PARALLAX – SILAS
Parallax is in the pilot seat when the ship’s computer sends a chirp sound through the dashboard speaker, and a series of enhanced images appear on the monitor screen.
Four figures. Two humans. Two Biodroids. As expected.
One of the Biodroids—Silas—is on the move, heading towards Parallax and Artifice’s ships rather than away.
The other is bound and appears to be unconscious, sitting up with his back against a cleft of rock on the desert plain.
Razor.
Please let him be okay!
There’s a female human who also appears to be unconscious, sitting next to him. The blonde one, with the jumpsuit. Then there’s the redhead, crouched next to both of them, gazing up in the direction of the ships, looking like a mouse caught in a floodlight.
Parallax makes a motion on the glass control panel with her fingers, and the footage zooms further, flickering for a second before feeding her a clearer image.
Razor appears to have a cable running out of his Jacktech slot, winding across the dirt like a thin black snake, connecting to...
The girl?!
The human!?!?
Something’s wrong here, but there’s no time to stop and dwell on it. Razor could be in danger.
Parallax should be slowing as she makes her descent, closing in on the Blast Model—it's the objective, after all. Here he is, practically offering himself up on a platter.
Instead, she speeds up, veering in a wide arc around and past Silas’ position, heading toward Razor.
There’s a pulsing beep from the dash, and Artifice’s voice comes through.
“I’d ask what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but I honestly don’t care. Just quit it. Pull back and-”
Parallax mutes the transmission so she can stay focused as she inputs the flight pattern. Soon she’ll need to be ready to drop in.
Only, before she can finish, warning sirens activate, and the dash lights turn red.
Her ship is being targeted.
*****
Perhaps I should have suspected this would happen. I guess I did. I was just hoping it wouldn’t.
One of the ships is slowing and descending, circling my position like a shark. The other is descending too, but it’s also speeding up, clearly aiming past me and toward the other group. Toward Shiloh, Ethan, and Cade.
I can’t let that happen.
How I’m supposed to stop something moving that fast, and that far away, I don’t know. But I have to try.
I raise my arm cannon, glowing with a charge blast I’ve had ready for several seconds at least. I focus on the ship. That seems like the right thing to do. Really hone in on it.
As I do so, I can feel something going on in the arm cannon. Things are...moving. Clicking out of one place and into another.
Suddenly, ridges expand outward from the circumference of the cannon, creating more space on the inside for the plasmic energy reaction.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
At least, I’m pretty sure that’s why this is happening. For some reason.
It’s my dormant memories. My experiences, my abilities. Trying to reach through my subconscious, equipping me to do what I need to do. And why should I fight it as long as it’s working?
A message, in my OS:
Prepping Blast Protocol. Level Two.
Level...two?
Is this because I absorbed the Salvo Protocol, unlocking one of my system’s ‘Gates’, whatever that’s about? Or is this an ability I’ve had all along, or at least since I got the OS up and running?
Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.
My focus has been disrupted, somewhat, so I have to dial back in, really focusing on that ship about to skirt around and past me.
There’s no way to know if I can actually make the shot. But what the hell. I’ll give it a go.
I take a deep breath and hold it, keeping my arm steady as I track the ship’s movements. A notification appears in my HUD, outlining the shape of the craft overhead. There’s a blip of text, something about an aim assist system. I can feel it, subtly guiding my movements. I just hope it’s enough to get me all the way there.
Here goes.
I let off the shot.
*****
The speed and accuracy of the plasma shot is extraordinary. Even with Parallax’s ship computer to warn her, there isn’t enough time. The attack is like a giant blade of light, drawn from earth to sky in one quick flick of an artist’s pen.
Parallax pitches the ship, tilting it to make herself a smaller target.
It doesn’t work.
The entire ship rocks sideways as the plasma beam hits the left wing. Warning sirens scream in Parallax’s ears. She holds tight to the steering wheel, arms and shoulders locked to keep herself from thrashing about in the seat. Everything is shaking. Her ship is plummeting in an uncontrolled spin, seconds from impact with the ground. An error message pops up on the monitor, informing her the emergency ejection system is malfunctioning.
That...motherfucker!
No. Too emotional.
She leans forward in her seat and closes her eyes, even as her home is coming apart around her, in free fall.
She was unprepared for this response. She’s been outgunned.
The only response left is to disembark.
She waits, feeling out the trajectory and nuance of the plummet, the way the ship flips and spins wildly.
NOW.
She opens her eyes and grabs the armrests, boosting herself up out of chair and into the main cabin. Curled into a ball, she allows the strange physics of the fall to carry her sharply sideways in the cabin, toward the least-armored section of the ship; the doors. Her hard body penetrates one door, then the other, like a cannonball crashing through the wooden hull of an old sea vessel, shredding through metal and prying bits of said metal outward, scraping the surface of Parallax’s armored body with bright, scar-like scratches.
She bursts out and away from the ship, coasting through the air at high speed, parallel to the ground. Wavey duns wash past beneath her in this strange moment of calm, despite the shrill whistle of the air rushing past her ears. Then, behind her, she hears her ship hit the ground like a meteor, exploding on impact, spraying sand up into the air with a crackle like distant fireworks.
All her games and shows, her data. She backed it up to the low orbit satellites just minutes before she arrived at Sector Nine, she’s relieved to remember. But what a thing to be preoccupied with under these circumstances.
She closes her eyes again, keeping her knees tucked, bracing for impact, as the ground rushes up to meet her.
She hits the crest of a dune in a puff of sand, then comes out the other side, spinning. She spreads out her limbs to control her fall, getting herself upright just as she lands on the ground, feet-first, leaning forward, skidding backward across the sand in a controlled slide, leaving a cloud of dense, beige dust in her wake.
She eases to a stop, finally, and pushes herself upright, panting from the exertion. The long cloud of dust she left behind drifts lethargically in the air, spreading, waiting for a breeze to come along and carry it away, dissipating it. It’s actually starting to obstruct her vision a bit, surrounding her like a blinding shroud.
The air is hot, and dry. The land is desolate and depressing. A remnant of something important, something special, that used to be.
Parallax runs a hand over her face, removing smudges of dirt and dust. Her sensors fizzle and glitch, jogged by the fall and confused by the density of the airborne particles.
She wheels in a circle, listening and watching while her OS runs a System Check. So far, the damage appears almost nonexistent. She’s just jostled, is all. Sensors fuzzy. Ears ringing. She just needs to get her head back in the-
Movement. Swift footfalls, muffled by the sandy terrain. A rapid approach.
Need to get out of here.
She’s about to take off in the opposite direction of her attacker, when she’s suddenly alerted to a crackly humming, like trapped electrical charge. Plasma, from the cannon.
She ducks sideways. A beam of energy cuts a cylindrical hole through the dustcloud, and through the spot where Parallax was standing only a fraction of a second ago.
She turns in the direction of the attack’s origin, just as the Blast Model leaps toward her, emerging like a phantom from the cloud of dust—So fast!—and swinging Daimon’s glowing sword, on a lightning-fast trajectory for her midsection.