Iman Maridadi looked down at the bodies of her friends. There were fifteen in all. Sorrow and anger tangled inside her as she took in the features of the Berettas who had just a few hours ago, been so full of life. Her eyes came to rest on Lyra Hawa and her heart almost gave out. She remembered the evenings she and Lyra spent watching the stars, and her composure slipped.
She carried herself away from her motionless allies and walked across the battlefield, keeping clear of the Berettas who hurried to clean away the wreckage. She glanced up and shielded her eyes from the setting sun, watching the great silhouette of the Engedi as it guarded the encampment. She made her way over to her intelligence officers who were crouched in the sands examining the wreckage of the Echo Crab.
A shrewd looking woman with dancing eyes and arrow-straight hair unbent herself from her task on seeing Iman. “Captain.” She said, bowing her head respectfully in greeting.
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“Pray tell, Rania Tahan,” Iman said in her quiet voice, “What have the Nairobi Eye discovered?”
Rania took a shuddering breath. “Our Berettas were ambushed in this valley and taken apart. That much is obvious. but what sends our hearts into tremors, is that we can find no signs whatsoever of an enemy.”
Iman cocked her head. “Explain.”
“See here,” Rania said pointing at the various tracks crisscrossing the valley floor, “These tracks belong to our fated scouts – notice the figure-eight motions and the looping maneuvers? All tactics used by the Berettas when fighting other matatus, yet there are no enemy tracks!”
Iman studied the tracks for but a moment before saying, “If Lyra had them in these formations then we can rule out a majitu attack.” She looked up to the surrounding elevations and continued, “So they were cut down from afar. Surely those villains left some mark of their presence up on those dunes.”
“None that the Eye can find, Iman.” The corners of Rania’s mouth were tight with frustration. “We’ve been searching since we arrived.”
Just then the crackling voice of a Beretta came through Rania’s radio.
“Commander, we’ve found something!”
Iman smiled at Rania as they made their way up the dunes toward a group of waving Berettas. “None that the Eye can find yet.”
Rania smiled, and in a moment, they arrived before the group of Berettas – these ones also bearing the mark of the Nairobi Eye.
“What is it, Major?” Iman asked a bespectacled Beretta.
The man swallowed and said, “Oil. Just a few drops, but its fresh.”
“Perhaps a Beretta bullet ruptured an oil line,” Rania said crouching down to the dark rosettes on the golden sand. A shadow came over her brow and she muttered as if to herself, “But there are no tracks… How can a matatu travel over these delicate dunes without leaving a memento of its passing?”
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“There are many strange and wondrous things in this city,” Iman said, her eyes taking on a distant look. “Lyra and her Berettas gave us the means to follow those who turned them over to darkness – tracks or no, we can follow the drops of oil to the villains who crossed us.” Iman held Rania’s shoulder, “Or are they too faint to track?”
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Rania laughed.
“No, Iman. Snooper can follow any trail.”
The proud captain smiled a grim smile. “Then release the hound!”
A few minutes later Iman and a special task force rolled out of the defensive perimeter and into the dunes. The first stars glittered in the pale purple brushstrokes of evening-time, and the Duika, lording over the Beretta State encampment swiftly disappeared over the horizon.
Four matatus raced over the sandy bluffs amidst the rapidly encroaching ink of night. At the head of the convoy was Snooper, a matatu teeming with state-of-the-art tracking technology. Strange antennae and bulging dishes covered its surface, all in aid of picking up on the minutest of trails. In this manner, it spied the tiny dots of oil on the shifting sands and set a vector for the rest of the squad to follow. Rania Tahan stood at its helm.
Behind her, Commander Hana Hatasu brought his interceptor matatu, Snow Pharaoh, in line with the projected route. Twin Joho machine guns rotated independently as the gunners swept them back and forth across the dark dunes, wary of any surprise attacks.
In the destroyer Mollyhock, Iman Maridadi surveyed the task force with her strange, rippling eyes, completely confident in Rania’s ability to track the low scum who had killed their friends. She sipped from a cool drink of water and reposed in the captain’s chair like a lazy predator, waiting for the first glimpse of her prey.
Finally, bringing up the rear of the swift unit was the interceptor Sheda’in, piloted and commanded by Rama Sinclair, the undisputed ace of the State. Though he was headstrong and arrogant, his deft control of a matatu frame and the extreme precision of his guns were the stuff of legend.
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On and on the convoy leapt into the vaulted ceilings of the desert night. The Snooper set its instruments on the search and pulled the convoy ahead like an excited dog on a leash. All Berettas on the mission were motivated by a seething desire for vengeance, but also a deep curiosity about what they would find at the end of the trail. Hour bled into hour as they wreathed themselves in midnight.
Suddenly, Rania’s voice crackled through the speakers of the Mollyhock, “Bad news Captain, the trail is drying up!”
“keep on the track Rania,” Iman leaned forward, “Have your navigators conjure a series of projected routes – we will not let those savages escape.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Thus it was, that in the small hours of the morning, the constant churning of the desert sands swallowed up the last of the oil droplets. The trail had gone cold. But the Beretta State were still on the hunt. Iman had in her possession an ancient map from the Millennium Age – an incredibly rare and valuable object that pointed to the true contours and dimensions of the Marza, the Dark City. Overlaying this artefact over more modern maps showed a long-lost enclave deep in the desert; at one point, a trading outpost. Gathering the projected routes from the Snooper’s navigators and combining them with her maps, Iman found her answers. The enemy most likely had a base there.
“Rania, the Snooper and her crew has performed their task admirably, but now is the time for Mollyhock to lead the way.” Iman’s voice now came through the speakers of the other matatus, “DENKI formation Berettas, and be sharp about it. Put your matatus on these coordinates.”
Iman duly sent the information to her team. Snow Pharaoh and Sheda’in fell in on the flanks of the destroyer, and Snooper brought up the rear. The mission was only an hour or so from their target.
With the first lights of dawn, Snooper picked up a hidden matatu signature.
Rania leapt up and snatched the radio from the operator. “Iman, we have a contact! A single matatu signature – dreadnaught class, just up ahead.”
“Showtime.” The lights in Iman’s eyes flickered like lightning in the belly of a cloud.
Mollyhock, chosen for this mission because of her incredible endurance and fearsome arsenal, crested the elevation, and the rising sun glittered on her palatial shoulders and tremendous guns. Below her, at the foot of the dune, the enemy of the Beretta State captured the atmosphere like a great anchor. Though Mollyhock was resplendent in the sun’s newborn fires, the matatu that sighed up at her was an authority in an entirely different league. Running up and down her length, so that they almost looked like hairs, row upon row of black guns cast their judgment, and on her stern-most decks, a fearsome gun – an easy rival of that famous railgun Columbia – commanded the airs surrounding it. A wild smile caught Iman as she picked out the golden letters emblazoned across the intimidating machine’s prow.
Mogwai.
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