbows braced on either side of the opening, breathing deeply. Shaking her head at Bartan when he offered her assistance, she half-slid, half-fell onto the footpath, wobbled on her feet for a moment, then followed the lieutenant up the stairs. The outpost’s ornate masonry revealed it as Chipper in make — its white marble would have been imported from Gerasnin, the world that housed the Agency’s headquarters.
The large archway that formed the entrance was filled in with what appeared to be two pieces of ancient wood, but though they opened outward in an old-fashioned style, they gave a metallic screech as they did so. Callista squared her shoulders as she passed the Chippers guarding the door and made her way into the entrance hall. This was as far as she got into the building, because the room was filled with Maria clanspeople.
‘We bloodied and bruised them last night!’ Ala crowed and her people writhed with delight. Most of the Chippers present remained resolutely still at the perimeter of the room, but Colonel Nerani was standing beside Ala on the steps of a grand staircase that snaked out of sight.
‘But that’s not good enough!’ Ala said sternly.
The room hushed, but not in anticipation of her next words. All pairs of eyes were now fixed on Callista who straightened out of the limp the tack from the cul-de-sac battle had given her, determined not to show how awkward she felt. She had preferred being invisible among the Maria, just another grunt obeying orders. Now she was a subofficer and they expected her to give those orders. Callista brushed her hair behind her ears, displaying her unblemished temples, then adjusted her jacket to make sure it revealed the uncreased Maria logo on her shirt.
‘They’ll lick their wounds this day,’ Ala said, catching Callista’s eye and jerking her head in an unmistakeable ‘come here’ gesture. ‘But they’ll keep on fightin’. And we can’t let them get what they want.’
Callista made sure she positioned herself on a step lower than where her fellow subofficer was standing and bowed her head, waiting for permission to speak to her clan. Ala was still the leader of the Maria, powers or not. Once Ala nodded at her, Callista said to the assembled masses, ‘The Alcazaar only want me and Bolt because they’re afraid — they know that we can beat them.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Nerani spoke up, expression distant. ‘Seems to me the Creator God made you both the way you are so that you could help us protect his mortal children.’
Callista sliced her hand through the air, silencing the colonel. ‘No. Whatever the Creator God’s purpose was in making me, it certainly wasn’t that. But…’ She turned to her fellow clanspeople. ‘I have free will and I choose Maria! Maria!’
‘Maria! Maria! Maria!’ came the shout.
‘So what’s next?’ Callista asked her friend.
Ala grinned down at all those awaiting her orders. ‘Oh, so none of you caught a good night’s sleep and you’re still rearin’ to go?’
They cheered in response.
‘Well, tough, you need some sleep, you crazy douchenozzles!’ Ala said and they laughed.
Callista smiled along with them but found her gaze drawn to the doors. They parted slowly, reluctantly, admitting the intruder. His skin bore the healing outlines of his wounds and he was still without a lasgun, but it was clear he was ready for a fight. Callista saw that his hair was pulled back into a stubby ponytail and decided the look suited him.
Subofficer Bolt cleared his throat. ‘Some of us have had enough sleep and would like to enter the fray, regrettably late though we might be.’
***
Sandsa woke to a swell of fear and triumph smothering Atsa City. He accepted Bock’s assistance out onto the street and continued to lean on the teenager until they reached the Chipper outpost. When he saw that Sandsa was able to climb the stairs unaided, Bock wished him luck before heading back to the Maria headquarters, in case Ala rebuked him for abandoning his post.
Sandsa eyed the Chippers on guard outside the doors. He was tempted to use the god’s powers to teleport into the building to avoid passing them but quickly stifled the urge. He had to make an impression, something to make people look twice, but not something that exposed what he was — what he had been. So before the doors opened he used one of Callista’s elastic ties to pull his hair back to the nape of his neck.
Callista’s joy at his arrival filtered through him. Sandsa favoured her with a smile, then went to stand beside Ala; the subofficer immediately took his hand and held it high over their heads. He noticed that she kept the chant to ‘Maria!’ instead of ‘Bolt!’.
‘So while we’re sleeping in our beds, you’ll what?’ Ala demanded.
Sandsa, we might be the same rank as her but she’s still our leader, Callista cautioned him. He didn’t need the warning; he knew Ala wouldn’t hesitate to show her displeasure if he circumvented any of her orders.
Sandsa performed a shrug. ‘Whatever you deem wisest, Subofficer Ala. But might I suggest a daylight attack on the Dance Tower — nothing serious, just something to keep them quaking in their beds, wondering when we’ll next attack.’
‘Make it serious, Bolt,’ Ala told him. ‘They’ll laugh you out of there if ya do anything less. The rest of you? Get some starking sleep!’
Sandsa turned to admire Callista, intending to remain a respectful pace from his fellow subofficer, but she grabbed the fresh undamaged shirt he was wearing and yanked him into a hot, hard kiss. Around them, Maria clanspeople were beginning to break away, smothering yawns with trembling fingers. Others made a show of staying on that little bit longer, to prove how tough they were, but Ala would have none of it. She told them that any Maria who was caught napping that night would be forced to stay at headquarters, doomed to share none of the impending glory.
Callista relaxed against Sandsa, her cheek sinking into his shoulder and her beatific smile dimming. Tired though she was, she let him know that a delicious ball of warmth seemed to have taken up residence low in her abdomen. Sandsa gently pried her away and rested one hand over the burn on her arm. When he lifted his fingers, the skin was healed. He then knelt to deal with the tack in her foot.
‘Cals,’ Ala said, stomping back over to them, flanked by Nerani. ‘You’re takin’ a nap back at headquarters. Don’t argue. Now, Bolt. I know you’re good but even you’ll need some help with this attack.’
Sandsa rose to his feet. ‘Who am I taking with me?’
Nerani was the one who answered. ‘I’ll be sending a whole bunch of mine with you while your clan rests in preparation for tonight’s festivities.’
‘Won’t that leave Atsa City unguarded, if your agents are not performing their daytime duties?’ Callista asked, though the twist of her lips suggested she was not all that bothered by that thought.
Nerani rubbed her eyes. ‘The decent folk should know what we do for them. If we’re missing for a day then they might realise we need a bit more funding and donate to the Agency, don’t you think?’
GLEA relied heavily on the donations of worshippers of the Creator God to continue their services, though Callista had told Sandsa she was sure they must have another source of funding. Their expenses verged on astronomical and not everyone shared their god.
While Nerani sped off to recruit some Chippers for their mission, Sandsa led Callista out onto the porch which had been smoothed by hundreds of feet passing over it every sunrise and sunset. He cupped Callista’s chin with both hands, delivering a kiss that barely disturbed the moist seam of her lips, and felt her weariness began to ebb, replaced by a spike of desire that forced her eyes open. Callista slid her palm under his shirt, skimming it up over his navel with a higher destination in mind, but he rested a hand over the five distinct rises her fingers formed beneath the fabric, halting her progress.
‘I promise there will be time for this later,’ he told her in a low voice.
Callista cast her frown at the ground. ‘This line between not using your godly powers and staying alive…it is terrible of me to even think this, but I want to command you to survive at any cost.’
Sandsa leaned his forehead against hers. ‘I will not need to become the god, I promise you. I have plenty of other powers to draw on.’
‘But what if using those powers is the path to making more concessions, like drawing on the deserts and becoming a god again?’ she asked, biting her lip. ‘What if you can’t control it, like when Vom and his lot called on you for the Magic?’
‘Then you may punish me however you see fit.’
Sandsa supposed he should not have added the wink, for he already felt her exasperation at the frankly lewd images in his mind. Callista rolled her eyes and kissed him. ‘I love you. Don’t die.’
‘I shall endeavour not to.’ He lifted her palm to his lips, then whispered against her skin, ‘I am a man, not a god. The only things that are required of me are love and humanity and I have a very compelling reason to supply those.’
***
The three moons danced among the stars, glowing with delight at their freedom, never coming close enough to be captured from their orbit around a nearby planet. Kuin of the Bretani had stood beneath the moons since night had fallen, her lasgun limp in her hand as she weaved unsteadily on the feet that threatened to give out on her. The leathers of a warrior adorned her form and the lasgun added to her fierce image, but she was no fighter. Her Magic was useful in other ways. Sometimes she could feel when the deserts were about to birth a terrifying but magnificent sandstorm, the type that could strip skin from bone and tents from their pegs. She had saved her tribe by predicting such storms in the past.
Kuin now needed to save them from worse than a storm. The Bretani had never been violent in her childhood, but lately they had been ignoring the will of the Desine and making war with the neighbouring tribes. At first she had blamed the advice given to her brother, the chief of the tribe, by the priests and priestesses. They were the voice of the desert god, the voice that guided them into prosperity. Surely the Bretani would be the better for their wisdom. But when Kuin had spoken to them, their eyes had been wide with fear. They had heard nothing, so there was nothing for them to give.
Just as Kuin had feared, her brother was entirely responsible for his ill deeds.
He was eighteen, old enough to replace their mother, the former chief. She had fallen to the sand, the foam of poison atop her lips. Kuin had watched her brother since then with narrowed eyes as still more bodies appeared, all belonging to those who had dared to oppose his plans. He had stopped sending enough warriors to protect the edges of their territory, instead planning to use every last able-bodied man and woman to claim land that did not belong to them.
The Bretani would need more warriors than they had to secure the larger territory if they even managed to acquire it; she had told her brother this only to feel the sting of his lasgun slapped across her cheek. Her people were restless and unhappy and there was but one way to save them.
‘My Lord Desine,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Desine, please, my lord. I know I am the youngest and cannot inherit the chiefhood, I know that. But my people…is it best for my tribe that he rules them, or is it best that I kill him and take his place?’
The cold night air burrowed into her chest and surrounded her heart. Still no answer came to her. She stretched out an arm to trace the darkening horizon with her fingers, unfurling her small powers to search for any sign of the god who had cared for her from the moment she had been planted in her mother’s womb.
An hour later, her knees succumbed to the sand and she cried, releasing the precious moisture from her body into the desert.
The Desine had not answered. Her powers had felt nothing, found nothing. He was meant to be all around them, all the time, always listening. If he did not deign to speak to her, then that meant she did not deserve to hear anything but silence.
You are unworthy, she imagined the Desine thinking as he regarded this small girl fouling up his beautiful deserts. You plot murder against your brother. He is the chief of your tribe. You are nothing.
‘I’m sorry, my Lord Desine, forgive me,’ she whispered, the words lost to the mournful wind. ‘You are my god and see all, know all. But I cannot stay in the tribe of my mother. I can’t. I can’t watch him destroy us.’
Kuin of the Bretani turned and walked away from her tribe, her guilt and despair leading her into desolation. Standing on a nearby dune was the physical form of the Ine, his brow furrowed like any human’s did when something of concern had been presented before them.
My son, the true chief of the Bretani leaves this night, her people doomed to languish beneath the heel of her brother, he sent to Sandsa. Learn your lesson quickly, because the deserts need you.
His eldest son did not respond.