Forged

chapter 7

All the alarms I’d so carefully avoided went off at once. Red lights flashed, magical and electrical warnings went flying out, and Rachel sent a disintegration beam at my chest.

I dropped, the ray passing overhead and taking out a chunk of wall. The table with the housing hid me briefly and I heard Rachel’s footfalls as she closed in. She’d have me in sight in seconds.

When you can’t run, attack. I came up in a lunge, my knife searching for her heart. Rachel’s shield flared and the blade glanced off. She tried another disintegrate spell, but I was inside her range and knocked her arm away; the beam went high, destroying a patch of ceiling.

Mr. Verus! November sounded panicky. The alarms—

I know! I snarled. I drove Rachel back, kicks and slashes keeping her briefly off balance, but I couldn’t get through her shield. Rachel recovered and cast some spell I’d never seen. A sea-green whip of darkly glowing light formed at her hand and I threw myself backward; the snaking whip caught my knife and a table leg, cutting both in half. The table went down with a crash, sending computer banks tumbling to the floor, and I dived behind it, rolling out of sight.

Rachel’s footsteps started up again as she continued her approach. I looked from side to side, my thoughts racing. The toolbox didn’t hold anything that could break Rachel’s shield. My dispel focus could, but trying to use that against someone as fast as Rachel was suicide. There was the computer case holding November’s core, with the blocks of plastic explosive, one detonator that was triggered . . .

. . . and one that wasn’t. I grabbed one of the blocks of C-4, shoved in the detonator, then stood and threw it in a single motion.

Rachel saw the block coming and strengthened her shield. The ward on the detonator registered the magical energy of the spell and triggered instantly.

Light and sound hammered me with a roar. I’d seen what was coming and dived for cover, but in the confined space of the data centre the explosion was horrendous. The shock wave battered my body and sent every piece of furniture in the room flying. A table crashed down on top of me, then all of a sudden everything was silent but for the ringing in my ears.

Somehow I managed to get to my feet. Daylight was streaming in: the windows along the far side of the room had blown out. The room was filled with smoke, and I coughed as I kicked aside the table and staggered over to November’s housing. The housing was scrap, but in the fraction of a second I’d had to spare, I’d managed to nudge the explosion in the direction I’d wanted, and November’s core had survived largely undamaged. That was extremely unnerving, November said. Mr. Verus? Are you still there?

Yes. I’d lost track of my toolbox, but not the backpack. I started to pull cables out of November’s case.

I thought you were going to kill me.

I said I’d get you out, didn’t I? Now shut up and let me concentrate.

One of the cables was refusing to come free. I kept yanking at it for a good five seconds before I registered that it was held in by screws. I spun them loose, still dazed from the explosion. I’d lost track of Rachel, but I knew she’d be back.

The last screw came out. I heaved up November’s case; my left hand slipped but the right held steady and I got it into the backpack. I shrugged on the straps as I stood up and started feeling my way towards the exit.

Mr. Verus? November said. I know you said not to bother you, but we may have a problem.

I’d already sensed it. Gate magic was being used outside the data centre, both the steady signature of a gate and the briefer flashes of the more specialised teleportation spell that I’d only ever seen used by space mages. I’d made it back into the main corridor, but I knew that as soon as I stepped out onto the roof, it was going to start a fight. I slumped against the wall, my legs still shaky. Starbreeze? I asked, reaching out through the dreamstone. I could really use a lift right about now.

Come watch the fire man, Starbreeze said brightly.

Maybe later. I really need to get out of here.

I’m busy.

Starbreeze!

No answer. I looked ahead to see what would happen if I opened the front door.

There were four people out on the rooftop, and all of them were looking straight at where I’d appear. One I’d seen before. He was short and slight, with English looks, and was dressed like a civil servant who’d just stepped out of the office. His name was Barrayar, and he was Levistus’s personal assistant and troubleshooter. I’d never fought him, but I knew he was more dangerous than he looked.

The other three were strangers. There was a black guy, and a man and a woman who looked Japanese. All were wearing matte-black combat gear with low-level magical enhancement that looked like a weaker version of my own combat armour. I’d glimpsed them in my path-walking, enough to have a vague idea of what they could do, but not in detail. November? Give me a report on those three.

November answered instantly, the thoughts and information flashing into my mind. Coleman Ward, aka Crash. Elemental adept, ranked near-mage level. Force magic: enhanced strength, speed, toughness, mobility, personal range only. Ito Ryuunosuke, aka Jumper. Universal adept, ranked mage level. Space magic: personal and touch-range teleportation. Ito Midori, aka Stickleback. Elemental adept, ranked near-mage level. Force magic: creation of circular force planes, offensive and defensive utility. Group status: limited affiliation with Light Councils of North America, Japan, and Korea; outlaw status in China. Employment status: long-term retainer contract with Levistus. Primary duties: personal security of Levistus and two designated priority locations, of which this is one.

I didn’t like the sound of that. Adept mercenaries don’t live long enough to make a name for themselves unless they’re good. I scanned the futures, looking for ways out.

There weren’t any. I couldn’t reach any exits from the data centre apart from this one, and the wards prevented me from gating. Worse, Rachel was on her feet and heading for me. She’d appear at the end of the corridor in less than fifteen seconds.

Okay, time to go back to thinking like an underdog.

Rachel was less than five seconds away. My supply of one-shots was low, but I still had a few that I’d saved for a rainy day. I pulled a condenser from my pocket and waited. Rachel came around the corner thirty feet away. I let her get a glimpse of me, then as her hand came up I threw the condenser to shatter at my feet and kicked open the door.

Water magic flared: both the weak magic of the condenser as its mist cloud rushed out to obscure everything around me, and the sharp deadly signature of Rachel’s disintegration spell. I sidestepped and the beam flashed past through the doorway towards Barrayar and the three mercenaries. There was a shout but I was focused on Rachel. She hadn’t stopped casting, and even blind, Rachel’s guesses at my location were way too accurate. I twisted aside from one beam and then another: the wall behind me puffed into dust, and more beams sped through the gap. Then I felt more magic from behind.

I sprinted through the gap and away down the edge of the building, catching a glimpse of a violet-tinged disc of force cutting horizontally through the mist. I came out of the light and into the dazzling sun, ducking around a corner and breaking line of sight to Barrayar and the mercenaries.

I jumped over a pipe and skirted a pair of huge fans. Behind me, the bright September day lit up in a furious exchange, force magic against the sea-green light of Rachel’s disintegration beams. I didn’t have time to see who was winning, and didn’t care. I was focused on whether any of them were coming after me. I’d only been in sight for a moment, but that might have been long enough for them to catch a glimpse and figure out—

Force magic pulsed. I came to a stop and turned.

Barrayar came flying down from his jump like a falling missile, and landed on top of a flat-roofed shed with a crash. The small concrete-and-metal building shook under the impact, and Barrayar stood up. The wind ruffled his hair and tie, blowing them out to one side, and his eyes were hard. “It’s in that backpack,” he told me. “Isn’t it?”

“Hey, Barrayar,” I said. As I spoke I was path-walking in all directions, scouting the terrain. The part of roof I was on was largely bare, cluttered with industrial equipment but with no way down. “So how are things—?”

“I’ll only say this once.” Barrayar’s voice was clipped. “I don’t care about catching you, not today, but that synthetic is more dangerous than you can possibly understand. Drop it right now and you can leave. Do anything else, or try to stall, and I’ll kill you.”

“Dangerous how?”

When Barrayar had said “anything,” he’d meant it. A thin line of force magic flashed out like a bullet.

That line was the width of a fingernail, and invisible. It was also powerful enough to rip through my armour and internal organs and go right out the other side. I twisted, my divination giving me warning to dodge left even as I used fate magic to pull the attack to the right, and felt the vibration as Barrayar’s spell punched a neat hole in the roof. Barrayar tracked me, firing again, and I ran, the impacts lacing lines of death through the futures.

I put a small building between us and ducked as Barrayar shot through it blind, the attack going over my shoulder. I’d run too far and now I was out of roof. Up ahead was another skyscraper, a little lower than Heron Tower; down below, the traffic on the A-road wound its way around a growing cluster of police vehicles that looked like toy cars.

There was another crash as Barrayar landed on the building right behind. I turned to see him looking down from less than twenty feet away, his eyes narrowed. He aimed his right hand at me, palm first, taking his time to make sure he hit, maybe wondering why I wasn’t dodging. Then he paused. He’d sensed the same thing that my magesight had: a powerful elemental source, rising fast.

With a whoosh Cinder burst up into the sky like a phoenix. Wings of fire spread from his shoulders; dark red flame burnt about one hand, while on his other a gauntlet shone with power. Cinder reached the peak of his leap, hovering, and aimed downwards; Barrayar jumped away as the roof of the small building erupted with a roar.

Cinder floated forward and down, landing in front of me with a thud. A fiery shield burned around him, the flames licking at his hands and legs without consuming them. “Why are you standing around?” he growled.

I grinned. “Never been so happy to see a Dark mage.”

Starbreeze came flitting up behind Cinder, giving him an interested glance before looking at me. “Where did you go?”

Cinder leapt up with another flash of fire magic into a smaller jump. He landed on the scorched roof where Barrayar had been, and strode out of sight. “I’ll tell you later,” I said to Starbreeze. “Mind getting us out of here?”

“Oh, okay.” Starbreeze swept around me. I felt her starting to transmute my body to air. Just a few more seconds, and we’d be—

The transmutation stopped with a sudden jar, my body turning back to flesh and blood. Starbreeze separated from me, floating away. “Can’t.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’?”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

Starbreeze pointed at my backpack. “He’s heavy.”

“What do you mean, ‘heavy’? That doesn’t make any sense!”

The air above Heron Tower flashed red, fire magic meeting force with a boom that sent a shiver through the building. November, I said. Why can’t Starbreeze transmute you?

Ah . . . assuming Starbreeze is the air elemental mentioned in your files, I’m not entirely sure. My core was constructed using certain hybrid materials that are held in a more unstable state than is typical for—

I don’t need a science lesson! Can we fix it?

Well . . . given the timeframe, no.

Sea-green light flashed. I was running out of time: Cinder couldn’t keep everyone busy and it wouldn’t take them long to track me down. “Go watch the fire?” Starbreeze asked.

“No! Look, if you can’t transmute us, carry us.” I pointed across the gap to the nearest skyscraper: it was only a street’s width apart, maybe sixty feet across and about as much down. “Get us there.”

“But you’re heavy.”

“Starbreeze! Please!”

With an exaggerated sigh, Starbreeze swept around me. My hair whipped as if in a whirlwind, and with a jolt my feet left the roof. Painfully slowly, I floated over the railing and down into the sky.

The flash and boom of attack magic sounded from the rooftop. Behind was Heron Tower, ahead the other skyscraper, below a seven-hundred-foot drop. The afternoon sun beat down out of a blue sky, leaving us horribly exposed. I couldn’t see any of the combatants on the roof behind, but I knew how visible we were. The other rooftop drew closer. Thirty feet . . . twenty feet . . . ten . . .

The futures changed, suddenly and for the worse. Starbreeze! Get us onto the roof, now!

Okay, okay. Starbreeze changed angle. You’re still heavy—

A violet disc of force flashed out from Heron Tower. I’d seen it coming and pushed with the fateweaver, trying to diverge its track from ours. I almost made it; it missed us but clipped Starbreeze, who dropped me with a yelp.

I twisted in midair and my feet hit concrete with a jarring thud. “Ow!” Starbreeze said. “That hurt!” She fled, disappearing.

I stood. Unlike Heron Tower, the top of this skyscraper was a construction site. A tower crane rose from the roof centre like a gigantic tree, its blue-triangle column stretching up into the sky. Pipes, steel beams, and building materials were scattered around, and a high fence prevented anyone from jumping or falling. There were some buildings at the far end that I knew had roof access. I also knew I wasn’t going to get the time to reach them.

A figure jumped from the roof of Heron Tower, crossing the sixty feet in one impossibly long leap and landing on the roof with a boom. It was one of the mercenaries, the black guy. A second later, mercenaries two and three blinked into existence forty feet away, the Japanese guy holding the shoulder of the woman. All three looked at me, sizing me up.

“Can we talk about this?” I asked.

The black guy charged.

I stood still for a second as the adept pounded towards me, studying him in present and future. The adept—Crash—was big and fast; he moved with more-than-natural strength and came in for an attack strong enough to break bones. I ducked at the last second and tripped him, sending him flying, then sprinted towards the other two.

The woman, Stickleback, watched me coolly as I closed the distance. Her hands glowed with a faint violet light as a disc of translucent force appeared between them, growing, rotating, and starting to spin all in a fraction of a second before it flashed out at me at knee-height like a giant flying saw blade. I jumped over it, but she was already making a second, followed by a third. I dodged each one, closing the distance. Thirty feet, twenty feet, ten—

The Japanese man hadn’t taken his hand off the woman’s shoulder. Space magic pulsed, and the two of them vanished, reappearing sixty feet behind me.

I turned to look at them. That is really annoying.

Pounding feet announced Crash’s arrival. I stepped away from a reverse spin kick that would have shattered my skull, then gave ground against the punches that followed. Crash responded to my lack of aggression by pressing in; I took the opening and hit him with a palm strike to the face. It should have broken his nose, but instead my hand stung as if I’d hit wood, and Crash rocked back, catching himself and watching me with calculating eyes.

Protective force magic, evasive teleportation. I didn’t have time to get through that many defences. I broke contact, running left.

Stickleback responded, throwing discs of force. I weaved, letting the discs pass ahead and behind. Stickleback and Jumper were near the roof’s edge and I cut across the middle. The futures I was looking for lined up and I sent a surge of energy through the fateweaver.

Stickleback threw another force disc and I dropped flat. The disc sailed over my head with a hiss and struck the base of the tower crane, the force magic shearing through steel. With a shriek and a groan of twisting metal, the crane fell, toppling straight towards Stickleback and Jumper.

Stickleback looked up at the monstrous thing falling towards her, and her eyes went wide. Jumper teleported just in time, and both of them vanished as the crane came down with a horrific crash, splintering the fence as the cross-beam of the crane smashed down onto the top of Heron Tower.

Dust and particles swept up into the air. The crane, which had once risen vertically into the air, now formed a crooked bridge between Heron Tower and the skyscraper I was on. The three mercenaries were all staring at the destruction, and before they could decide what to do next, I dashed along the side of the fallen crane, and jumped through the gap in the fence and out into space.

Wind roared around my ears as I plummeted. Er, November said as the cars below me grew larger and larger, along with the pale spots of faces looking upwards. I’m detecting some odd signals. Is everything going according to plan?

Fine! I pulled a life ring from my pocket and broke it, leaving it as late as possible. Blood rushed through my body as I decelerated, the magic slowing me down just in time to drop the last few feet safely to the tarmac.

Scattered screams sounded, trailing off: several people had seen me fall and were now staring in confusion. Two police cars were blocking off the street at the intersection, and a uniformed officer was looking at me openmouthed. I sprinted past him and turned north up Bishopsgate.

Oh. Well, that’s a relief.

There were more police outside Heron Tower and a couple turned to look as I ran, but most were shading their eyes as they looked up towards the broken crane above. On an unrelated note, I told November, I could use the exact departure times of mainline trains from Liverpool Street Station in the next, say, three to five minutes.

Of course. Er, I don’t mean to worry you, but there’s an alert going out on police frequencies for someone that matches your description rather closely. Apparently you’re considered a suspect for a terrorist attack on Heron Tower and to be apprehended on sight.

Just get me those trains.

The plaza outside Liverpool Street Station was busy, commuters hurrying back and forth. Police lights were flashing farther up the road. I saw the black of police uniforms moving towards me and I turned quickly aside and down the escalators into Liverpool Street Station.

The station was huge, filled with noise and people. Departure boards blinked along the right-hand side, above the ticket gates. I wound my way through the crowds, searching the futures for signs of pursuit. Nothing yet, but through the crowds, I saw a pair of police officers at the centre of the station floor, and the futures in which I got too close to them turned violent fast.

The next train departing Liverpool Street will be the Greater Anglia service to Norwich from platform eleven, leaving in—

What are the police saying?

There was an unconfirmed sighting of you descending onto the main floor of Liverpool Street Station. They’re asking for additional units to seal the exits.

I briefly considered knocking the two police out, but it would draw too much attention. Besides, it would be really bad if I was in the middle of dealing with them and—

The futures shifted.

—and something like that happened. I turned right, bumping past someone dragging a heavy suitcase, and strode through the ticket gates. As I did, I reached out through the dreamstone. Cinder.

Cinder replied straightaway, sounding bad-tempered. Where are you?

Liverpool Street Station. You still engaged?

No, they’re all chasing you. Where’s Del?

Chasing me, where do you think? The massive iron-and-glass roof of the train sheds arched overhead. Liverpool Street’s platform area is huge enough that I could count on the police taking some time to track me down. My magical pursuers were another story.

The Greater Anglia train was white-painted with red doors, humming. A whistle shrilled from down the platform as I stepped aboard. Only a few seconds later, the beep-beep-beep sounded, and the doors hissed shut.

I’m on the Norwich train leaving now, I told Cinder. I walked up the train, winding my way between the seats. The train was about two-thirds full, and I had to twist aside to avoid a fat man struggling to get his briefcase into the overhead racks.

Where’s Del?

If I’m lucky, back in Liverpool Street with those mercenaries and about fifty police. I opened the door to the next carriage and stepped through. The train swayed under my feet as I walked, the wheels going thunkity-thunk as it accelerated, and I had to make an effort to keep my balance, all while searching the futures for danger, looking for the telltale signature of gate magic with my magesight, and keeping open the mental links to Cinder and to November all at the same time.

The windows went black as the train entered a tunnel, brightened as we came out into the sun, went black again. I watched closely for any signs of gating. Combat adepts are dangerous, but they usually don’t have the detection abilities that mages do. I’d very carefully not done anything between the street and the train that would show up on magesight. With any luck, they wouldn’t be able to follow me. And Rachel hadn’t gotten close enough to see what train I’d boarded. There shouldn’t be any way she should be able to figure out that I was on this train—

Rachel was going to gate onto this train.

I swore out loud. Several passengers glanced up at me from where they were seated, then looked hurriedly away. I was still wearing my combat armour, plus whatever dust and dirt I’d picked up from the fighting. I didn’t know what I looked like, but judging from the way people were shying away, it wasn’t reassuring. Cinder, your psycho ex is following me. You want to make up with her, get on board.

On my way.

Er, Mr. Verus, November said. Is this a bad time?

No, no, it’s just wonderful, I said. Rachel is going to gate into the back carriage in about twenty seconds. What did you want to talk about in the meantime?

Well, it’s just that I’ve intercepted some communications from Mage Barrayar. Apparently he’s received a report from Crash’s team that they suspect you of being aboard one of two trains departing Liverpool Street, and he’s calling in reinforcements. He seems quite agitated.

What kind of—you know what, I don’t have time. Where’s Crash’s team?

I believe two of them are teleporting onto this train now.

Oh, come on!

A flicker of space magic from up ahead confirmed the news. Now I had Rachel behind, and the adepts in front.

“Fine,” I muttered to myself. I strode forward to the next set of carriage doors and found the nearest toilet. It was vacant, which spared me the embarrassment of having to evict someone. I closed the door, locked it, and waited.

Standing in the cramped space, balancing on the swaying floor, I had time to wonder at how crazy my life was. I was hiding in a train toilet so that I could ambush my insane ex-fellow-apprentice water mage and draw her into a fight against a group of adept mercenaries who were after me to steal back an artificial intelligence that I was carrying because it could give me leverage on one of the people running the country who’d originally wanted me dead because I’d failed to get him the artefact that was currently eating its way up my arm but who had only managed to get me sentenced to death because I’d failed to cover up the crimes that my ex-girlfriend had committed while possessed by a jinn.

How had I managed to end up like this?

I shook it off. Back to work.

Rachel was approaching from one side, the adepts from the other. I adjusted the futures with the fateweaver, pulling Rachel in, slowing the adepts down. The creak of a door sounded from outside as Rachel entered my carriage. She stopped just outside.

I yanked open the door just as Rachel was about to fire, catching her by wrist and throat and slamming her against the side of the train. Her spell went high, disintegrating the roof right above us and bringing a roar of wind and noise and dust down into the carriage. Rachel’s eyes stared into mine from behind her mask, shock and fury mixed together as she struggled to break my grip.

I could have killed Rachel in that moment. Two things stopped me: my promise to Cinder, and the other targets. Rachel tried another disintegration ray, and I forced her hand away, lining the spell’s futures up with the length of the train just as the door at the far end of the carriage flew open and Stickleback stepped through.

The green ray flew the length of the carriage, missing the shocked and yelling passengers on the seats, and hit Stickleback square-on. She managed to throw up one of her violet force fields; it almost stopped the spell, but not quite. A thread of the ray brushed her side and she fell back, her face contorting in pain. Rachel fired another ray and I aimed it to finish Stickleback off, but another future cut across: Jumper blinked into existence just before the strike could land and opened up a portal that the ray disappeared into.

The passengers on the train were screaming and the wind was roaring through the hole above. Rachel and I struggled, swaying back and forth. Rachel’s shock had been replaced with rage and she tried to kick me, then when that didn’t work reconfigured her shield into a short-range disintegration ring. I jumped up, bounding off the wall to get my feet above the lethal green pulse, caught the edges of the hole in both hands, and kicked Rachel in the face. She went sprawling, her magic shredding the door, and I pulled myself up through the hole and onto the train roof.

Wind whipped at me, blasting at my hair and sliding off my armour. We’d come out of the tunnels and onto a stretch of open track, the landmarks of east London opening up before us. To my left the Olympic stadium was sliding past, while to the right I could see the towers of Canary Wharf. I ran forward, pushing against the wind, my feet echoing with dull thuds on the roof as I kept my balance against the sway of the train.

A green ray shot up into the sky above and behind, followed by another as Rachel fired blind through the roof. I felt the surge of force magic below as Stickleback answered, but it was aimed at Rachel, not me. I jumped a carriage and kept running, putting distance between us.

Mr. Verus, November said anxiously. I’m having trouble tracking our location. Are we safe?

Yes! I jumped another carriage. Just perfect, but I’m a LITTLE busy!

Well, it’s just that Barrayar is vectoring—

I felt a thump vibrate through the roof and looked back to see Crash straightening from where he’d landed. He started towards me, breaking into a charge, keeping his balance seemingly without effort on the swaying train.

There was no room to dodge this time. I made my decision in a split-second, turned, and leapt at Crash feet first.

The wind that had been checking me became my ally, and my feet slammed into Crash’s stomach, throwing him nearly head over heels. He slammed back onto the roof, scrabbling for purchase, only barely stopping himself from rolling off the edge. I fell a little more gracefully and hauled myself up as Crash rose to face me. He looked pissed off but there was a wariness in his eyes now, and as he advanced his stance showed more respect.

We roared through Stratford station, passing the Westfield shopping centre to the north, a wide pedestrian bridge rolling past overhead. Shocked faces looked up at us from the platforms as we flashed by. Why the hell is this train still moving? I asked November as Crash edged forward. You have access?

Of a sort . . .

Crash jabbed at me. He’d taken a kickboxing stance, and I shifted instinctively to counter as he tried more jabs followed by a cross. I stepped back, deliberately staying just within range for the spinning kick he’d tried before. A move like that would make him an easy target on the shifting train, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead he shifted his hands into a guard that I’d seen used by military special forces types. I switched to a Krav Maga stance, hands loose. The driver’s board should be lit up like a Christmas tree. Why hasn’t he stopped?

But that was what I was trying to tell you, November said. Crash struck at my eyes; I twitched aside and hit him in the shoulder to no effect. It’s Barrayar. He’s overridden jurisdiction from the Metropolitan Police and he’s ordered the driver to maintain speed while they call in a response team.

Crash kept attacking, his movements tight and aggressive. His force magic made his blows faster than they should have been, not just on the strike but also on the recovery, giving me few openings. His toughness and his lack of reaction to hits reminded me of Caldera, but Crash was faster. The wind roared as we traded kicks and punches.

Crash moved in, striking low, and this time I had to jump back. I could hear the clattering of rotors off to my side, but couldn’t afford to take my eyes off the adept. What did you say about a response team? I asked November.

Well, can you see a helicopter in the area?

What do you mean, a—? I began, then looked left.

A black-and-yellow helicopter with POLICE written along its side was flying parallel to the train a short distance away. It was close enough that I could see the pilot through the canopy, his face hidden by a helmet, looking straight ahead as he controlled the machine. The side doors on the helicopter were open, one man holding the doorframe, and a second crouched in the centre of the helicopter, aiming some kind of mounted weapon. I could see bipod legs, an ammo box, and a long metal barrel. It looked like a light machine gun.

As it turned out, it was.

The weapon opened up with an echoing duh-duh-duh-duh-duh. Futures of violent death flashed on my precognition; I snatched ones that I needed and twisted aside, bullets zipping by my head with an eerie whickering sound. I caught a glimpse of Crash jumping backwards. The gunner kept firing, his touch controlled and professional, short aimed bursts. Chips of metal flew from the roof as bullets tore holes at my feet.

A green beam flashed past, and I spared a glance to see that Rachel was back. She was up on the roof three carriages down, trying to snipe me with a disintegration ray. I didn’t have time to think about it: it was just one more variable in a set of futures already crowded with images of my own death. I saw myself die singly and in clusters, to bullets and disintegration and the train’s racing wheels, jagged flashes of blood and pain fading to darkness. My focus narrowed to the next five seconds, the fateweaver and my divination working together to keep me alive. With the fateweaver I chose attack patterns that were easier to dodge, then with my divination I matched my movements to images of safety. I stepped back to avoid a beam, left to dodge a volley of shots, then back again, my movements quick and erratic, forcing the gunner to guess at where to aim next. All of my focus was on surviving five seconds more, then another five after that.

Then suddenly the helicopter was climbing, the machine gun falling silent. A forest of gantries was coming up, followed by a pair of road bridges. Farther down, Rachel stopped firing and started to advance, struggling to keep her balance on the swaying train.

Crash was hesitating. I saw him glance at Rachel, then at me; he looked like he was calculating the chances of Rachel shooting him in the back and not liking the answer. The first bridge flashed overhead, and the helicopter vanished from sight. Cinder, I said through the dreamstone, it would be really nice if you could—

Cinder landed in front of me with a wham, the train roof denting under his weight. He’d jumped from the bridge, fiery wings slowing his fall. He straightened and his eyes locked onto Crash.

Crash took in the new odds instantly, and through the futures, I saw him make a snap decision. Mercenaries don’t usually fight to the death; for them, the big question is “Are we getting paid enough?” and for Crash, the answer had just become no. He leapt from the train, hitting the ballast beside the tracks and rolling, falling out of sight.

“You took your time,” I called.

Cinder didn’t turn around. “Stay out of this.”

The second bridge flashed by and Rachel appeared from its shadow one carriage down. She saw Cinder and went dead still. She shouted something, her voice whirled away by the wind.

Cinder held out a hand towards her, palm up.

Rachel’s face twisted. A disintegration beam shot out, aimed to burn through Cinder and hit me.

Cinder’s shield flared. Fire met water with a deafening crack, but Cinder didn’t move. He sent a fireball straight back at Rachel. She disappeared in a roar of dark red flame, the smoke blowing away almost instantly to reveal her standing unharmed.

Again Cinder held out his hand.

The futures forked, zigzagging. I’d never seen a pattern like that, and even with everything that was happening, I couldn’t help but be fascinated. It was as if two different futures were meeting within Rachel’s mind, both trying to overwhelm the other. She swayed with the moving train, eyes flicking from behind the domino mask from Cinder to me.

Off to our left, the helicopter swept down in a shallow dive to match the train’s speed, and again the machine gun stuttered. Without looking, Cinder held out one arm: the gauntlet on it glowed with power, the gems on the blue scale gleaming, and the bullets sparked off an invisible barrier.

“Del,” Cinder called.

Some indecipherable emotion convulsed Rachel’s face. She turned and ran, fleeing down the train at lightning speed. She dropped down the hole she’d opened up into the carriage and was gone.

Cinder took a step after her, but had to halt as another burst of machine gun fire sparked off his shield. “She’s gating,” I called.

“Stop her!”

Metal gantries flashed by overhead. “I try, I might kill her.”

Cinder swore. “Ten seconds,” I said. I could sense the gate forming, far faster than was safe. It wouldn’t take much to twist the futures, cause a cascade failure . . . assuming I didn’t care what happened to Rachel.

Cinder didn’t reply. Seconds ticked, and the gate opened, then closed. “She’s gone,” I said.

Cinder growled. With a flick of his wrist, he threw a fireball at the helicopter. The spell exploded against an invisible countermagic barrier thirty feet from the aircraft.

Mr. Verus? I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but—

But there’s another problem, of course there is. Let’s hear it.

November didn’t use words this time. A three-dimensional diagram flashed into my head, combined with estimated times of arrival and blast radii.

Cinder threw another fireball at the helicopter; it bloomed against the shield, the helicopter emerging unscathed a second later. A burst of return fire was blocked by Cinder’s shield as well. “Waste of time,” Cinder muttered, and looked at me. “Stop this bloody train.”

“Bad idea,” I said tersely.

“Why?”

“Because Barrayar’s called in an airstrike,” I said. “In three minutes an RAF jet is going to hit this carriage with a laser-guided bomb.”

Cinder paused. His shield could hold off light machine gun fire, but military explosives were another story. And that was without the train crash that would follow.

A train crash that would also kill every single passenger in the carriages below. I’d known Barrayar wanted to stop me from stealing November. I hadn’t known how badly.

“So?” Cinder asked.

I looked around, searching for ideas. My eyes fell upon the helicopter. It had pulled back out of firing range but was still pacing the train. I could just barely see one of the men inside aiming some piece of equipment at us, probably a laser designator.

And the pilot was holding course and speed so they could draw a bead . . .

I pointed at the helicopter. “How far can you jump with those fire wings?”

Cinder looked at the helicopter, then back at me. “You’re fucking crazy.”

I grinned at him. “Chicken?”

“Never going to hit.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

Cinder hesitated.

“Two minutes,” I told him.

I felt the futures settle as Cinder made his decision. He stepped next to me and put a thick arm around me, grabbing me under one arm. I turned towards the helicopter, already thinning out the futures with the fateweaver, looking for the one where ours intersected at just the right angle.

“We miss this,” Cinder growled into my ear, “last thing I do before we hit the ground is blow your head off.”

“Oh, relax,” I told him, focusing on the helicopter. All of a sudden it looked very far away, a black-and-yellow wasp flitting above the trees. “Remember, falling doesn’t kill you, it’s the sudden stop when you—”

Cinder jumped.

Fire flared around us, and my stomach lurched as we kicked off the train and went speeding through the air. The wind roared in my ears, the helicopter growing bigger and bigger. Time seemed to slow down, and I had what felt like forever to see the eyes of the two men standing in the helicopter’s fuselage go wide behind their goggles. The gunner fired a burst but the bullets fell low and left. The helicopter grew bigger still, filling my sight, and the future of the next three-quarters of a second was a solid line as the open side of the helicopter grew closer and closer. I felt us go through the countermagic shield, which did nothing as we were just a pair of ballistic objects at this point, the blast of the wind mixing with the clatter of the rotors as we flew under them and into the men in the doorway—

—and time snapped back to full speed and suddenly everything was happening at once. I hit the man with the laser designator and we both went sprawling, slamming into the helicopter’s floor, my leg kicking out into empty space. The helicopter lurched, engine screaming. Someone was shouting and I fought with the man I’d landed on, elbows and weapons and teeth. Fire and heat bloomed and there was a horrible scream—

—and suddenly it was over. I hauled myself up on a handhold and saw that Cinder and I were the only ones standing. The machine gun was still there, mounted in the door. Through the gap between the seats I could see the pilot at the front of the helicopter; he seemed to be shouting. Cinder jerked a thumb towards him—it was too loud to speak—and I nodded and moved forward, grabbing a pistol from one of the bodies.

The pilot was talking fast into his microphone. He stopped short as I leant in next to him. His eyes rolled towards me fearfully.

I showed the pilot the pistol. “You have five seconds to use that parachute.”

The pilot didn’t need to be told twice. His harness flew open, he kicked open the side door, and he jumped into space.

The helicopter rocked, threatening to tip over. “Know how to fly this thing?” Cinder shouted from behind me.

I half fell into the pilot’s seat, reached over for the open door, and slammed it, cutting down the noise. “Not yet.”

Looking out, I saw that we’d gained height—the pilot must have climbed when we boarded—but the helicopter was lurching and swaying. The panels in the cockpit were an incomprehensible jumble of screens and dials, but the stick and pedals looked simple enough. I concentrated on the futures and a dozen Alexes tried a dozen combinations of movements: the futures that survived forked, forked again. I pulled the stick to one side, then flicked a switch and gently tilted it forward. The helicopter stabilised, its beating rotor holding it stationary, then angled forward, heading north.

November. Status.

The tactical net Barrayar has been using to direct your pursuit is . . . somewhat confused, November said. They seem to be under the impression that you boarded their helicopter in midair.

That’s because we did. How long until they get organised?

You . . . Yes, well. The fighter-bomber that had been tasked with the strike has aborted its attack run. Barrayar wants confirmation of the helicopter’s status and is attempting to order use of air-to-air missiles.

“Hey, Cinder,” I called over my shoulder. “You know how to make a gate from inside a helicopter?”

Without even looking back, I knew that Cinder was rolling his eyes. “Now?”

“Well, Deleo can make one from a train,” I said, looking through the futures to figure out how to work the autopilot. “But hey, maybe she’s better than you. I’m not an expert on this stuff.”

“How long we got?” Cinder growled.

“Ages. At least five minutes.”

—

Six minutes and forty-five seconds later, the police helicopter was struck by an infrared-homing ASRAAM missile fired from astern. The missile hit the aircraft high on its right side, the warhead’s fragments reaching the fuel tanks and causing a secondary explosion. The flaming wreckage crashed into a field somewhere west of Chelmsford, and the pieces were still burning when the emergency services pulled up. By the time that they—and Barrayar—determined that no one had been alive and on board at the time of impact, Cinder and I were long gone.