“Somehow this is my first time firing from the back seat of a shuttle that’s pulling a truck,” Brannon said as the convoy of shuttles rolled over the tundra. It had been decided three hours ago—by Ernst, if you were wondering—that the group of 210 trucks would drop the scouts off at the median line, of which Nadia figured they had traveled halfway. “And I have to say, the angle is shit. Pure fucking rust.”
Brannon, while crude, was right. The angle to shoot behind the truck was limited to the ends of a wide fan, one that was slowly but surely narrowing. If the fire comes at us, we are screwed anyway, Nadia reasoned dismally. Thankfully, in the convoy’s first outing, no other convoy had assailed them, but Nadia knew they had to be out there. There were simply too many initiates—black and white—and the game makers for the convoy of 210 to be the largest on the floor. Every hill they rode over, Nadia expected to see another convoy charging at them, and each time she was disappointed. “Brannon, how does Ernst operate?”
“He’s ballsy, likes to make himself the center of attention so the people around him don’t get seen.”
“A decoy.”
Brannon nodded. “He likes his explosions I’ve heard, but it seems like those are limited here.”
Samuel raised a hand. “If he didn’t look like he was gonna eat me, I’d be willing to help him there. I got wicked ideas on some IEDs.”
Brannon turned back to the driver. “Sam, what exactly did you do, before all this?”
Samuel shrugged and scratched along his jaw, the side of his face the same lighter brown that his wrists had been hours ago. “Bit of this, bit of that, anything that makes sparks, really.”
“You are an engineer?” Nadia asked.
Samuel shrugged again. “In a loose sense. I don’t get paid like engineers do, but I’ve always liked to make and break things. For fuck’s sake if Ernst gave us another hour, I’d strip this truck to the metal just to see how she ticks.”
“You seem to know how it works just fine,” Brannon said.
Samuel shook his head. “Nah, I don’t know how to explain, but it’s different, trust me.”
“As long as you can keep this thing moving, that’s all I need.” Brannon turned to Nadia. “I’m gonna see if I can balance myself up top and get a better angle.”
“Ok,” Nadia muttered before she slid into the shotgun seat. “If he is up there, I am not going to forego comfort to fire down an angle that is, as he said, frankly shit,” Nadia said out the side of her mouth, scarring her throat like she had done nothing but hiss for several hours. My lord, give your servant the discernment to never do that again.
Samuel chuckled. “Yea, it is. I’m not sure why you’d think it was a good idea to aim your shots around that thing,” Samuel said as his head lulled side to side with each word. “The stabilizers on the bottom should allow you to stand up or at least lay prone,” he said before adding, “assuming they’re working optimally.”
“Deimos’ dangling dick!” Brannon yelled from above. Samuel gripped the steering wheel tight as he schooled his features and Nadia couldn’t help but smile. “Can’t get a shot worth a shit up here with all of these bumps,” Brannon’s said, footsteps drawing closer. “Hey, are you purposely driving like a drunk? If you are, fucking stop.”
Samuel pointed forward, not looking at Brannon. “As you can very clearly see, I am following the rest of the convoy and any complaints and mean words should be addressed to Ernst,” he said. “I would also like to not hit these bumps, but I want that less than I want Mr. Sabertooth-Bulldog not shooting at me.”
Giggles pounded at Nadia’s closed mouth like an invading army, but she managed to keep it closed. “Come on, sit with us Brannon,” she said, patting one of the back seats. “I highly doubt any of the other trucks are thrilled at the prospect of mounted combat on these things.”
Brannon shook his head but sat down anyway. “Doesn’t mean they won’t try. Put enough bullets down range and you’re bound to hit something.”
“Well”—Samuel raised a finger for clarification, head still bopping—"we are spaced out so we don’t get hit by whatever the mechs have.” It would only take one rocket, Ernst had said, and even the smallest of mech carried multiple salvos.
“Speaking of which,” Nadia drawled. “Should they not be operational by now?”
Brannon stroked his chin. “If there’s one or two, they should be able to cover the floor with artillery between them and we haven’t seen or heard any rockets going off.”
“Perhaps they’re not equipped with rockets,” Samuel proposed with a shrug. “Would make it sorta unfair to us.”
“Do you think Fried would allow us such a mercy?” Nadia asked. Surely he would not give a challenge we cannot complete.
Brannon shrugged. “Maybe you’re right and they’re just holding them here for the time being.”
“Nah.” Samuel shooke his head and turned back to Brannon, one hand masterfully maintaining the truck’s course. “They have literally any other storage facility to put them than on the floor where the trials are happening. I’d reckon if they’re here, they’re part of the game. Besides, do you really want to stash one here and have some initiates tinker with it or blow it up?”
“Samuel, please keep your eyes on the road,” Nadia said. Samuel grumbled but turned his head back to the rest of the trucks in the convoy. Phew.
“Suppose not,” Brannon muttered. “Still doesn’t answer why they’re not bombing us.”
Samuel held up two fingers and Nadia could see his left eye wander to her as if to ask, am I allowed to do this, mam? “One. Either they’re only equipped with anti-personnel weapons or, two, they’re waiting for something.”
“Such as?” Nadia inquired. If Deimos is running things, perhaps he has control of the mechs, Nadia thought. The thought lingered like a bobber on a flat lake before diving violently and settling like a boulder in Nadia’s gut. Are we to now compete against the saints?
“Dunno, maybe a time limit that the game makers came up with before using the mechs or when a certain number of red cards are acquired or when a convoy or number of convoys reach a certain size.”
“And which do you think is most probable?” Brannon asked.
“Dunno. I’d guess it will be in response to something we”—Samuel waved his finger in the air—“do, rather than any measure of time.”
“Well, hopefully Fried won’t mind his servants moving as slow as these trucks allow,” Brannon remarked before he jostled Nadia’s shoulder. “Hey, can you tell him we’re sorry for taking our sweet ass time?”
Nadia’s jaw dropped. “One, I am not the person to ask, that would be Gershwin and two, prayers are not to be used for such trivi—”
The air whooshed like a child spitting out seeds as bullets whipped past the trucks. Nadia tracked the bullets as they sailed by before her head swiveled to the source. She squeezed the trigger, not bothering to watch the firework of viscera and glue-blood erupt from the head as she found another target.
Nadia landed two more shots before the full picture came into view. The enemy had drove a truck through their right flank, bisecting the convoy. Nadia scanned over the mess of trucks, looking for any familiar faces.
Something locked around her wrist like a steel trap, yanking her to the floor of the shuttle. “Get down you idiot!” Brannon screamed before peeking his head up and immediately ducking back down. “I can’t see shit!”
“Whites?” Nadia asked, peekin up an inch. Nadia could only make out bodies—no more than thin lines—and had no hope of figuring the color of the cards most of them had tied around their wrists. My lord, protect your servant and give her hands the guidance to make your will known.
Brannon shook his head. “I can’t tell!”
Samuel had buried his head into the steering wheel only enough so that he could peer through the windshield. “I see Ernst! One of you, get Natalia out here, she’s someone he’ll recognize!”
“Are you cra—“
“I don’t want to get shot by that maniac! Do it, or we’re all slag!”
Brannon grumbled but pounded on the wall of the truck. “Nat, come on out!” he yelled. “We don’t know who’s who, but we know they’ll know you!”
“Got it!” Natalia called back.
“Be ready to cover her!”
Nadia and Brannon both sprang up like gophers and found a target to aim at. A moment after they had fired, a lightning bolt descended from the heavens, flash welding the shuttle that Nadia and Brannon’s targets were on. The metal chassis had curled into a ball, plates warping this way and that like a too small blanket. In the spaces they didn’t cover was the content orange of a long tended campfire, blinding besides the melting blue slop of what had once been fellow Atlasians. They didn’t burn like a piece of fire, instead sloughing down ever-smaller versions of themselves like a mountain shedding its snow.
So that is what Brannon was worried about, Nadia reasoned before she looked up to see Natalia standing on the roof of the truck and breathing heavily, smoke coming from her fingertip. The skin around her knuckles glowed a dull orange, like a furnace fed a single mouthful of coal. Glad she is on our side.
Guns continued to go off, Natalia’s shock and awe not enough to dam the chemicals flowing through the initiates. A flurry of bullets raced toward her, turning to lead pancakes on the wall of condensed air Natalia projected in front of her. For each bullet, she threw a spear of lightning at the offending truck, rendering the same fiery death to them as she had to the first. One by one, the symphony drew to a close, by Natalia’s lightning or by better sense.
Two more bolts fell from the sky, completing the line of smoldering wrecks that Natalia had drawn through the forest. Beside Nadia, Brannon leaked color like a pierced milk carton, jaundiced yellow trickling to Atlasian clear. His one eye floated in the air, looking around wildly for a possible explanation. I need to get up there, Nadia thought as another bolt fell from the grey sky.
“Nobody move!” Natalia shouted as Nadia pulled herself onto the top of the truck voice breaking into a shriek. “Guns down, engines off, everybody—“
Nadia grabbed Natalia by the waist, yanking her off her feet and spinning her so fast that burning spittle hit a distant tree, sizzling. Natalia dropped her elbow like a hatchet into Nadia’s eye, falling to the ground when the older woman’s grip broke.
Everyone stop now!” Natalia screamed, tears streaking down the bloated, charred alteroids under her eyes. Nobody was moving. “Everyone out of their trucks now! When you’re out, wait for further instructions and if I see a gun move, so help me I will blast you or have them”—Natalia pointed at Nadia and Brannon—“dome you?” The startled initiates exchanged glances before stepping out of their shuttles. “Brannon, get Ernst here, now.”
Ernst had already emerged from his shuttle, a drunk, unsure sway in his step as he looked over the carnage. “What in the rusting fuck was that?” he hissed through his teeth once he had moved to the top of the truck.
Natalia scoffed. “I’m sorry, another convoy cuts through ours like a knife, I stop them like frying bacon in a pan, and the first words out of your mouth aren’t thank you Natalia for helping me keep order like we talked about? How many trucks are there here now? Double our number? You could be in the snow right now, but you’re not; you’re up here, with all eyes on you, so sabertooth, do your fucking job and be a captain,” she snarled.
“You weren’t supposed to—“
“No, that’s exactly what I was supposed to do, here with you, or out east with you,” Natalia interjected. “I didn’t realize you suddenly disliked the smell of fire. Next time, I can flip them like pancakes, if you’d prefer.”
Ernst forced himself to meet Natalia’s gaze, and Nadia thought his chin made a creaking sound as it turned through the air. He cast a glance at her hands, steam and heaving like balloons. “Will you still have enough energy for the mech, should we come across it?”
The tears around Natalia’s eyes had dried and she let out a low laugh. “Do you want to see just how much my father paid for me?” Ernst looked away, and Natalia leaned closer, her breath hot on his neck. “Yea, I’ll focus on the energy which I’m good at while you focus on what you’re good at, which is getting men with steroid boners from A to B. Speaking of which,” she pointed to a flaming wreck, “it won’t do if I’m blasting the trucks in our convoy. Do you know if that one was ours or theirs? What about that one, or the one two down, no, the other one.”
Ernst looked to the smoldering wreck and narrowed his eyes. “N-“
“And neither do I!” Natalia yelled. “If we don’t mark them, we won’t have the numbers for whatever is in the small forts, let alone the big ones.”
Ernst grumbled before standing on one of the seats. “Listen up!” Ernst called out. “Whoever was with me before can stay. Anybody else can either join or drop your gear and leave, right now.” Natalia yanked on his arm and whispered something to him. “You will have an hour to put as much distance as you can behind you.” When nobody moved from outside their trucks, Ernst began again. “Now, to avoid this in the future, what can we mark ourselves with?”
Haydn raised his bony hand slowly and Ernst grumbled before pointing at the boy. “If we have any of those sauce packets left from the food pouches, we could mark a line on the truck. They’re meant to last.”
“Food sauce?” Ersnt muttered, repeating it to himself to make sure that he was in fact hearing words. “FOOD SAUCE? What are we? Some kind of Fried-forsaken joke? If any of the knights watching hear we marked our trucks with food sauce they’re gonna break out laughing!”
Haydn ducked behind his wall of shoulders once more and Nadia prepared to shield the boy from the hit that was sure to come. “At least we won’t—”
“No!” Ernst yelled. “Something else. Does anybody have any other idea that’s less pathetic?”
Samuel raised his head from the wheel only enough to be heard. “You could get a stone to carve something onto the trucks,” he suggested. “Or better yet, you could get a fire going and burn something onto the trucks.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Ernst yelled through his teeth.
“Then what do you suggest then?” another initiate called out. “oh dreizehnter heiliger,“ the initiate said mockingly before performing a small curtsy.
Ernst’s face reddened and saliva welled in the corners of his mouth. The initiate had just completed the second half of the curtsy before Natalia’s voice cut through the silence. “Yes, that will work quite well. Anybody who wants to leave, do so now, anybody who wants to stay, start marking, there’s fire enough to work with.”
“I’m not taking orders from a gutwitch!“ someone in the crowd screamed. Brannon’s gun immediately flew into position as if on strings to find the voice.
“Yea!“ another voice called out. “Someone get her before she blasts us again!“
Five initiates ran towards them and Brannon fired a warning shot into the air. “Get her mutant pet too!“ They zigzagged through the snow, managing a handful of steps between them before Brannon’s next shot found a skull.
Two of them ducked behind snow-covered boulder, two more fanning out behind trees. Brannon’s shots found only cover before the initiates bound toward him again, sprinting like there was a mad alterist behind them. Natalia moved to the edge of the truck, but Brannon shifted his feet like a wrestler, keeping her contained with his large back.
Ernst strode forward, yanked Brannon’s gun from his hand and emptied the last three rounds. “Enough!“ Ernst yelled, hungry eyes narrowed on the remaining initiate who stop petrified at seeing the others fall like dominoes. “An attack on the alterist is an attack on me and will be dealt with as such! Anyone who wants to try something stupid can do so now or leave! We leave in an hour. Have your trucks marked by then,“ Ernst finished before shoving the rifle back into Brannon’s chest and stomping off.
Natalia’s shoulders dropped to the floor like rocks tumbling down a mountain; heavy as they were, what other choice did they have but to fall and rest forever? “By Fried, I’m glad he backed down, they all did,“ she said. “I didn’t have another bolt in me and now I have to deal with a bunch of initiates looking to string me up.” Her chin fell to her chest. “On the front, they knew I was there to protect them, but here I am just a freak with heresy in my gut.“
Samuel crossed his arms. “You fried fifteen cars,” he said, voice flat as an anvil.
“Better some to fry than all of us bleeding to death in the snow,” Natalia shot back “I heard you yell; this was your idea, that,” she pointed to the line of destruction, drawn through the snow with a large, fiery pen, “is how I do it. If this was a real battlefield, against the beasts or the Northmen, they wouldn’t have stopped.”
“But they’re not beasts or Northmen,” Samuel said, “they’re Atlasians.”
“And now they’re dead,” Natalia said simply. “They knew what they were getting into when they tossed their bags into the fire; they just never expected to see me here.”
Samuel looked away, scratching a deep line down his jaw and neck as he looked over the carnage. “Damn glad you’re on our side,” he muttered, “Ernst too.”
Nadia said nothing, her lips tight as two slabs of metal welded together. Had they all needed to go? The trucks and guns had stopped before Natalia let the last two bolts fly. Tobias was dead before the children were, she thought, and that Alec had already lost before the knight of Fourth put him through the ground.
“He was looking to shoot the last one,“ Gershwin stated. “You are exhausted, yes?”
Natalia swallowed and orange lines ran down the skin along her throat. “I feel like I’ve been been lit on fire and put in a blender. If I sleep, I should be able to cool myself down, put my passengers to sleep, but anymore now and I might vomit up my guts and everything between them and my mouth.
Gershwin nodded “He’s a maniac and it’s only a matter of time before he throws you to the wolves, followed by the rest of us.”
“He didn’t, and we’re not,“ Natalia said. “I can rein him in, for now. If the other initiates get ideas however“—Natalia sighed—“I just hope he won’t leave me out to dry. That many bullets, even my warding has limits.”
”Because you’re an alterist?” Haydn asked. “Or because you’re a Krugg?”
Natalia didn’t answer as Brannon rubbed her shoulder slowly. “Nat, does this move up our timeline on the sabertooth issue?”
She nodded. “Yes. With that little incident, I don’t want to be here any longer than need be. When we come upon a bunker and get a red card, we split. At this rate with dropping off the scouts and me raising other objections, I’m sure I’ll be rested enough by then.” She turned to Nadia. “You ran a flower shop, yes?”
Nadia nodded eagerly. “Dead Nightshade. A pun on my husband being an executioner.”
“Are there any plants in this tundra that could be used as a poison?”
Hayha root, frost fingers, snow spikes, Nadia reasoned, scanning over the tundra and finding none of the above. “Maybe, but this tundra is not real though,” Nadia said. “And even if I could, how would you get it to Ernst?”
“I have ways,” Natalia said, “but enough of that, let’s get our cars marked before Ernst decides to move early,” she finished before moving toward the bonfire that the other initiates had made with some wood and sparks from shuttle batteries. Using the strips from the bottom of the trucks, the initiates burnt crude sabretooths into the sides of their trucks, which Nadia hoped were in some way uniform.
Nadia reloaded her gun and trekked into the tundra to search for the flowers she had considered. Guided by the distant statue of the Ironclad, she hummed a tune as she walked, thankful for the crunch of snow beneath her feet that would lead her back. “Hayha root would be the most likely,” she said as she searched for the five-petaled vanilla flower in the snow, finding nothing.
As her eyes scanned over the tundra, Nadia’s thoughts were elsewhere. My lord, what are you fighting that makes these trials necessary? Is it not enough for us to be strong and good with weapons? Give your servant clarity so she may understand your will, Nadia finished, hoping the statue of Fried would walk to her and explain himself. When the statue remained unmoving, Nadia kicked herself for thinking she’d get an answer from this one.
Hayha root is out, maybe frost fingers then, Nadia thought as she resumed her search for the frosted-glass colored shrooms and their dendritic caps. They give us guns, surely they must not mind giving us other lethal measures, she reasoned as none of the fingers showed themselves.
The rock that had settled in her gut from before had not been dislodged during the brief firefight or in her futile search for poison ingredients. I do not think any of us expected to be at war with the game makers. Is it also not possible we will have to fight the knights that are onlookers to these games? Nadia remembered what Brannon had said about the knights he had served with. Not a non-possibility. To fight a kreiger and win would surely prove our mettle.
Do they hold the red cards? Or at least some of them? Nadia asked herself. Ernst got his from the bunker, but maybe he was lying or maybe the knights also have the red cards? Nadia reasoned, her body warming at the thought as adrenaline began to pump through her veins. Then if Vogel is still here, killing him would not be heresy. It was a weight off her shoulder, and her steps through the snow were lighter as she searched for the next most likely poisonous fauna.
“You looking for something to eat too?” Turning to the sound, Nadia found a man with shoulder-length blond hair across the unmarked tundra, eyes set on the distant statue of Fried. In his hand was a Karabine and around his wrist was a hair tie with a black card attached. “The food in those trucks is shit.”
“Yea,” Nadia said as the man approached her. “Although, for synth food it is not the worst.”
The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket and moved it to his mouth before stopping halfway. He looked Nadia up and down before conjuring a spark of fire in his hands, lighting the end.
An alterist? “Do you have a card for that?”
He shook his head. “I’m an alterist, yea, but I don’t have a card, and besides”—the man shrugged—“It’s just lighting a cig. I won’t do anything like what Natalia did back there.”
“There are still rules to be observed!” Nadia hissed.
He held his arms to the side. “Who are you going to report me to, Nadia? The sabertooth?” He pointed past Nadia’s footprints and up the hill. “I suppose you could find the game makers and report me for sneaking in cigarettes, but I think they have bigger serpents to slay, no?”
Nadia shot the man an icy glare, looking away when his smile didn’t budge. He conjured another spark to reignite the smoldering end before taking a drag. “Ah, that’s good shit.”
Nadia couldn’t feel the casual cold of the tundra—not registering it as a problem, at least—but she still felt the warmth of the cigarette radiating from the man’s hand. Her mouth filled with spit like a salivating dog, but she forced it closed. He probably does not have many on him, she reasoned, and it probably tastes like cough syrup anyway. “Are you a soldier?” She shook her head. “Were you a soldier?”
The man nodded. “Something like that,” he said, “bit of an alterist too, though I wouldn’t call myself a lattistician.”
“Not trained?”
The man shook his head, letting out another puff of smoke. “Not certified,” he correctedz “Ttraining,” he wiggled his fingers and golden motes of light danced around them like synchronized LEDs, “I’ve had plenty.”
Nadia was less surprised than she thought such a revelation warranted. The Ironclad and his servants cannot catch every alterist in the empire she reasoned, remembering Natalia’s words. Not surprising that they might teach other. While it wasn’t a surprise, it was upsetting. More of the empire falling from the Ironclad’s light. “Do you have a name at least, or do not-quite-soldiers and not-quite-lattisticians not do names either?”
The man chortled, sparks erupting from the end of his cigarette and fading into the air after an inch. “I’m planning on picking a new one once these trials are over. New name, new body, new me.”
Nadia raised a brow. “You are awfully confident that you will make it through this.”
The man nodded. “I know I will. I got a friend up there”—he pointed to the sky—"A few actually.”
Nadia stopped her hand halfway back to her lips. “Did you pay the game makers?”
“Nope, did one better. Got a couple of the knights to look after me,” he said before leaning close and whispering, “I’m hot shit.”
“How much did you pay? How much did they agree to?”
The man shrugged. “Enough, I suppose. I know that the knights who were here for the early trials all got saddled with wrangling duty though, so I know my guy is still around.”
And that means Vogel is still around! Nadia reasoned, hoping her joy hadn’t shown too much on her face. “May I ask from which order?”
Before the man could answer, Brannon’s voice cut through the tundra. “Nadia! There you are!” he yelled as he ran through her footprints.
“We’re leaving? Already?”
Brannon nodded. “It’s been an hour and Ernst looks like he’ll explode if we wait any longer. Where have you been?”
“I was looking for flowers,” Nadia said quickly.
Brannon sighed and shook his head. “I hope you found them. Let’s go,” he said as he gave Nadia’s arm a light tug. When Brannon and Nadia arrived back, Nadia scanned around to see which group the man was with—and if his knight lingered nearby—but lost sight of him in the crowd quickly. I will have to be on the lookout for walking suits of armor in the bushes.
“You found her,” Gershwin exclaimed. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Nadia nodded. I know Vogel is here now. I just need to find him. “Yes, I did,” she said as she took her seat at the front of the truck.