Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

The grenade explodes close enough that the heat washes over them. By the light of the blast, Shanna blows the motorcycle to bits.

All around them, the Demetrius groups have the Jairasu well overmatched — the bikes are fragile, and not well-balanced for fighting on wet ground — and, after Shanna dispatches two more, William takes a moment to check the tactical display.

“It’s a trick!” He reorients their course and leaves the group behind. “Look!”

“But why send out vehicles that are so easy to kill?”

“Suicide fighters.” William swerves around a destroyed car. “Couple hundred years ago, used when battles were fought in the air. Then, sixty years later, people strapped bombs to their bodies. Same principle.”

“But… who would sign up for that?”

“They probably didn’t know.” William pushes the accelerator as hard as he can. His repeater shows new orders: abandon the bikes, lay down covering fire, return to Point Nine — the original staging line. “Looks like someone up there figured things out.”

Shanna’s gun chatters; two lights on the tactical display blink out. But up ahead are Mars and Saturn; they’re shelling the Hamilton , the remaining cruiser in the battle group, but at least the Hamilton is still firing back.

The Sixth Group forms up. Shanna drops her seat flat so she can change out her ammunition, going from standard rounds to acid slugs. She sits up straight again, teeth bared. “Teach those bastards to destroy my friends,” she growls.

William isn’t so sanguine about taking life. He knows he has to; he knows that, without the storm — which is going to flood this area in little more than 90 minutes — the colony might not last much longer. It doesn’t make him any happier.

The gun stutters, the noise deeper; the slugs tear into the aft section of the Mars . As William shoots the car past it, he sees Shanna firing into its engine, her aim perfect. When the gun goes quiet and his ears readjust, he hears the difference in the sound of the Jairasu ship. “All vehicles, concentrate fire on Mars !” Tenay orders.

A minute later, the gunship is destroyed.

Only Jupiter and Pluto manage to escape the Demetrius battle groups, though as it departs, Pluto is struck by a huge bomb, fired from the remains of the Hamilton , and it goes up in a reddish-orange gout of flame. No one cheers; the losses to the colony are too great for that.

William and Shanna read the screen as they form up: two cruisers, a water-carrier, five gunships, 23 smaller vehicles, more than 600 people. William feels sick; Shanna seems subdued, playing with one of her braids. “We won, though. We’ll get the water.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a win,” William says. He checks his heads-up display: they have enough fuel to continue patrolling for another two hours. “How’s your supply?”

“We’re good,” she says. “Plenty of ammo.”

“That’s reassuring.” William doesn’t feel reassured, though.

Rain patters gently on the now-closed roof of the car. Shanna opens her window and cups her hand, then brings the water to her mouth. “Amazing,” she says. “Absolutely amazing.”

William doesn’t say anything, just drinks a little from his canteen. Something’s not right: everything he’s heard about the Jairasu makes him doubt that the battle’s truly over. The last colony to stand and fight against them is now a graveyard of dead ships along what used to be the banks of the Hudson River. That colony wasn’t as big as Demetrius, but they weren’t pushovers, either. And still the Jairasu made short work of them.

Still, without more than a vague feeling, William can’t do anything but follow his patrol route and wait for the storm.

Which, at least, comes right on schedule. The wind picks up somewhat, and just after that, the pattering on the roof and windscreen becomes a downpour. William activates the wipers, but they don’t help much; between the darkness and the rain, he finds himself navigating by the tactical display.

“I hope the container ships are getting this,” Shanna says. “It’s unbelievable.”

William nods. “I’m sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to.” His eyes are still on the tactical display. “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“Look.” He points to something on the edge of the infrared sensor’s range. “What do you think that is?”

Shanna shrugs. “Probably the part of the ground that’s not getting rained on.”

“I don’t think so. The storm is small, but not that small.” He keys in to Lieutenant Tenay’s frequency. “Sir,” he says, ignoring his dislike of protocol, “take a look at bearing 258 relative; can you request they boost the scanner?”

“In this mess? Portis, you must be nuts; nothing works when there’s this much interference.”

“There’s something out there,” William says. “I’m sure of it.”

He can picture the Lieutenant shaking his head. “All our firepower is deployed along that side anyway. If something’s coming, we’ll catch it.”

William closes the channel. “Do you still have the acid slugs loaded?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We’re going to figure out what that thing is.”

“Lieu—” She pauses when she sees his expression. “Look, it’s not our job, and if we break formation for no reason—”

“Then get out,” he tells her. His hand goes to the shifter. “Say the word and I’ll let you off. No questions. I’ll take the blame if there’s any to be had.”

Shanna makes an amused sound deep in her throat. “Who’s going to protect your ass if I jump ship?” She smiles. “Let’s go.”

William checks the tactical display, and when there’s an opening, he pulls the car out of formation and aims for 258 relative. The Lieutenant’s voice starts calling for him over the speakers, first as if there might be something wrong, but then more angrily.

Shanna turns the comm down to a low murmur, almost lost among the sounds of the storm. The lightning has started, occasional flashes punctuated by booms of thunder. The first one makes Shanna jump in her seat, but she recovers. “That never gets old.”

William spares her a small grin, but that’s all he can offer. He switches from tactical to infrared sensors, watching for the surviving gunship.

It’s not there. Nothing’s there but a huge heat blob that worries him more with every passing second.

“We didn’t drive them off,” William says. “I know that much. No one drives off the Jairasu.” He focuses the infrared scanner: plenty of heat, and the telltale purple areas that indicate engine compartments. “They’re out there,” he says. “And they’re moving.”

“Then why are we still here? Call the Lieutenant!”

William shakes his head. “We can’t. Look.” He clicks the tuning knob on the comm unit: static on all the channels. “It’s a white-noise field. We have them too, but if we use them, we can’t communicate either.” He flips to a lower-frequency band; the carrier signal is mercifully clear. He presses the transmit button, then repeats the same three-letter combination over and over.

“Will we get a reply?”

“No. This band is transmit-only from here. But hopefully they’ll get the message.”

Shanna puts her sights on. “Move us closer. I’ll try to slow them down.”

“With that gun? Really?”

She nods. “Just do it. We’re out here; we have to do something!”

William swings the car out wide and comes around behind the flagship. As he gets closer, he realizes just how enormous it is, and how fast it’s going. Somehow the monstrosity is moving at a steady 130-an-hour, and in this weather, the smaller wheels of the car have a difficult time keeping up. But he manages to come alongside one of the gigantic tires, pushing the engine as hard as he can. Several displays are red-lined by the time he gets close enough to one of the hundreds of wheels keeping the Jairasu flagship moving.