Chapter 13
What the fight left behind looked like the world’s worst art project.
The robot cat sprawled in three main pieces, all of them huge, all of them still hot to the touch.
The head, smashed flat by the missiles, left a molten gouge across the blacktop and glass from a dozen windows.
One forelimb had punched clean through a concrete parking barrier and hung there, still flexed, claw the size of an anchor.
The main body was a tangle of scorched mesh and fused plating, blue hydraulic oil pooled and smoking beneath it, mixing with the rainwater in bright streaks.
The thing showed no motion at all, not even a twitch.
It was dead, if dead meant anything at all for a machine that never lived.
That left the rest of us with cleanup. The only trade, as advertised, was the cargo left behind.
I watched the last set of running lights vanish past the headland and felt the questions start stacking up.
I hadn’t known they were coming. Taylor had never mentioned a scheduled drop or even that the carrier was close enough to reach us this fast. Either the ship was sitting somewhere a lot nearer than I’d assumed, or someone had called them in the second the robot hit the ground.
Possibly both. I glanced at Taylor. She was moving toward the crates, wrist-com up, face blank.
If she’d known, she hadn’t said. I filed it away.
No point asking in the middle of the mess. The answers would come.
Six crates, all packed tight and foam-sealed, lined up on the tarmac like Christmas for the heavily armed.
Taylor had a wrist-com in hand, scanning barcodes and cross-referencing them with her internal manifest. She didn’t open them in sequence; she picked the closest one, pressed the palm-lock, and let the lid pop.
The first crate held boxes of 5.56 in sealed cans, each one marked with a date and a Stingray Arms lot number.
The next was .50 BMG, for the M2s they’d provided after Autumn and I sent that ancient monster back to whatever hell it came from.
The third and fourth were almost identical: tubes of the disposable rocket launchers.
I recognized them, AT-4 Anti-Armor rocket launchers.
Nice.
I remembered they were being replaced by a new system using a tandem warhead. That would have been nice, but the cat proved that we needed weapons with a real, anti-armor punch.
I crouched and picked one up. It was lighter than it looked.
I flicked off the cap, checked the sight, then put it back, careful to wedge it so it wouldn’t roll.
The trade was fair. More than fair, actually.
I set the tube down and watched Taylor open the next crate, which turned out to be medical supplies: sealed bandage packs, trauma kits, preloaded injectors with orange and yellow caps, and three of the nano-healer tubes, like the one she’d given to Dina.
I thought about that for a moment, wondering why Taylor gave Dina a nano-healer from the Horizon if they already had them. Was it for comparison?
The books were clear; they existed in at least three of the Mega family of RPGs, Mega Space, Apocalypse, and Earth. Game-wise, they were replacements for healing magic, but here, in the real world, they could save countless lives if they actually worked.
She cataloged every item with a dry, methodical touch.
Nothing got a second glance except for one small black case at the bottom of the stack, which Taylor picked up and set aside, quietly noting it for later.
She didn’t say what was in it. Her face didn’t show anything, but I’d seen her do this before, and I knew when she wanted to keep it out of circulation until she had time to inspect it herself.
Gascha came over to watch. She stood at my side, her ears drooping but her eyes bright, watching the assembly as if she were learning how to do it herself. She didn’t speak, and neither did I, not until Taylor set down her data pad and turned to face us.
“Complete inventory is as promised,” Taylor said.
“Weapons, munitions, medical, food. The sealed rations are fortified. They may taste odd to some, but I am assured they are safe for human and Ci Dyn consumption.” She tilted her head at me.
“Do you want to check the contents or accept the manifest as complete?”
“Looks good,” I said. “We’ll run our own count, but I trust your numbers.”
Taylor nodded once and moved on, shifting her attention to the next variable: the wounded.
The fight had left a mark. Two women needed help badly, but both were alive.
Linda Lane sat on the tarmac propped against a crate, one arm cradled against her ribs, breathing in short, measured puffs.
The bruising across her side was dark and deep.
Evelyn knelt beside her, wrapping a scarf around Linda’s wrist and talking in a low, steady hum.
I saw Evelyn’s hand tremble when she touched Linda’s face, then force itself still.
I stopped.
“Hey,” I said, crouching so Linda could see my face without lifting her head. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”
Linda’s eyes found mine. She managed a tight nod.
Evelyn looked up, relief and fear mixed together. I put a hand on her shoulder for a second, then did the same for Linda, careful of the broken arm.
“You’re both pack,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere. Taylor and Autumn are coming. You’ll be fine.”
Linda’s breathing eased a fraction. Evelyn’s shoulders dropped.
I stayed another moment, then stood and let them have the quiet.
The other injured girl was named Diri. She was one of the ci dyn and barely out of her teens, if you could map Ci Dyn years that way.
Her leg was bent at a hard angle, the bone obviously broken below the knee, and her face was set in a grimace that never wavered.
Two of her packmates had fashioned a splint from rifle stocks and duct tape, and were working to get her onto a makeshift litter.
I watched them for a moment, then walked over.
“You holding up?” I asked, kneeling so I could see her face.
Diri gritted her teeth, then spoke. “Will be fine, Alpha. It is not the worst.” She looked past me at the panther wreckage, then back at her own leg. “But will need the fix.”
“Taylor’s got it,” I said. “Hang tight.”
Autumn drifted into the circle, human-size and barefoot.
Her platinum hair hung loose, wild with dust, and her green velvet dress was streaked at the thigh where she’d skidded out on the last sprint to the Casino steps.
She went to Diri first, kneeling so their faces were even, and reached into the pouch at her hip.
She pulled a pinch of dust, held it over Diri’s injury, and let it fall in a slow, glittering arc.
The effect was immediate and impossible to miss.
The break knit itself in seconds. Skin rejoined, the swelling faded, and Diri’s face went from tight pain to pure shock.
She flexed her leg, testing it, then looked up at Autumn with eyes as big as dinner plates.
“Thank you,” she said, voice shaking.
“My pleasure!” Autumn grinned, then did a little bow. She spun to Linda and repeated the gesture, this time with more flair, as if she were a magician on stage. Linda’s ribs and arm snapped back into place with a muffled pop, and she sagged against Evelyn, tears running down her face out of relief.
I watched Autumn. She was different when she worked like this. There wasn’t a single joke, tickle, or smartass comment, just a blank, bright focus. The dust fell like rain, and the magic healed, and then she’d move to the next, not pausing for applause or thanks.
Taylor checked each healed person in turn, her hands as cold and clinical as ever, but she nodded each time. “No internal bleeding. No lasting injury. The repair is complete.” She turned to Autumn. “How many more can you do before you need rest?”
Autumn shrugged. “As many as you need. Their injuries are bad, not as bad as Heddy’s. They could heal without the magic, but it would be hard for them. I can make it better now, so I will.”
Taylor’s mouth quirked at that. I saw the micro-smile, then it was gone.
Gorek limped across the lot, his left leg dragging behind.
He moved straight to Akia, who was directing the recovery teams, and tried to stand at parade rest. He got about halfway before his knee buckled and he had to brace himself on a mailbox ripped from the curb.
Akia looked at him, then at his leg, then back to his face.
“You are not standing watch, Gorek,” she said, voice flat. “You can sit and watch, or you can sit and do nothing. Those are the options.”
Gorek scowled, but I could tell he was glad to have the order. He hobbled to a bench and collapsed onto it, resting both hands on his thighs. He flexed and unflexed his fingers, watching the other crews work, but he didn’t try to get up again.
The wounded got moved inside, Linda on her own two feet, Diri on a litter carried by four hands but mostly steady herself.
The makeshift stretchers were old plywood, but the girls used them like they’d done it all their lives.
Nobody dropped anything, and nobody bitched about the weight.
The rest of the crew started in on the debris.
The air was thick with the scrape of metal on metal, the thump of heavy things hitting the pavement, and the rising stink of hot oil and burned mesh from the robot cat.
A group of Fatu Hiva women pried loose the biggest of the panther’s claws using a crowbar and a rock as a fulcrum.
The claw came free with a wrench and a blue spray.
Two of them almost fell, but they kept their grip and set it down like they’d landed the trophy catch of the season.