Yesterday, I declared war.
On a bugle.
0600. Time for “Reveille.” Our base commander, Wizard-General Lytton, won’t waste even the newest recruit mage on that duty. A simple spell makes the bugle perpetually hovering by the flagpole sound any required call at the proper time.
Until yesterday. Ten seconds into the silence
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Something was coming. Renard raised his hand, calling for a halt. His men stopped instantly, and he cocked his head, listening for the sound of their prey.
Breaking branches and pounding hoofs in full charge approached them through the woods. A large, tusked boar nigh on five hundred pounds burst into view.
“Running off to the Navy? You selfish coward!”
Her mother’s last message rang in Mira’s ears. Blinking hard, she refocused on the junction where the optical data lines for this section converged. Normally protected by the conduit pipes that lined the corridors, they cast a glow from the open panel.
Senn needed a human host soon. His pickiness this time did not help. He had skipped at least seven compatible targets, but he did not have time to work with a child. If he could not find an adult worthy to live in soon, the mission would fail.
He zipped down to a
Salt water dripped from sodden hammocks—intermittent patters percussing throughout the dropship against the steady hiss of misters coating the Caribbean Reef Octopus Paratroopers with cool saline. CROP-15 closed his eyes in contentment, swaying as his berth dangled in the metal fuselage. As central brain, he appreciated the effort these land-dwellers had put
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The engine in my mecha whined as its knees strained, taking the last step onto the icy rise. In the grand view of cold white horizons, the Aurora shimmered vivid green overhead. Despite unceasing mortal peril, the endless ice had her consolations.
None of which made it worth it to me.
“Tell us how y’all got that shiner, Cap?” Private Cordone’s voice crackled over the comms. I couldn’t remember his full name, Something Something Cordone IV.
I shook my head and closed my thermos, suppressing a sigh. Ever since I’d reported for duty with a black eye, the squad hadn’t been able to
Flying through midair, I brought my megabot’s blade down hard on the neck of the tentacled beastie. Inky-blue blood splattered across the rough, uneven surface of the Antarctic ice.
A direct hit! I yelled in exultation as my megabot landed on one leg, slid in the ice, and crashed onto its side.
I arch my back and gasp awake.
I lie in a circle of grass. Blades flutter in a gentle breeze. Despite the wasteland of ice and snow that swirls outside the circle, the wind reaches me as a warm summer breeze.
My ruined mech lays at my feet, inches past the green.
Shut the gates!”
Lieutenant Pearce snapped up as his comm unit screeched with the command. His chair creaked angrily at the abuse, and the report he had been engrossed in fell to the floor.
“Copy that? What’s going on?”
“It’s Farley! Gamma Patrol! Shut the gates, Pearce!”
The officer instinctively moved his hand
I settled into the cockpit, pulling my bomber jacket tighter. In spite of briskly efficient warming plates, the megabot’s interior always retained some of that perpetual Antarctic chill. The mech was 70 feet of gleaming steel, pure robotic poetry in motion. Sturdy legs held up a hefty, armored pod, and four arms boasted
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At forty feet tall, the Megabot was smaller than most, but I knew it could get the job done. I piloted my mech down through shadows deeper into the heart of the massive cavern. Even seconds after leaving the surface, I felt far removed from the bright yellow light of the sun.
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