Salusa Secundus
Amon lay beneath the stars on a trembling bed. Two cloaked and hooded beings bore him aloft. Dust coated their eye lenses and the tubes running from their masks. "Uhh…" Amon twisted his neck and saw a lump in the blanket covering his bare chest. "Urgh." His hand moved across his chest and closed around a valve.
"Stay your hand, full-blood. Stay!"
Full-blood? Amon let go of the valve and laid his hand on his chest. "Sol? Grego?"
"Save breath. The road is long. Path uneven."
"My—" Amon's lung clenched. "Mmm."
"In your chest. Squeeze."
Amon squeezed the valve. "Ahh." His arm slipped from beneath the blanket and dangled over the edge of the stretcher. In and out of consciousness he drifted, all the time bouncing on the rough canvas. The stars gave way to sunlight many times. Amon's face grew sore and dirt stuck to his skin. A fly landed on his nose and hopped across to his eyelid. Amon blinked and shook his head. "W—water."
A rocky shelf hung over Amon. His bearers sat watching a searchlight sweep along the floor of a canyon. Others sheltered out of sight, all in brown and with faces obscured.
"Water."
"Slow sips." A tube was placed to Amon's cracked lips. "Slow."
"They are looking for you, full-blood. What were you thinking straying in to the valley?"
"Uhhh." The tube left Amon's lips. Drops edged across his sore cheeks.
"Save it for later, brother."
"Brother." Amon's eyes roved across the hunched-over shapes beneath the robes. "Sol? Grego?"
"Should we make him walk? His body remains intact. The other two will never walk again."
"Sol!" Amon lurched upright. A gloved hand shoved him down and pulled the blanket over his face.
Thunder crashed and dust whipped beneath Amon's blanket. Quivering arms lifted Amon's stretcher up on to a shelf and pushed it forwards. Amon's shoulders left the end of the stretcher and he slid backwards.
"Hold him! Hold him!" Hands caught Amon's shoulders and put him back on to the stretcher. "Should we not strap him down?"
"With what?"
Lightning cracked against a peak, illuminating the valley. Rocks tumbled down the slopes, bringing clouds with them. "How much further?"
"Three hours until the next cave."
Raindrops pattered Amon's blanket and soaked through. His numb fingers released the valve. Water ran up his nose and in to his eyes. Shouts came from further back along the column. Amon opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. Warm drops landed on it.
Rock covered Amon. Beside him, his saviours crowded a cave and watched the horizontal rain lashing the valley outside. "Perfect cover, my brothers." A figure rose and tugged a longarm on to his shoulder, bore-down. "We are off."
"Should we not wait for the rain to ease? Anais?"
"No, the enemy will not get their flyers up in this. Scout Group, move out." Anais tightened his mask's straps and pointed at Amon. "Pick the wounded up."
Rain stung Amon's eyes. Wind blasted strands of hair back. Grey peaks filled the skyline. Come dusk, the rain had abated, leaving Amon soaked and shivering. Around him was a tight, winding corridor, leaving only a narrow gap of grey light far above. Oh, Gods… The passage widened in to a canyon of immeasurable distance. Skull-faced beings with double-jaws and elongated craniums sat on thrones facing one another across the canyon. Swords and staffs were gripped in six-fingered hands. Scouring sands had blunted their features. Pieces of masonry the size of houses lay on the canyon floor. Gloss paint shone on the statues. A red grin was splattered over a skull's mouth. White runes coated the base of the thrones. Eldar runes. How? Children, bald and bare-chested, watched Amon from ledges running behind the statues. Some stood on the knees, others perched on the shoulders or hung from the arms. A cloth bag scraped down Amon's head, cutting out the dusk light, and a needle pricked his neck. Amon's arm fell over the edge of the stretcher. His muscles loosened and his body relaxed.
Light cast shadows across a smooth-faced rock wall. Candles glowed inside orifices. Blankets buried Amon, itching his skin. Sol? Grego? Amon's gummy eyelids parted. A blurred figure slumped on a stool beside an opening hacked in the rock. Goggles hung from its neck and long strands of blond hair hung over a pale ear. A pointed ear.
"Captain?" Amon rolled the blankets back. A clean dressing hugged his chest. Urgh, what is that? A greyish paste was pressed between the dressing and Amon's skin. "Mmmhh." Amon pushed himself upright and planted his bare feet on a carpet. His boots lay next to the mattress. Amon tucked them under his arm and rose. Crates lined the chamber's walls and a table with two chairs took up the centre, holding a plastic plate and an empty bottle.
A firearm leaned against the wall. A human weapon? Amon's fingers drew a scratched, wooden fore-end away from the wall. Bolt-action. Amon frowned at the guard, still in the throes of slumber. Gold runes covered the metalwork and a floral pattern was etched in the stock.
Rifle sling over his shoulder, Amon crept from the chamber. To the left, the path led down, and to the right, the path led up. Rusted nails held cables to the uneven walls and stone steps had been hacked in to the ground. Amon turned right and climbed up the steps. Safety. Amon took the rifle in to his hands and thumbed a lever beside the striker forward. Where are you, brothers?
Wind groaned through the tunnels. Cloth doors hung from pins in the ceiling. Amon put his eye to a crack. Beings slept in cots and foldout beds. Candles burned low in the walls. An iron lamp hung from a chain, the candle inside on its last gasp. Amon retreated from the crack and moved on. A flaming torch bobbed down the passage towards him. Amon backed through a screen and in to a sleeping chamber. The rifle's body hit the stone. Amon gritted his teeth and caught hold of the stock. The torch passed by. Amon moved the screen aside. These are no Rangers. Amon looked over his shoulder. A child, head shaven, sat on a bed with its mother looking at him. It had very subtly pointed ears but the softer, less-sharpened features of a human. Amon ducked out of the chamber and kept climbing.
Clean air drifted in from an opening two feet tall and twice that wide. Amon dropped to his hands and knees and put his eye to the opening. Gods, what is that? Two-hundred feet below, a crashed starship lay with its nose buried in the deepest point of a natural basin completely surrounded by cliffs pockmarked with holes. Sections of the ship lay all across the basin. A sinkhole? Amon peered up at the starship's aft section balancing on the cliff's edge. It looked like the ship's fore and mid-sections had broken under the pressure of hanging over the cliff edge and had fallen in to the hole, leaving the engines behind.
The rifle's brass buttplate touching his shoulder, Amon prowled through empty rooms filled with carpets, fat pots, and hanging vases smelling of incense. Thin flame shivered on the ends of iron arms. Stairs, leading down from the chambers, hugged the walls of a chasm and made ninety-degree turns every twenty feet. Amon leaned over the edge and slung the rifle. Tunnels branched off at every turn in the steps. Gods, a warren. Who are these beings?
Sand gathered in mounds at the base of the chasm. Amon pulled the sling taught and leaped the last fifteen feet. Sand shot out from beneath his knees and the rifle skidded from his shoulder and buried itself in the sand. "Pfft!" Amon spat and retrieved the rifle and blew on the action. Crude thing. Amon lifted the bolt and eased it back. A metallic cartridge slid out from the chamber. Amon blew on it and snapped the action shut.
Pillars surrounded a dried-up pool, rectangular in shape. Fat urns stood on square plinths in the corners of the room. Iron chains, bolted to the ceiling, supported wide dishes containing braziers. Amon darted in to the room, the rifle held at his hip, and took cover behind a pillar. This cannot be right. Not a soul awake and alert. Where are the sentinels? Amon shouldered the rifle and crossed the gap between the pillars. A tall doorway at the end of the room led out in to the open air. Amon fitted his feet inside his boots before heading outside and down widely-spaced steps dusted with sand.
Stars twinkled in the night sky. A purple smear stained it. Dust blew over the edge of the cliffs and poured in to the basin. Amon turned and looked up at a statue carved in to the cliff. It stood alone, no throne or staff, and without a face. Its feet formed a chokepoint at the entrance. A temple. In whose honour?
Amon circled around a curving section of the ship's outer hull scoured by rust. Smooth and without a handhold, the hull loomed above him. Paint flaked from letters printed on the outside. VARANG. The hull after the letter G had been ripped away, leaving only half of the ship's name.
Water gushed through a cranny beneath the hull, forming a waterfall. A craggy wall rose before Amon. He placed his heel on a nub of rock and began to climb. A foaming pool roared thirty feet below the ridge Amon crested. Moisture coated the rocks and spray dampened his skin. Sheer cliffs ran down to a river winding away through the basin. Broken struts protruded from a section of the ship and hung over the river. Water shone on bare metal pipes. Soggy insulation hung in tatters from the remnants of corridors. Amon reached for a bit of broken pipe and hauled himself up on top. His knees squeaked on the slick surface. How deep is that, I wonder? Amon's heel touched the pipe and he straightened up and spread his arms. Wind nudged him sideways. Amon's arms wavered. His boots clunked upon the pipe.
A whip cracked. Amon flinched and twisted his head. Where did—? Amon's legs propelled him from the pipe and over nothing. His hands shot out and grasped a brace of thinner pipes overhead and he swung forwards, the rifle bouncing on his back. A second crack whizzed through the air. Water mushroomed beneath Amon. A hammer sparked against the pipes, inches from his fingers. "Umph!" Amon lunged. At the furthest point of his swing, let go and dropped through a hole in a piece of corridor hanging over the torrent.
Feet braced on the bulkhead Amon dragged himself across panels, up to a square opening where the corridor had sheared off. His eyes cleared the jagged edge. Splinters and stones spat past Amon's ear. He jerked his head down and tugged the rifle's sling over his head. Where are you? A flash illuminated an opening high up in the cliff-face. Amon ducked, exhaled, and rose from cover. The rifle's stock thudded against his shoulder. A muzzle flashed in the cliff. A round snapped close by.
Amon bobbed his head down and cycled the bolt. A casing flew from the breech, clattered against the deck, and rolled down in to the water. The band around his chest itched. I need to move. Amon fired up at the cave, cycled, and sent another round in to the pitch-dark opening. One hand holding the rifle, Amon vaulted over the lip of the broken corridor and jumped up to the level section. Air hissed and cracked beneath his knee. Sandy rock poked from ruptured panels. Dust rode inside Amon's nostrils. He pinched his nose shut and moved along the corridor.
Three decks below, a bulkhead door jammed with sand let in a chink of light. Amon scooped at the slope with his rifle-butt and wormed through the gap. A gunshot echoed through the basin and sand spurted in Amon's face. Amon scuttled in to a field of debris and dived behind a piece of hull poking out of the ground. A rock by Amon's foot shattered and flung little flecks of stone in to his arm. Amon shied back and raised his arm over his face. Little red crystals dotted his forearm. Strength. Amon thumped his fist against his side and raised himself on to his knees. Which cave? Amon squeezed the trigger. Ten feet to the right of his point of aim, a muzzle replied. A gong banged against the armour-plating beneath Amon's chin. Amon hunched and worked the bolt.
"Bravo! Bravo!" A figure hopped down a set of steps leading inside a cave on the far side of the basin. "It's alright!" The figure spread his arms and turned in a circle.
Amon gathered air in his lungs and barked, "I just want my brothers. Come no closer. I warn you!"
A cigarette butt glowed orange. "Oh, don't mind them."
"Them?"
A being with round ears scampered over to Amon. Little containers hung from leather straps around the human's neck. An olive grey respirator sack, bleached khaki by the sunlight, bounced against his hip and a necklace of teeth jangled. "Fag? Nah, none of you bastards smoke. I forget." The human turned back to the cliffs and cupped his hands over his mouth. "COME ON OUT!"
Cloaked and hooded beings melted from the shadows. They filled openings high in the cliffs and doorways at ground level. Rifles, spears, crossbows, swords, and bludgeons came with them. Amon seized the human's open collar and yanked him in to the path of his rifle's muzzle. "My brothers."
"Hah!" Stained lips peeled away from chipped, wonky teeth. "Look around you."
"Watch my lips. What. Is. Going. On?"
"Shmokin'." Smoke surrounded Amon's head. "Hahahahaha!"
"I have never added an Obscura-head to my tallies. Should I make this a first?"
"Hah-hah! Show us your brass."
"Show us?"
"Huh—you're firing blanks, friend. Wish I could say the same."
"Impossible." Amon thrust the human away. He opened the rifle's breech and caught the ejecting cartridge.
The human dropped his butt and ground it in to the dirt. "That's a no-shit crimp-nose. You've been had, friend. Welcome to the family."
Behind the human, hordes left the caves and rolled across the basin. Those standing on precipices lowered hoods and pulled masks away. Pointed ears poked through wild manes sported by the adult. The children, all bald, had pointed ears too. Amon's arms slackened. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"No, really. You—you have my attention."
"Me? I'm just a day-trader—employee—gun-for-hire—"
"—You bear no arms."
"Uh-uh." The human brought a rectangular device with a lense in the centre up and clicked it at Amon. "Never kill—never! I capture. Capture and keep forever." A pict whirred out of a slot. The human plucked it free. "Hmm, and the award for the most bewildered goes to…"
"My question earlier…"
"Earlier's been and gone. Live in the moment, friend."
"Who shot at me? Where are my brothers?"
The human made an exploding gesture with his hands. "Brother, I observe. I am no slave to guidelines or mandates. I only ride the leaf downriver. I never steer."
Amon shunted the rifle's action forwards. "I have never tested a blank on an Obscura-head—"
"PENSHA! PENSHA!" The human shook his fists and danced on the spot. "I… I can tell you who engaged you. That's it."
"Who?"
"A sniper—"
"Well, clearly."
"One of the Vasak's best."
"Best!" Amon spat at the dirt. "And I suppose he was graced with live ammunition." Amon worked the breech open and shut. Rounds flew out and landed on the ground. "A toddler could have done better."
"Everything else is up to the Vasak."
"Visarch?"
"N—n—no, Vasak."
Amon swung the rifle's stock at the human. "Then take me to him."
"Err, you—you don't see the Vasak. If he wants, he comes and finds you, and you—you listen. You don't really speak to him either." The human dropped the rifle and backed away from it. Amon placed his hands on his hips and strode past the human. Dark eyes watched him warily. Even the children bore arms, if only rocks and knives. Full-blood. Amon stared down a warrior, naked beneath his cloak, who carried a spring-loaded bolt-caster. Scalps hung from a cartridge bandolier across his painted chest. Yellowed toes were stuck inside the leather loops. Iron nail heads stuck out from his knuckles. Black paint circled his eyes. What does that make you?
"Takes you off-guard first time first time you see it, huh?" The human hovered by Amon's shoulder.
"The Vasak. Take me to him."
"Err, he's gone away."
"How far?"
"No, look, listen! We're in his house. His rules."
The mob backed off and split in to two. Amon walked along the corridor of eyes and bared weapons with empty hands. A tall, square door, precise in its symmetry unlike the other openings in the cliff, beckoned to Amon. Spears stuck out of the ground at angles and windchimes clinked. "What is in there? Is that the Vasak?"
"No-no-no-no-no."
"No, that is not the Visarch?"
"No, you can't go in there. That's his."
"His…" Amon brushed runes painted on the stone in yellow paint. Eldar.
"The—the drawings. They paint them everywhere. Little houses, swords, and dirty great spears. Don't ask me why. They're from space. It's all Double-Tech to me!"
The crowd gathered at the base of the steps, still and silent. They could skewer me from anus to throat at any moment.
"How 'bout it?" The human aimed his pict-capturer at the crowd. "One for the scrapbook?" Children squirmed through legs and squatted at the front. The taller moved backwards and the shorter kneeled. One remained standing. A pair of polarised goggles covered its eyes and a mask its jaw. A desert-camouflage cape hung from one shoulder. Amon's eyes fixed on a long slug-rifle with a telescopic sight mounted to a siderail. A faint trace of propellant reached his nose. The closer he drew, the tighter the sniper gripped its rifle.
"Almost," Amon muttered.
Spears lowered and pointed at Amon. Painted warriors surrounded him. The erratic human had slunk off, leaving Amon alone. Coarse rope bound Amon's wrists behind his back. Spearheads prodded him along rough-hewn tunnels in the lower levels of the network. A stench, stronger than the propellant from the sniper's rifle, warmed Amon's skin. Death.
Gaping stone faces reared from the walls. Wounded Eldar lay inside alcoves three rows high. Cracks split the sandstone. Flies flitted about. Thin bandages, pink and frayed, hung from pins in the wall. Buckets stood in corners. Urine stained the floor.
Belted ammunition jangled behind Amon. A pronged muzzle waved at the floor. Amon bent and got down on his knees. Damp soaked through his trousers. A body in the alcove beside him shifted and a hand moved out from beneath the blanket. A Thumb and two fingers uncurled. Dried blood crystals covered two severed fingers. "I knew it wasn't true."
"Sol?"
"Are we still in the minefield?"
"No." Amon shuffled backwards. "Hands." Sols fingers closed around Amon's. "That's the Ranger I know."
"Hrgh." Sol pulled the blanket away from his face. Torn flesh surrounded his teeth, leaving a grimace. A flap of hairy skin had peeled away from Sol's skull.
"No…" Amon felt beneath Sol's head. Little scraps of flesh stuck to his fingers. "Where is your bandage, Sol?"
"My what? Amon, can you scratch my ankle?" Sol lifted his left leg. Bone protruded from a stump.
"Let me—" Amon bit in to a used dressing hanging in a row and tugged. A curved hook held it in place near the ceiling. "Eurgh." Amon jerked his head back. Sodden gauze ripped and fell to the floor. "Pick it up. Pick the end up and wrap it around your head, Sol." Amon kept the end held in his teeth as Sol wound the gauze around his head. "Mm-hm. Good."
"I need… I need the bucket."
"Sol, your wounds." Amon ripped another dressing down and sidled down to Sol's leg. "I apologise."
"Apologise for what?"
"Can you not feel it?" The rope dug in to Amon's wrists. "Your leg."
"My leg? What about my leg, brother?"
"Never mind." Amon turned, held the end of the bandage in his teeth, and worked the length around Sol's leg. That cannot be good. "Grego?"
"Behind you."
"Heh. Behind me are y—?" A knife blade touched Amon's neck.
"Almost?"
Amon straightened up and stepped back from Sol. "I beg thee."
"Beg? The full-blood begs for his life before me?" The blade moved up Amon's neck to below his ear.
"You perceive wrongly. I beg for yours, not for mine. Now, would you listen to me, please—" Amon circled his head away from the knife and rammed it backwards. His skull connected with another's nose, flattening it.
"Oomph." A body tumbled against a wall. Amon whipped around and shunted his knee up in to the right side of his assailant's ribcage. A shiv fell from slack fingers and the sniper slid down the wall and lay on its side. Amon pressed his sole against the shiv and dragged it over.
"Sol!" Amon waddled over to Sol, the shiv in his fingers, and dropped it next to Sol. "Cut me loose."
"Good knee, brother."
"Liver. Cut me loose."
"Sorry, brother."
"Grego? Grego!" Amon nudged Grego, lying in the alcove opposite Sol, with his knee. "Brother, cut me loose."
"Errr, Amon?"
"Cut me loose."
Grego sawed at the hairs, parting them one by one. "Made a friend?"
"Some sick, twisted game of theirs. Gave me blanks and her live ammunition."
"Er, her?"
"Yes, her." Amon yanked his wrists apart and shook the ropes free. "If I find you a crutch, can you walk?"
"Should be able to…" Grego reached for his right leg. "Aghh, hurts."
"Here." Amon pulled down dressings and passed them to Grego. "Tight knots, brother."
"Your chest?"
"Worry ye not. It takes more than a collapsed lung to nullify a Ranger."
"And a lost leg." Grego tied the dressing off and crawled out of the alcove. "Sol?"
"All together again?" Grego's hand closed around Sol's bandaged hand.
"We never left you."
"Cousin?"
"With you, Sol." Amon heaved Sol from the alcove.
"Amon? Trouble."
Ammunition clinked. A warrior bearing a belt-fed stubber swung his weapon at Amon and struck him in the shoulder with the butt. Booted feet stampeded around Amon. "Amon? Amon—" Rags were stuffed inside Sol's and Grego's mouths and rope bound their arms. Feet shoved them inside the alcoves. Hustled along through the foul-smelling tunnels, Amon glimpsed a wider chamber with a naked corpse lying on a stone table. The skin on its crown had been peeled back and the bone sawed away, leaving the brain exposed. Ceramic jars filled shelves and thin metal instruments with sharp ends lay inside plastic bags. Brown bandages spilled from beneath the lid of a wicker hamper. A stone primate, teeth bared, perched on a column. Little pairs of eyes followed Amon.
Etchings covered every inch of a stone sanctum. The children sat on the lowest tier, the juvenile one above, and the adult one above them. Insect netting obscured a raised plinth in the centre of the chamber. Muzzles pushed Amon down at the foot of the plinth. The sniper, without binds, kneeled at Amon's shoulder.
"Your trigger finger weakens, Ogre." A robed being in a crown of bones got up from a stone chair and stood before the net. Attached to the back of a human military harness were spines. They poked through holes in a cloak and reared above the being's shoulders. The sniper lowered her head and kissed the bottom step. "From where do you hail, full-blood?"
"From the Craftworld Iyanden. Formerly."
"Only the stars give you orders now, outcast?"
"And the desert gives yours, Vasak?"
The Vasak swept the netting aside. A human skull covered his face. Braids dangled over his ears. "You wonder why they call you full-blood, outcast. We are the descendants of the fifty full-blooded the Genus bore in its bosom to this world." The Vasak peeled the skull mask away and turned it towards the crowd. "My father's great-grandfather, Vasak Licata!"
Amon alone remained upright. Every other half-blood threw themselves on to the floor and stayed there. Madness. A metal panel hanging from a chain caught Amon's eye. The letters on it spelt Genus. Genus? Varangenus must be the name of the ship.
"Bow, damn you!" Ogre hissed. "Bow to the Vasak."
"Tell me, Vasak…"
The Vasak spread his arms. "Leave us. Ogre, remain." The flock wandered from the sanctum, leaving Amon, Ogre, and the Vasak alone. "Speak, brother."
"Brother is it now?"
"Diluted though it may be, I share blood with you. As does Ogre."
"Diluted…? I—I do not understand."
The Vasak placed his mask on a stone chair and came down from the plinth. "One-hundred and fifty cycles ago, there was no Harawat or Camp Vigilance. The humans on this world – there were very few – dwelt in caves much like the network we now call home. The fifty, faced with the prospect of dying out or inbreeding chose a third path."
"You should have died out. Why did you not send a hail? Broadcast your plea to the stars!"
"Ask the ancestors. I would assume it was down to the destruction of the Genus' communications."
"Varangenus. Your ship—"
"—The ancestors' ship."
"And this cult you have—"
"—Nation. We are our own nation, outcast, and we look out for our own, be they half-blood or full. Were it not for our intervention, the desert would have claimed all three of you. As I understand, your brothers' wounds leave them immobile. Co-operate and they will receive proper care."
Amon got up and faced the Vasak. "You will see no hand-in-hand co-operation. First, and only first, you will tend to their wounds with sterile medical supplies and ensure their convalescence is a comfortable affair. As a leader too, you understand the needs of your people come first and the duty of care rests squarely on your shoulders."
The Vasak twisted a ring on his third finger. "You are at our service, Ranger. Demands are not yours to make."
"Treat my brothers first or I place my body in a cell. You have no use for a crippled Ranger, so you need not bother with torture threats. I am conditioned to accept pain. Physical and psychological."
"Are you conditioned to accept the pain Salusan women can inflict? Last the hours with your body inside out and the insects gnawing at you?"
"Sniper, we must look to your aim."
"You have nothing to teach me, full-blood."
"Raise your head, Ogre," the Vasak said. "Look the Ranger in the eye. You are the reason he stands before me, alive and unhurt. Let lesson be learned."
"Your will, Vasak, brought the full-blooded to our home. Yours."
The Vasak waggled two fingers. "Up. Look up. Look to your left. You are his chaperone. Ranger, you are her tutor."
"Very well," Amon said.
"I will not."
"Ogre, what with the accident, it is a miracle you can even hold a rifle, let alone achieve accuracy."
"And achieve accuracy you will. Is the human not the mutual enemy of our people?"
"My people, Ranger, not yours," Ogre said.
"Come. Reveal thyself, Ogre."
"I would remain faceless, Vasak. You need only my eyes and my trigger-finger."
"Show me."
"Vasak…"
"Show me."
"Vasak." Ogre lowered her hood and mask and loosened her goggles.
Ogre? Amon frowned at a young warrior with pale, unlined skin. Then Ogre turned her head and looked at Amon. The goggles hid one milky white eye and one gold. The mask covered a long scar running from her mouth to her temple, nearly deep enough to part the flesh on her cheek. Long strands of brown hair fell down her pointed ears.
"Ogre, outcast. Outcast, Ogre. You have seven human days before we resume operations against the invaders. My best will regain her eye by then."
"Vasak." Ogre bowed and shot a glance at Amon.
"Am I to teach with both hands tied behind my back, Vasak?"
"You will have the run of the valley, outcast. You will be under guard and watched at all times. Do not try to escape. You will be shot."
"Gratitude for mercy shown to me and my companions, Vasak." Amon bowed. Ogre's hands gripped his wrists and sliced through the rope. The Vasak returned to his throne and replaced his mask.
"Move it." Ogre, her mask and hood back in place, stamped on Amon's ankle and followed him out of the sanctum.
"The derogatory name is not yours is it, sniper?" Amon muttered.
"Caution, full-blood. I need no steadiness in my hand for a knife to plunge."
"And I need no hands at all to defend my brothers."
Ogre massaged her ribs. "That hurt."
"That is because your liver is soft and easily compromises your body."
"Full-blood. Full-blood?"
"Sniper—" An elbow cracked against his cheek, dislodging a tooth. "Ermph!" Amon stuck his finger in his mouth and wiggled the tooth. "Agh, good elbow. Oft neglected in favour of the fist."
"See how long you last in the Pit." Ogre thumped her shoulder against Amon's when she moved past him.
"The Pit?" Amon twisted a broken tooth free and slid it in to his trouser pocket. "The name rings ominous. What business has a sniper in a pit-fight?"
"Winning." A thin blade snicked from the spine of some brass knuckles. "Salusa Rules."
"No rules?"
Ogre aimed the point underneath Amon's chin and backed him against a wall. "My rules. We play by my rules now, outcast."
"Then how do you expect to learn if you refuse to adapt?" The point twisted. Amon tilted his chin up. "Do you wish for a challenge? Let me challenge you. Sniper to sniper."
Dust blasted from a muzzle brake and rolled across Amon. Prone beside Ogre, Amon shifted his knee across the mat they lay on and removed his fingers from his ears. He wore a soft, khaki hat with a floppy brim on his head and a smock with three pockets on the breast and a drawstring collar. Only Ogre bore arms. In this case, a Faisal SVG slug rifle with optics and sacking wrapped around the body.
"Safe." Ogre clicked the safety lever upwards and laid her hands on the mat. "Ears." Ogre pried cotton wool from her ears. "Tell me what you saw."
Ogre pinched the back of her hood and tugged the edge out of her eyes. "Nothing. Dust."
"Dust. What if we were rid of the dust?"
Ogre's eyes narrowed. "How? Impossible."
"Water."
"I am not giving you my water. I can still hit the target, dust or not."
"Wet the ground beneath the muzzle."
"You would waste water out here?"
"Mm. If lesson could be learned, I would gladly spill water."
"You are not the reigning predator out here, full-blood. The desert will always have the last laugh if you do not respect it."
"By your leave, sniper."
Ogre reached beneath her cape and plucked a water carrier out and hit Amon on the arm with it. "Leave enough for me."
"Of course, madam."
"Don't—"
"Hm?"
"Do not."
Amon popped the cap and poured water on the ground in front of the pack the SVG lay on. "Ears. Now try again—without aiming."
Ogre stuffed her ears. "Why bother shooting?"
"One round. When you are ready." Amon pressed his fingers in to his ears. Ogre set the safety and squeezed the trigger. The SVG kicked and flung brass from the chamber. "How was that?"
Ogre twisted the wool out. "Fair enough. You win."
"If I have to fight you every step of the way—"
"—Go on then. How else am I offending the Rangers?"
"Aim. Pick the rifle up and aim." Ogre gripped the thumbhole stock with her right hand steadied it with her left. "You roll your head over the stock. Why not switch hands?"
"We are not all blessed with ambidexterity, full-blood."
"Try it."
"…The cheek-weld does not accommodate left-handed shooting."
"Leave that to me."
Ogre switched firing hands. "Very uncomfortable."
"Do you have a clear sight picture?"
"Yes."
"Good. This next shot we will use to zero the sights. Do you see a horizontal line on the bottom left corner of the optic?"
"Yes."
"Place that at the base of the target board then line up the reclining line above it with the top of the board."
"Number five?"
"Multiply by one-hundred."
"Five-hundred. Metres?"
"Correct. Now, hold that. Adjust the dial on top of your sight. Base zero is two-hundred yards, so three clicks to the right. That will adjust the reticle accordingly." Amon stabbed a metal peg with a piece of white bunting attached in to the ground.
"Where did you acquire that?"
"This… is just about good enough to gauge the wind direction." The flag hung limp. "Which today is negligible. Excellent."
"Which chevron do I use for five-hundred?"
"Stay with the topmost chevron. Are you happy?" Amon opened a cracked leather case and put a pair of old binoculars to his eyes. "If so, fire when ready."
Amon winced at the sharp clap and relaxed his finger from inside his right ear. No puff of dirt rose from the berm behind the target board. Left and low. "Safety. How much ammunition did you bring?"
"Eleven cartridges." Ogre opened her glove and showed Amon the three spent cases.
"Some challenge of the Vasak's?" Amon picked a casing from Ogre's hand. "Strike the red in as few rounds as possible?"
"You with your lasrifles and splinter weapons." Ogre swiped the casing. "We fight the humans with spears, crossbows, fuel bombs. Scoff if you will."
"I see no reason why I should." Amon tapped his knuckles against a stone. "Another. Let us zero."
"How far was I off-target?" Ogre rubbed her cheek where the stock had left a red mark.
"Two inches to the left. You hit low too."
"Two clicks?" Ogre clicked the dial on the side of her scope.
"Try the second chevron. Fire when ready."
Ogre exhaled and curled her finger around the trigger. The SVG jerked back. Still left. Amon rose on one knee and glassed the berm. "Another two clicks to the—" The glasses dropped against Amon's chest. He grasped a fistful of sand and chucked it over his shoulder.
A being in a desert cape grunted and reeled back from the sand cloud. "Gods of—!"
"A friend of yours, sniper?"
"The Vasak's man."
"Is this true?"
The Vasak's man lowered a shawl covering his mouth and shook sand from it. "Pfft! Lesson learned there. Never sneak up on a Ranger in tutelage."
"Drop the tutelage and you might be near the mark."
"And are you, Ogre?" The Vasak's man kneeled on Ogre's right and placed a telescopic sight to his eye. "The Vasak would know of our sniper's progress."
"And you are?"
"Anais. Well met, full-blood."
"Amon Numerial."
"Any… hits?"
"Well, we are a little strapped for ammunition. Seven rounds with which to further marksmanship."
"The Vasak's compliments." Anais tossed a loaded SVG magazine to Amon. "Ten rounds."
"I am not the one you should be granting the attention." Amon handed the magazine to Ogre.
"Teach our best the Ranger way of sniping." Anais smirked down at Ogre.
"Sniping cannot be taught in a single human week. Nor are we equipped for sniping."
"Ogre has a sniper's rifle, full-blood. Why the reluctance?"
"Sniper, safe. Both of your ears, please." Amon tugged a dangling cord. "Ah-hmm. To be brutally honest, the inclusion of a powered optic is not the deciding factor in whether the weapon can be officially classed as a sniper's rifle. Minute of angle must be considered as well. And as you are a solitary operator, you, Sniper, are more a designated marksman."
"No. No, I am a sniper! My father and mother were snipers and their parents before them. The sniper's blood runs through me." Ogre laid her head against the SVG's body and drove her fist in to the dirt.
"Know you of minute of angle?"
"No."
Anais shook his head and mimed a gun firing at it. "Pwooh."
"Sniper, I can and I will teach you marksmanship. But, again, I will not be sporadic with the truth. You are better served as a solitary sharpshooter attached to a combat unit."
"So, our best is now our worst. The Vasak will be pleased." Anais drew his shawl across his face and turned to head back to the valley. "Do not worry. I require no demonstration."
"Sniper?" Amon patted the bag the SVG lay against. "Ready to continue?"
"Why?" Ogre lifted her head. "Why mock me with that false title?"
"My brothers and sisters do not mock and belittle at physical handicaps. With patience and understanding, we work through our issues and better ourselves, both as people and as warriors. Now, remove your safety and find your sight picture."
"For what purpose other than saving your neck?"
"My brothers. Now, understand a Ranger, as with any warrior, is applied like a tool. When that tool it damaged, you diagnose the issue and repair. Shall we prove the Vasak's man wrong?"
"Hmph." The SVG's butt snuggled against Ogre's shoulder. "This damned stock."
"That can be amended. Do you have the target?"
"Yes."
"Then fire when ready." Amon plugged his ear and watched the target. A puff rose from the berm on the same level as the lower edge of the target board but three inches to the left.
"Stoppage."
"Let me see." Amon moved behind and to Ogre's right elbow. The bolt sat mid-battery.
"Did I hit?"
"Cycle first."
Ogre pulled the charging handle back to its furthest extent and let it fly forwards. "I cleaned the rifle and cartridges myself."
"As any warrior equipped accordingly should. Let us remove the target for a moment. Another round downrange." Amon moved out of the way of the chamber and blocked his ears.
"Stoppage," Ogre said after the noise faded away.
"Excellent."
"Excellent?" The bolt had jammed in the rearward position. "Is it broken?"
"Does it not excite you, Sniper? We can narrow the problem all the way down to the solution. Unload."
Ogre released the magazine and peeped in to the chamber. "Chamber clear."
"Hand me a cartridge."
"Why would I do that?" Ogre's hand slid beneath the shoulder of her cape and closed around the hilt of a knife attached to her harness.
"Observe these holes in the gas tube." Amon pointed to the tube above the barrel. "These regulate the flow of gas through the weapon. What happens with these weapons is that sometimes the gas is not strong enough to fully cycle the bolt. In this case, we jam the tip of a cartridge or anything long and thin inside the hole and give it a twist to the right, increasing the amount of gas, and the other way if we wish to reduce the volume of gas."
"And have you?" Ogre passed a cartridge to Amon.
"Never in the field. We train with human firearms down to the ancient bolt-action. It certainly helped." Amon pressed the metal tip in to the hole and gave the tube a twist.
"I meant have you ever jammed anything long and thin inside a hole before." Ogre folded her arms beneath the SVG's stock and tapped her palms. "Hunh. I pity the poor, simple-minded maiden having to listen to you talk about minutes and angles."
"Here. Load."
"Anything else, full-blood?" Ogre loaded the SVG.
"Fire when ready."
Ogre rolled her eyes and drew the stock in to her shoulder. "Hmmmm… Hmm-hm-hmm." The SVG leaped back. Ogre kept it steady with her right hand and relaxed her fore-finger. "Well?"
"Left." Amon lowered the glasses and watched Ogre adjust the dial. Isha, this may take some time.
Two pairs of footprints trailed for kilometres across the plateau. Amon walked in front, and Ogre behind. Seventeen 8-millimetre casings knocked together in a dump pouch hanging from Ogre's hip. A plastic bag, held in place by string, covered the empty rifle's muzzle brake. "Stop. Stop!" Ogre circled around Amon, her knife in her hand.
"Must every conversation be conducted at knifepoint from now on?"
"Strangers in the desert."
"If I met a stranger in the desert, I would grant them sanctuary. My food and water would be theirs, and vice-versa."
"Viker-what?"
"Just an old human term – High Gothic – meaning the same would be had by me. We would share our provisions, naturally, given the common enemy of the wastes."
"Even with a human?"
"If they were to request sanctuary."
"The round-ear will find no sanctuary here, only slow death." Ogre advanced on Amon with the knuckle-knife levelled. "Do not call me sniper."
"I take no relish in referring to you how the Vasak's man did. It is insulting."
"They only call me that to my face because they knew I would kill them if I heard what they called me behind my back."
"I understand."
"No. You, the perfect, upstanding full-blood have no idea. You without flaws, vices, emotion—!" Ogre waved the knuckle-knife in front of Amon's face.
"—With my brothers! They anchor my heart." Amon made a claw with his hand. "We live with our flaws. Learn from our mistakes! Mine was leading my team in to the minefield. Their bodies are proof of my flaws."
"Limbs can be regrown!"
"That is not the point!"
"You full-blooded…" Ogre stooped and unwound a cloth puttee from her leg. "It is easy for you." The cloth fell away, exposing a wooden leg. Everything below Ogre's left knee was wooden, all the way down to a worn boot a brace fitted around.
"I am sorry."
"I need no sympathy from you, full-blood." Ogre re-tied the puttee and tucked her trouserleg in.
"Will you accept my tutelage at least?"
"What good will come?" Ogre folded her knuckle-knife. "Word will spread. I am fractured. Body broken." Ogre spun her knuckles around her finger.
"Do you wish to carry this on in the sun?" Amon pointed at the ground. "Or in the shade? My thirst grows." Ogre's water bottle sailed past Amon's shoulder. He lunged and caught it in both hands. "There is…" Amon shook the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
"Finish it."
Water poured down Amon's throat. "Mmm." He wiped his chin and screwed the cap on. "Gratitude. Sniper?" Amon stood alone on the plateau. Circular holes, wide enough for a single being to enter, dotted the ground. "Sniper?" Amon crouched above a hole and leaned down. He edged his heels to the rim and dropped in to a cave. Ogre sat against a rock cradling the SVG.
"Only way to reach the valley from the plateau." Ogre planted the SVG's butt in the floor and leaned on it to get up. "All the cliffs are sheer."
"You think that will stop an airlanding brigade?"
"Ask the Vasak." Ogre pointed a finger. "He is that way."
"God of this valley, is he?" Amon moved in front of Ogre. "Quite the cult he has going here."
"It was no choice of his, or his predecessors. Abandoned by our deities, we grew desperate and placed our leaders on plinths above us."
And adopted the lifestyle of the barbarian alongside it. Amon passed beneath a fissure in the ceiling letting light in to the cave. Hours later, with the light diminishing, Ogre struck flint. Light danced across the rock. In minutes, a fire crackled on the floor. Good fieldcraft. Amon leaned over the flame and rubbed his hands. Ogre squatted on the other side of the fire with her rifle between her knees and an open cloth at her feet. Dry bread and leathery meat lay in a pile.
"Hospitality?" Amon held up a crust. "Mm?"
"What?"
"We share."
"Strangers in the desert." Ogre lowered her mask and ripped off a bit of meat with her teeth.
"The practise of hospitality extends to all who request it. Even to adversaries. Were you to end the lives of one or both of my brothers, then invoke hospitality when I came for you, I would be compelled to provide sanctuary." Amon brought his crust to Ogre.
"I need no protection." Ogre snatched the crust. "But I will eat anyway."
"An exchange?" Amon nodded at the rifle. "A remedy for your cheek."
Ogre's hand tightened around the barrel. "And you wish for my knife as well, don't you?"
"If I am not eating, I would apply my hands to a practical endeavour."
"Sit down and be quiet. I am not interested in silly craftworld practises."
"That cheek says otherwise." Amon opened his hand. "And what would I do with an empty rifle and a knife?"
"Gut and leave me for dead." Ogre's knuckle-knife flicked out. "Back away."
"And go where? A healthy adult can survive in the desert for three days without water, provided they remain in the shade. Besides, you forget my brothers."
"Why not save yourself?"
"Did I walk away from my brothers in the minefield? Yes, I could have saved myself. As a warrior, I survived. As team leader, my mistakes cost the wellbeing and limbs of two of the most important beings in the galaxy to me. Do you think now that I would still consider running?"
Ogre unlocked the SVG's magazine, flicked the safety down, and checked the chamber. "Clear." Ogre handed the rifle over, butt-first.
"The knife?"
Ogre drew a long hunting knife and tossed it through the fire. Amon sat cross-legged opposite Ogre and balanced the SVG across his knees. "I apologise in advance for the finish." Amon dug the blade in to the cracked wood and began whittling.
"Pfft." Ogre hunched her shoulders. Crumbs spilled from her open mouth.
Was that a human gesture? Amon worked the blade through the upper right edge of the stock. Electrical tape bulked up the pistol grip and the sling swivel had been replaced by some cord held on by more tape. Knotted wood. Bad quality. Amon reduced the height of the bulge in the stock, intended to support only right-handed users. "Here. If I had a tool to smooth out the wood, it would lessen the wear on your cheek."
Ogre shouldered the SVG and pressed her cheek against the stock. "Rough. The bulge is definitely shallower though."
"Might your people have a instrument to smooth it down?"
"We might." Ogre lowered the rifle and took the knife by the handle. "You will sleep first."
Dawn light peered over the cliffs. Clouds blew from Amon's mouth. Inside cave entrances, glowing embers gave their last gasp. "Again today?" Amon turned to Ogre.
Ogre, buried inside hood, mask, and goggles, shook her head. "You do not lose me that easily, full-blood. The Vasak must not be kept waiting." Ogre brought out a length of rope and coiled it around her wrist.
"Must you?"
"Too many quivering trigger fingers around the Vasak. A showing of subservience might extend your lifespan."
"Reassuring." Amon offered his wrists. "Front or back?"
Ogre pulled the rope taught. "Back."
Sentinels, paint shining on their bodies, guarded the Vasak's chamber. Spears crossed on Amon's approach. A human jawbone attached to a mask opened. "The full-blood enters. You stay."
"See you on the other side then." Amon nodded at Ogre. "Could you…?" Amon leaned towards Ogre and tipped his head. Ogre peeled the hat off by the brim. "Many thanks, sniper." Ogre gave a little snort and crushed the hat in her hand.
Steam rose from bowl inside the hanging nets. The Vasak, bareheaded and in a black robe, sat on a cot with his back to Amon. He dipped a towel in to the bowl and lifted the dripping cloth out and wrung it over his head. "Has the Eye lost her sight?" The Vasak rubbed his shaven head.
"With practice, my charge should regain some measure of skill once the week is up."
"Is that a political answer or a soldier's answer?"
"Eye, Vasak? They called her Ogre."
"She lost the right to a name when the desert ate her leg and eye." The Vasak wiped his face dry. "And the flock does not travel at the speed of the lame creature."
"She will never regain her skill. A sniper she will never be. Nor could I train her to be a sniper even if I wanted to. With her non-dominant hand, and non-dominant eye, one human week is impossible. With the available time and resources, I can produce a designated marksman with some competence, not a sniper. There is your soldier's answer."
The Vasak sat back on the cot and took some papers from the top of a pile resting on a table. "What was your mission?"
"One of observation, not aggressive action. I am not authorised to divulge details. My name is Amonther Numerial. My brothers are Gregoire Nightspear and Solene Yirryl. We are Rangers of the Verdial Caste."
"Are you alone on this world?"
"Correct."
The Vasak sifted through his papers. "Did your council send you here to kill me?"
"No."
"Would they if they knew?"
"I do not know."
"I know that war is a continuation of state policy through other means. What exactly do you think of my means, Ranger?"
"There… are no means here, Vasak." What happened here was monstrous. Amon watched the silhouette through the netting twist and look over his shoulder.
"Is it your place to pass judgement, Ranger? I dare the politicians with their iced tea and their principals to judge me." The Vasak picked a nut from a bowl and bit on it. "Why does it fall to those who do not fight to judge the kingdom and its subjects? My motives are sound. Mind and body secure."
Hands found Amon's arms and hauled him backwards. "You would walk children through minefields?"
"The shock kills them outright. Matured beings are… not so fortunate."
"Enough, full-blood." Anais pulled Amon away by his shoulder. "You ask too much of the Vasak."
Motives sound. Methods, not so. Anais spun Amon around and marched him out of the sanctum. "You do not question the Vasak, full-blood. On your scalp be it."
Savages. All lost to the desert. Amon caught Ogre's eye on the way out. Ogre pushed away from the wall she leaned against and followed Amon outside. "I would know if my brothers were being treated fairly, vassal," Amon said.
"Fear not, full-blood. Their wounds were tended before the suns last setting. Not all in this valley gave in to savagery."
In a cave much like that which Amon awoke in, Sol and Grego lay in cots. Bandaged legs poked out from covers and pillows swallowed their heads. "If you are not out with Ogre, you are here. No wardens have been posted. If you are caught out alone, that will change."
"Convey my gratitude to the Vasak for his hospitality, vassal."
"I will pass on your words." Anais backed out of the cave and beckoned two sentinels to follow. Amon picked up a wicker chair and set it down next to Sol's cot. "For such a world bereft of forest, I do wonder where all this wood came from."
"Ask the humans. Our lives are affairs of theft and scrounging." Ogre entered the cave and perched on a stool next to the mouth. She lifted her boots and planted them on grain sacks.
"Amon?"
"Hello, Sol." Amon squeezed Sol's hand. Dressings covered Sol's head. Only his eyes and nose were visible.
"Why was I not invited then?"
"Why were you not invited?" Amon fed a straw through a hole in Sol's dressing and tilted a water carrier. "T'was on pain of death, brother."
"Why did you get to go out with the girl and not I?"
"Sol, brother, the choice was not mine. Tutor the Eye in marksmanship or my life would have been forfeit. Yours too."
"Is that her name?"
"That I will never know."
"Can you check Grego for me? He has been quiet for ages."
"Mmm." Amon wiggled his chair over to Grego's cot. "Gregoire Nightspear…?" The covers shifted. "Ignoring Sol, were you?"
"Urgh-hurgh!" Grego's chest convulsed. "Ugh. Beg your pardon?"
"Sol was worried."
"Sol? You're hit worse than me, you bastard."
"Grego, language."
"Where is your cameleoline?"
"Looted I suspect."
"What are you wearing too?"
"This? Our friends gave it to me."
"Er, who?"
"Just a cabal of renegades hiding from the humans."
"Kin?"
"So it seems. Water?"
"Get it myself, thank you." Water sloshed over the rim of a cracked mug. "When is the captain coming for us?"
"Sssh. Only the three of us are on Salusa. They believe we are assassins."
"Assassins?" Grego lurched up. "Cabal of stunted inbreds!"
"No. No." Amon caught Grego's shoulders. "Do not sully this peace. We are their enemy's enemy."
"What are you hiding? You behind the mask!"
Ogre flicked her knuckle-knife out and stabbed it in to a crate. "Call me Ogre."
"No!" Amon glared at Ogre.
"Are we done here? We'll have to scrounge some more ammunition before going back out again."
"Come back safe, Amon." Grego's fingers dug in to Amon's arm. "Please."
"While I still have breath, I will always come back for you." Amon wrapped his hands around Grego's hands and kissed his brow. "And you, Sol." Sol opened his bandaged hand. Amon grasped Sol's wrist and laid Sol's arm on his chest. "Rest up."
"Full-blood." Ogre wrenched her knuckle-knife from the crate. "Let's get going."
Stones shook loose and cascaded down the rocky slope and on to a rough, switchback road climbing up the three-hundred-foot plateau. A mess tin jumped off a tiny burner and spilled lukewarm water. Heads peered between sangars and muzzles pointed at the turn in the road. The ground beneath Amon vibrated and the slope he sat against sent a buzz through his spine. Ogre, above him, clicked her safety down and braced her right hand beneath the SVG's stock. Further along the ridge, half-bloods aimed rifles – automatics and bolt-actions – ancient percussion guns, and crossbows. The human journalist aimed his own weapon at the road and twisted the dial.
"May I?" Amon tapped a pair of binoculars leaning against the bag supporting the SVG.
"Watch the lenses." The SVG's rubber eyepiece covered Ogre's left eye.
"Confident?"
"Eager to engage the enemy. That was the longest week of my damned life. Thank you for your patience."
"Welcome. Tell me the best method of engaging a column on a double-lane highway."
"Front and rear at the same time."
"Mm-hm. If we hit the front and rear of the column simultaneously, we should have little trouble boxing the humans in. Just a shame we could not drag the mortars up here."
"Not like any of them could work an eighty-two anyway."
"I could have shown them."
"No need to bare your muscles now, full-blood."
"Not all they have bared over there." Amon nodded at the painted warriors. Some wore nothing but bandoliers and boots. "Why the allure of nature?"
"To confuse the enemy's bullets." Ogre's eye left the rubber and crossed to meet Amon's eye. "Huh-huh-huh."
"Hm-hm." Amon smirked. "I would know the name your parents bestowed on you."
"Careful, full-blood. We are loathe to share with outsiders."
"Still strangers in the desert, Eye?"
"Don't. And I would not know your name either."
"You do though. A name is not a binding contract." Dust trickled from beneath the makeshift sangar. A boulder bounced down the cliff and shattered on the asphalt.
"Are you staying or leaving?"
"That is down to the Vasak, I fear."
"No, no I meant here. Right here."
"Fine. I... apologise for crossing that line."
"Contact."
"I see." Amon focused on a tracked vehicle rounding the bend in the road. Humans in khaki, armed with automatic rifles, crowded the roof. A thin, sheer cliff separated the final length of road before it reached the summit, blocking line of sight of any vehicle on the road beneath. "If they can hold their fire until we have the point and rear detail in sight and range, we may be able to swing this is our favour."
"Not with Semerad in command."
"We shall just have to do our best then. Do you see any officers?"
Ogre's finger moved down to the trigger. "I have the tank commander."
"Remember my words. A target in motion must be led—" Rifles crackled along the ridge. Percussion guns thudded and the few automatics stuttered. "No!" Amon stood up and chopped a hand across his throat. "Cease fire. CEASE FIRE!" Beside him, the SVG cracked.
Humans leaped from the track's roof. The commander hunched low in his cupola and spoke in to his helmet mic. Hydraulics whirred. The turret swung around and the autocannon's barrel rose. Automatic fire belted up at the Vasak's warriors. Humans scattered in to ditches at the roadside and took cover behind rocks. A human unfolded a bipod and mounted a belt-fed gun on the edge of a mudguard. Smoke shot from both ends of a tube a human balanced upon his shoulder and a rocket whooshed at the ridge. Two naked warriors, standing on top of their sangar, flew backwards in a cloud of dirt and pink mist.
"Belt-fed gun in cover behind the Chimera!" Amon shouted to Ogre. "Do you comprehend?" A scalding casing hit his cheek. More warriors climbed out of cover and discharged weapons from the hip. A few half-hearted incendiary bombs exploded well short of the humans' positions.
The autocannon boomed. Each shot punched Amon's heart. Rounds hammered the cliff below the ridge. He cannot elevate his gun far enough. More humans advanced up the road and joined their comrades. A second Chimera rolled in to view. Tracer zipped through the gaps in the sangars. Amon ducked and Ogre followed. "No good. No good." Amon jerked his thumb. "Break contact."
"Semerad, you bastard!"
Lead tore up the smoke-filled ridgeline behind Amon and Ogre. Others tumbled down the slope in pairs and threes. "It's alright now, full-blood. The humans never give chase." Ogre lifted the SVG from her left shoulder and hoisted it on her right. "They know we own everything more than a hundred yards from the road."
"Which one is Semerad?"
"In the grey shawl. No—!" Ogre's arm shot out.
"You call that an ambush?" Amon charged at a warrior in a human camouflage oversuit surrounded by bodyguards and bowled him over. Knives and curved swords rasped from sheaths.
"Leave him!" Semerad yanked a jewelled dagger from a sheathe. "He's mine."
Amon caught Semerad's wrist, jerked his arm and kicked the back of Semerad's knee. Amon's palm smacked Semerad's elbow. The dagger landed in the dirt. Amon seized a holstered pistol at Semerad's hip, drew it, and booted Semerad's backside. Sword-points wavered at his neck. Amon ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber and threw the ammunition away. "Try it."
Semerad dragged his body along the ground and spat out dirt. "Kill…"
A whine grew in pitch. Eyes turned to the sky. Necks twisted and the blades lowered. "INCOMING!" A slamjet rocketed overhead. Silver paint on the smooth underbelly shone. Long, conical cylinders hung underneath the swept-back wings.
"FLEE! FLEE!" Semerad and his warriors scattered. Swords and rifles were flung aside.
"Wait." Amon lunged at Ogre. "Where will we run to?"
"Amon, he's turning!"
"Unsling your weapon."
"No, I cannot." Ogre pulled away.
"Please. Trust me."
"Damn it." Ogre unslung the SVG and gave it to Amon.
"Lie down." Amon set the safety and stretched out on his back. In the far distance, the slamjet levelled out from its tight bank.
"Lie down? You're mad."
"Observe." Amon checked the magazine and fixed it in place.
"Licata." Ogre lay down and watched the silver speck grow. "Amon. Amon!"
"Patience." Amon sucked in air, held, and exhaled. He rolled on to his right shoulder, then his left. His cheek pressed against the bulge in the stock. The thin crosshairs settled on the fighter's nose and followed its flight.
"Shoot. Shoot!"
"Steady…"
Dust spurted from the ground and stalked across the plateau. Fire ignited beneath the slamjet's wings and a missile shot at the fleeing half-bloods. Ogre clamped her hands over her ears and curled up. Amon's finger squeezed the slack from the trigger. The slamjet's pointed nose broke through the smoke. Amon twisted his torso and fired. Three cases flew from the rifle. Brown liquid burst from the slamjet's underbelly and stained the body.
Amon tracked the retreating slamjet until the hills hid it from view. "Ohhh." He laid the SVG on his chest and relaxed his arms. "Sniper?"
"My ears." Ogre uncurled and rubbed her eyes. "Where is—?"
"You need not worry." Amon planted the SVG's butt on the ground and used it as a crutch. "He had bigger issues on his mind."
"Did you? Did you…?"
"I think I left the right impression." Amon pressed his hand against his side and stretched his back. "Aah."
"Semerad?" Ogre sat up and dug her fingers in to her leg-brace. "Agh…" Smoke swirled across the plateau. "Semerad!"
"Really?" Amon stuck out his hand. "Are they really worth your concern?"
"They're all I have." Ogre screwed up her face. "Ohh, this leg…"
"Come." Amon helped Ogre stand. "You did well there."
"No—no! I refuse. That was your shot, full-blood!"
"Amon. You are welcome." Amon dumped the SVG in to Ogre's arms. "There are worlds outside the valley, you know."
"And what world would accept me? Crippled and of monstrous heritage." Ogre fixed her goggles over her eyes and beat dust from her mask.
"I know beings of influence, more enlightened than most."
"Spirit me away, would you?"
"Will you give me a chance?" Amon opened his hand.
Ogre walked backwards in to the smoke. "I will never leave Salusa, full-blood. Remember your brothers. I am nothing to anyone."
There you are wrong. Amon raised his hood, pulled the cords tight, and followed in Ogre's footsteps. You are worthy of a name.