Michael Flynn: On the Razor’s Edge

A glimmer in Big Jacques’s goggles captured his attention. Something on the wall along the railing. A line of somethings. He recognized pasties—antipersonnel mines—on a wire ignition.

“Down the well!” he ordered his flock. “It’s a trap!”

The trident magpies flew down the stairs, rappeling over banisters, trading grace for speed, and a moment later the pasties ignited, sending a sheet of shrapnel across the stairwell. Big Jacques heard grunts of pain, then, below him, a different sort of cry. Flashes of light and the acrid smell of electrical sparks told of a brief, intense firefight two floors below.

Big Jacques hurried to the scene, found Two down and Five aiming fire systematically into the dark at the bottom of the stairs. “Stalked, Trident,” said Five.

“How many?”

“Saw one, but must have been others. Moved Two, Seven, and Twelve.”

Big Jacques considered that. “Gidula assured us the building would be unguarded. Either Gidula is an optimist or Sèanmazy followed us here after that tussle on Big Fish Street. Could you read the brassard?”

“No shenmat. Coverall. Protector, maybe? Whoever he was I potted him good. Gone doggo, though. Hunt him down?”

“Let him bleed out.” Big Jacques contacted Aynia Farer and Phoythaw Bhatvik and told them the building was being defended, numbers unknown. But he did not contact Gidula, who could figure that out for himself.

The explosions in the east end stairwell took out a goodly number of lions, which evened the odds very nearly to six-to-one. Eglay Portion and Four Padaborn had positioned themselves to cover the exit and waited until three lions were through before opening the dance. The invaders were aware now that they were being opposed and returned fire. Dazers. A bad hit, but short range. A thrown knife was silent and did not betray its origin. Hard to reload, though. One of the three went down; a second reached an office and burst into it. The door had been triggered and the explosion caught her in the doorway. The third magpie ducked back into the stairwell, and a momentary silence ensued. Eglay Portion tried to think what Aynia Farer would do next.

“Maybe the trap on the stairway got everyone,” said Four.

Eglay Portion did not think so, and a moment later a series of explosions suggested that the lions had made their own exit from the stairwell at an unconventional point. They could outflank Eglay’s position now. “Pull back to the second line,” he said.

But Four pointed, “Here comes one!”

A shenmat-clad figure slid from the doorway into the corridor and made a sign with his left hand. Eglay blocked Four’s shot. “That’s the pass-sign. It’s that Greystroke fellow.”

They left cover and retreated up the corridor. Aynia and two magpies came around an unexpected corner. Four stepped between Eglay and the lions and took the brunt of the dazer blast. Return fire drove the lions behind the corner again. Greystroke and Eglay sprinted toward the fane.

Tina Zhi came to the side of Domino Tight as softly as a dream and bearing the same strange weapon that she had brought to the Battle of the Warehouse. “The Secret Name, Big Jacques, five tridents, and a lion who survived Three’s little game with the drop-wells.”

The magpie with them smiled at the compliment, though he was vexed that one had survived.

“Big Jacques,” said Domino Tight. “I always liked the Large One.”

“Like him a little less,” suggested the Technical Name.

Domino Tight sighed. “He could just as easily be fighting on our side, if he had thought it more fun.”

“He was fighting on our side.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Domino Tight.

Tina Zhi turned the curious U-shaped weapon in her hand. “The Secret Name is wearing sparkle armor. This will deactivate it and leave him vulnerable.”

Domino Tight nodded. He remembered that from the Battle of the Warehouse. It also meant that, unlike the jump tokens, the sparkle armor was not controlled by a central field. What other secrets had the Technical Name been withholding from the Confederation, even from most of the other Names? Youth, perhaps.

And why was she now so willing to help ambush one of the leaders of the Old Guard, given that she had been supporting them through the Revolution? Because these intended to violate the sanctity of the Gayshot Bo? He did not believe it was for love of himself. Given how long Tina Zhi must have lived, what novelty could one more mayfly lover provide?

The Shadows believed the war had started because Shadow Prime had dispatched Epri Gunjinshow to rectify matters after Manlius Metataxis had incestuously coupled with his comrade-in-arms, Kelly Stappelaufer, and which task Epri had accomplished by seducing Kelly himself. It was the sort of story Shadows liked to tell themselves. But when they had wiped the tear away, they also knew that they were fighting to overthrow Names grown overbold. So what they believed and what they knew were at odds, and all that was left was laughter.

He focused on the darkness of the stairwell. Most of the tridents had escaped the trap. Big Jacques had been too keenly observant. The main stairwell opened on a function space. There was a reception desk, waiting chairs, and several small tables with inquiry portals. Large pots bore broad leafy plants. There were any number of hiding places, all of them far too obvious. “When they sortie from the stairwell,” he told Three and Tina Zhi, “they will scatter in all directions, accepting casualties. They will almost certainly direct fire on the receptionist’s desk, since that is the obvious place for defenders to cover the stairwell.”

Three had strewn crispies on the steps. He listened now to the sounds from the stairwell. “Time to take our places,” he said. He shot a climbing grapple to the decorative, painted ceiling. Once there, he removed a panel that he had previously prepared, and insinuated himself into the duct space. Shortly, small gunports appeared in the moulding.

Tina Zhi placed a hand on Domino Tight’s wrist. “It’s too dangerous,” she said.

Domino Tight finished snapping the titanium exoskeleton into place. He shook out the gossamer cloak that would make him invisible. “What better place to hide than the one place they will not expect—in plain sight?”

“They are no fools. Someone will realize.”

“If anyone is left. At short range, I can use my dazer. And Rinty will be coming up behind them. We have them trapped! Hurry, cloak yourself.”

The reception area became apparently vacant. This might lull Big Jacques—or raise his suspicions.

The tridents emerged in a fan, shielding both Big Jacques and the Secret Name. Domino counted eight and began to drop magpies with his dazer. Three fired flechettes from above. The Secret Name’s sparkle armor died and he spun about looking for the weapon that had done it. Domino Tight numbed him in the thigh, and he nearly toppled. But Big Jacques maintained his calm.

“Is that you, old friend? What price this treachery?”

Domino Tight did not answer. The best way to locate an invisible man is from the sounds he makes.

“Never did think you jumped in the river. I guess that means Padaborn is here, too.” Big Jacques fired pellets into various quarters of the lobby, on the likely assumption that Domino was in at least one of them. He wasn’t.

“If the Name was your target, too late. He’s crawled off down the hall until his leg heals.”

A shower of flechettes rained on the tridents from the ceiling and Big Jacques and the remaining tridents returned fire, bracketing the likely source. A thud in the ductwork signaled success or a ruse. “Boys,” said Jacques, “let’s shift. Pattern G.”