Ninth City Burning (38 page)

Understood, sir,
I reply, then open communication to my 'drille.
Did anyone get a good look at that thing?

It looked like an equus,
says Iftito,
but it definitely came from outside this umbris, which suggests an artillery shell, most likely from a City Gun. Based on its trajectory, I'd say it came from Ninth.

Each city of the Principates is equipped with an array of heavy artillery, massive guns that can stretch two hundred meters or more into the sky. Aside from fontani, which are in extremely scarce supply, the City Guns are the most powerful weapons we have. The equipment required to operate and maintain them is too elaborate and cumbersome to transport into battle, meaning their primary function is long-distance bombardment. They fire shells loaded with ingenic ordnance, using thelemity to launch them out into the aeter, where they might travel thousands of kilometers under conventional ballistics before reaching their target—always within another umbris, where the shells again use thelemity to do their deadly business. During a battle, it isn't unusual to see shells from the City Guns whistling down onto the enemy—a few well-placed shots can be enough to take down even a Valentine Zero—but no one from Sixth Cohort has called in an artillery strike today. We're still a long way from the enemy, and it wouldn't make sense for Ninth City to be attempting
a shot like that when Sixth, Third, and Second Cities are so much closer to the battle.

Could it be a misfire?
I ask.

Possibly,
Iftito says,
but that thing isn't moving like a shell. If I had to guess, I'd say it's under human control.

Impossible,
Sensen snaps.
Where could an equus have come from? It didn't just drop out of the sky.

A few seconds later, Sensen gets her answer. The object, whatever it is, has continued across our umbris, if anything moving faster as it shot past the rest of Sixth Cohort. Iftito is right about its movement: Artillery shells generally follow the dictates of gravity up until they reach the vicinity of their target, but the streak of white that blasted past us moments ago seems to be consciously avoiding collision, dodging around gunships and tetra fortresses, accelerating past the waves of equites that swerve to intercept, moving ever closer to the front edge of our umbris, a dangerous place to be at such a reckless velocity. The object gives no indication of seeing the approaching aeter until, a mere split second away, it suddenly spins, dips, and shoots almost straight up, rocketing away into the sky.

Problem solved, I guess,
says Uo. Whether the object was an artillery shell, an equus, or something else, it won't be much of a threat to anyone now, unless it happens to land on some unlucky noco out in the wilderness somewhere. Given our position, it's more likely to drop harmlessly into the ocean.

No, look!
shouts Haiyalaiya. Her equus, 126-012, call sign EndIsWaiting, is positioned at the top of our formation, giving her the best view of the unidentified object's ascent, and after tracing the arc of its flight, I see what she means.

My eyesight has always been my least impressive physical attribute. Since I was ten, I've needed spectacles to see anything farther away than my toes. FireChaser, by contrast, has senses far keener than any flesh-and-blood creature humanity has ever encountered, and while we're flying, her eyes are my eyes—although Chaser doesn't have eyes in the traditional sense. She's a model C-47 Courser, equipped with a lattice of sensory receptors providing 360 degrees of vision, extending well beyond the spectrum normally visible to humans and with resolution fine enough to count the hairs on a flea.

I have no trouble following the tiny white speck as it moves through
the sky. Though it must have turned back to inert matter moments after it left the umbris, it still had enough momentum to carry it a significant distance. As I watch, it arcs through the air, tips, and sails gracefully downward, dropping neatly into the umbris where Fourth Cohort is flying, some fifteen kilometers ahead of us.

No way,
Midmurro says.
Absolutely no way.

Did that really just happen?
Pelashwa asks.

Whoever's inside that thing is absolutely batshit,
Uo agrees admiringly.

None of us has ever seen someone jump from one umbris to another like that. It's possible, obviously, but judging the proper angle and velocity to make the shot is extremely difficult, akin to sinking a pebble into a cup floating in the center of a competition-sized swimming pool. Even as I think about it, I realize the unidentified object must have performed this same feat at least once already. That was how it appeared behind us, seemingly out of nowhere: It must have jumped from Seventh Cohort's umbris the way it just jumped from ours. But why? Assuming you can make a shot like that, there are few situations in which it would make sense, let alone be worth the risk of missing and grabbing nothing but aeter.

Before I can contemplate the possibilities any further, Centurio Kitu's voice comes through over DS.
All units be advised: Our defensive perimeter has been breached by an unidentified object that appears to be an equus of unknown design. Object has ignored attempts at communication and is to be considered hostile. Assume battle positions and prepare to match speed and heading.

We're going after it?
Midmurro asks, incredulous.

Kitu isn't going to commit an entire cohort to chasing that thing down,
I say,
but he has to assume we're in a combat situation. We're going to consolidate with Fourth Cohort and increase speed to the intercept site. Time to form up, everyone. It's about to get tight in here.

There isn't a stray comment, not an unnecessary syllable exchanged as my 'drille glides into position. Later, there'll be quibbling over cards and whether this counts as seeing combat, but for now everyone is prepared for the real thing. In moments, Sixth Cohort has doubled its speed, every unit locked in steely, rail-rigid flight.

Ahead, Fourth Cohort has reacted to the mysterious intruder just as we did, shifting into battle formation and hastening toward our destination. The unidentified object, meanwhile, has performed the same trick
again, jumping ahead to the umbris where Third Cohort is flying, and then once more to the larger formation of First, Second, and Fifth, Ninth Legion's vanguard.

What is it doing?
Midmurro wonders aloud. Once again, no one speaks up to chasten him; we're all asking ourselves the same thing. The unidentified object may not be an artillery shell, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be carrying some kind of ordnance. At the same time, it's hard to imagine any objective that would make sense. For some reason, I think of Centurio Kitu's description,
an equus of unknown design
. It makes me uneasy, though I couldn't say why.

Unlike the cohorts farther to the rear, Ninth Legion's vanguard is already in battle formation by the time the unidentified object drops into its umbris. First, Second, and Fifth Cohorts aren't taking any chances; instead of waiting for the object to reveal its intentions, they immediately move to engage. The formation's rear swirls back, blazing with flashes of color as deadly weapons come to life, promising the object's swift and merciless end. But the glowing trail of combat continues across the umbris, flaring here and there through the vanguard's formation amid sudden ripples of motion, until the object erupts from the other side, trails of angry energy—spikes of white-blue null, gouts of fire—close on its heels dissolving as they splash into the aeter, dying out as they pass beyond the range of the thelemity that makes them possible.

It seems there's cause for concern after all. This is the second time our unidentified object has survived something that should have destroyed it—and that's if you consider the four leaps from Seventh Cohort to the vanguard as a single near-death experience. It isn't too surprising that something moving that fast could get by a few cohorts unprepared for its unlikely arrival, but the vanguard, already in position to fight, should have made short work of it. If that really is an equus, it's way ahead of anything we have in the Legion.

We're approaching the intercept point now, close enough to see the battle already in progress. The sky below Lunar Veil glows with cross fire, the pinprick bursts of lazels, the sweeping curves of dogfighting equi, the sustained flashes of the gunships. Above, Lunar Veil is just discernible in the place where the blue light scattered through the atmosphere dims to black, a subtle shift in the pattern and color and texture of sky, swirling slowly like an image reflected in the surface of a pond.

Sixth and Third Legions have already engaged the enemy and appear to have the situation well in hand. Both have deployed their tetra fortresses, creating two parallel walls to hem Romeo in while the equites stab inward from the edges and gunships lance supporting fire from above and below. The Valentine incursion force, squeezed from two sides, looks to be on the verge of retreat, moving upward toward the Veil as though preparing to escape into Dis. It would be a poor strategy—they're a long way from the Front, and we've got an outpost on the other side of Lunar Veil that would be able to join the battle—but it's one of the few options they have left. If they keep fighting, it won't be long before their sources are trapped. After that, it's all over.

The unidentified object lands at the very edge of the skirmish. It isn't as spectacularly difficult a leap as the ones that came before, since the umbris surrounding the battle is larger. Umbrae grow in size the more sources are inside, and depending on how many Zeros Romeo brought with him, this one should be at least ten to twelve kilometers across—bigger once Ninth Legion joins the fight.

Despite the distance between the unidentified object and the battle in progress, Sixth Legion's rear guard breaks off to pursue. They'll have had word of the object's unusual behavior and won't want to risk its getting close enough to disrupt the ongoing rout—say by detonating some nasty artifice along a wall of assault platforms or amid a cluster of gunships.

The unidentified object, however, ignores the battle and pursuing fighters. Instead, it angles upward, toward Lunar Veil. This alone probably keeps it from being annihilated by Sixth Legion's rear guard, which gives chase nonetheless, firing a few distant bursts as the object accelerates into the sky. There's no chance of catching it now: It shoots straight up until at last it exits the umbris, disappearing into Lunar Veil like a stone dropped into a pond.

T
his move, dashing into Lunar Veil, doesn't make any sense. The spaces between worlds—areas like Lunar Veil, where one Realm meets another—are the only places, other than the direct vicinity of a source, where thelemity is known to exist. That equus—if it was an equus—will be able to make it to the other side, but once it gets there, it'll be stuck. The Legion keeps an outpost in Dis, the next Realm over, though generally at a safe distance from the Veil. All the unidentified object will be able to do is float aimlessly until one of our patrols picks it up and captures whoever's inside.

Well, that was a lot of fuss over nothing,
Uo says.

Stay sharp,
I say.
That battle isn't over. Centurio Kitu will probably order us in any—

I break off; something has happened. To the naked eye, it wouldn't look like much, but through FireChaser's enhanced vision, the shock wave of energy is obvious. My first thought is that our fontani must have moved in to engage the Valentine Zeros, but then I see that the disturbance is coming from Lunar Veil. At first slowly, then all at once, the Veil changes, its reflective surface turning transparent to reveal a view of Dis, the Realm beyond.

Most of the Realms humanity has visited contain a solar system moderately similar to our own. The planets there may be different from Earth—many are uninhabitable to human beings—but the basic setup is usually the same: a star with a few orbiting satellites. Dis is a notable exception, a wasteland of space populated by little more than drifting clouds of gas and dust.

Only the Dis we see now isn't empty.

It's easy to miss how large Lunar Veil really is when its façade blends
so neatly into the sky, but as it flashes into transparency, a startling scene is revealed. In the foreground, a battle is in progress—hardly more than a skirmish, but it comes as a surprise, since our outpost in Dis hasn't reported combat of any kind. Compared to what we see in the space beyond, however, a few scattered fighters is almost beneath notice.

A Valentine army is arrayed across the dark sky, waiting rank upon rank, while in the barrenness of Dis, further swarms trail steadily closer through the distance of space. As we watch, a shudder moves slowly across the Valentine lines: Lunar Veil is transparent to them as well, and they've seen us.

All of this happens in a flash—hardly a few seconds, but enough time to survey the scene and count five heartbeats thudding in my ears—and then the Veil returns to its glassy, watery blankness. In those few moments, however, the lines of battle are completely redrawn. Instead of a dangerous but manageable incursion of Valentine fighters, we're dealing with a full-on invasion. The Valentine army we saw through the Veil was plainly gathering for a massive assault. Their strategy would be to take us by surprise, pouring through Lunar Veil all at once before we had time to react. By showing us what's on the other side, that unidentified object has ruined Romeo's plan. At this very moment, word will be spreading around the world for an emergency lockdown of Lunar Veil. And the Valentines won't wait for us to shut them out—they'll try to rush through before the Veil closes. Though we can't see it yet, the attack has already begun.

My cohort is close enough to get a good view as the first Valentine fighter descends out of the Veil, like the opening drop of a coming storm. A fraction of a second later, two more emerge, then a continuous flow of fighters too numerous to count, raining down onto the gathered ranks of Sixth and Third Legions. The Valentines show no hint of tactics or organization; this is an all-out charge, plain and simple.

The downpour quickly envelops the smaller Valentine force waiting beneath the Veil—guarding it, I now understand, from anyone who might consider peeking through. Sixth and Third Legions, though they didn't know it, ended up providing a screen that allowed our unidentified object, the equus of unknown design, an open path to the Veil. Now the two Legions, so much in command of the battle only seconds ago, see their lines broken apart beneath a deluge of enemy fighters, and the blue-black sky lights up in rainbow hues as both sides descend into combat.

Centurio Kitu's voice, measured in his signature calm, rings out over DS.
All units, prepare to engage. Your objective is to slow the enemy's ingress into Hestia until we can close Lunar Veil.
There's no need to relay Kitu's orders to my 'drille. Every fighter in Sixth Cohort has heard him.

Lunar Veil isn't normally a stable passage into the Realms. In the early years of the war, we were able to open it only once per month, and only for a few hours. Resupplying the Front was a complex and inefficient affair; if we didn't get everything through during that one narrow window, we'd have to wait an entire month before sending anything else. It was decades before we learned we could keep the Veil open indefinitely using a series of ingenic dynamos, called “Anchors,” positioned strategically around the world. Right now, legionary detachments will be destroying or disabling Lunar Veil's Anchors, and once that happens, the Veil will close in a matter of minutes. The question now is how much of that Valentine army will make it through beforehand.

Sixth Cohort moves in, vibrations from the initial clash of combat reverberating around us. Already, the first wave of Valentines has begun to flow outward from the battle. They won't want to engage us here, won't want to hang around with nearly three full Legions to challenge them; instead, their goal will be to spread across the world, striking our weakest points. With their Legions occupied here, Sixth and Third Cities will be almost completely undefended. Ninth City, too, has committed the better part of its defense force to this operation. If one of those Zeros manages to get a clear shot, we may have nothing to come home to.

Everyone in Sixth Cohort is well aware of the stakes, and we hold nothing back. By the time the Valentine fighters come flooding our way, we've spread into a wide net, equites charging while tetra fortresses launch a wall of assault platforms in concave formation. My 'drille is in position near the top, S-Cannons and WhiteLances ready.
Stay close,
I tell them.
I want overlapping attacks—no one goes anywhere alone. And keep an eye out for Zeros. Romeo is trying to rush by, but he can't go anywhere without his sources. We hold the Zeros back, everyone else stays too.

That's all I have time to say before the first volley from the gunships lights up the oncoming Valentine rush. There's a series of flashes, the air distorting with the discharge of force as the enemy's front line twists and collapses, the sleek multilimbed bodies of the Valentine fighters burning and contorting and fizzling out of existence. And then, all at once, they're
everywhere. For one terrifying moment, I'm sure my 'drille is gone, that the wave of battle has swept them away, until I recognize Sensen's ride, ShadowSinger, to one side, and Allomar's, StarHunter, on the other, and see that my 'drille has followed my orders exactly. We're all together, each covering the others, cutting through everything in our way.

From the number of Valentines still coming through, it's clear the planned attack would have been devastating, but even our brief glimpse beyond Lunar Veil was enough to tell us Romeo wasn't quite ready. Once his plan was revealed, he had no choice but to try to get as many troops across as possible before the Veil closed. As a result, the Valentine charge is a disorganized motley of different units, allowing us to take advantage of each one's weaknesses. Our gunships, safely ensconced behind a protective wall of assault platforms, pick off lone Valentine Type 5s and 6s—the general equivalent of our equi—and blast away indiscriminately at smaller units. Our equites, meanwhile, are free to range through the battle, dismantling heavier fighters while trampling the pesky Type 3s that might trouble the milites manning our fortresses. This the 126th does with ease, most of our time being spent wading through floods of Type 3s—enough to bother a lone equus, but no problem at all for a full 'drille moving as one.

Still, the Valentines keep coming, pouring through the Veil. We're slowing them down, but there are too many for us to completely hold back. Clouds of energy light up the sky as Valentines breach our walls of assault platforms, clawing through the cracks they've hammered in our defenses and tearing apart the milites who try to hold them back. Equites rush in to close the spreading gaps, only to be mobbed and overwhelmed by Romeo's fighters, the daytime sky staining sunset red with gwayd.

By the time Centurio Kitu announces that the Veil is closing, I know we're in the middle of the biggest battle Earth has ever seen, and it's far from over. Once Lunar Veil is sealed, we'll have to deal with all the Valentines that made it through. Already, there will be Zeros streaking toward our cities, raiding parties headed for helpless, isolated settlements, the potential targets far too numerous for us to defend them all. There's no telling how much damage they'll do before we can hunt them all down. After that, there will still be the matter of an entire Valentine army waiting in Dis for Lunar Veil to open again.

I lead my 'drille through a thick clump of 3s, while overhead a sustained strike from a team of gunships dismantles a pair of huge Type 6s leg
by leg, bright purple gwayd rushing from each blasted limb and spattering down onto us. Over DS, I hear Ottumtee call out,
Chaser, I've got a bead on a Zero.

I respond quickly.
Where?

Just beneath the Veil.

Lunar Veil is still swirling, but slowly now, its liquid quality fading away, as if the sky itself were hardening in place. In a way, that's exactly what's happening: The fluid connection between worlds is being blocked off, the Veil becoming impermeable. Already, the influx of Valentine fighters has dwindled nearly to nothing, and what few make it through rush immediately for the outer edges of the action. Only a thin cloud of Valentines remains near the Veil, and at their center, the dark energy of a source.

All sources—Valentine Zeros as well as our own fontani—share a distinctive, easily recognizable profile: a roil of darkness outlined with gleaming bursts of light. The best description I've heard came from one of my rhetors at the Academy, a two-tour vet with a face pocked and scarred by deflected shards of null. What sources look like, he said, are rapids on a river, only instead of water, what's churning around is the darkness of space, and instead of foam at the edges, you have stars. Not the words I'd choose, but they get the idea across.

The source Ottumtee pointed out is the expected ball of sparkling blackness, but its behavior is unusual. Rather than joining the battle, it hovers in place, moving in tight, erratic circles. There are only two reasons that might explain this type of movement. One is that the source's supporting troops are near the edge of its umbris, and it needs to retain tight control over the thelemity it's projecting. The other is that it's fighting another source. There's no need for a source to worry about its umbris in a battle of this size, which means what we're seeing up there isn't one source, but two.

Looks like a duel,
I say. We won't be much good in a fight like that. To a source, an equus—even a whole 'drille—is about as dangerous as a horsefly. We might get in a bite or two, but that's all. The only real chance of defeating a source—aside from throwing another source at it—is to trap it in the path of a whole lot of firepower. It wouldn't accomplish anything to call in Sixth Cohort now. The battle is still too hot to organize the sort of coordinated strike we'd need, and even if we could, the fact that two sources are fighting here means one of them is ours, and right now we can't tell which is which. To make any meaningful difference, we'd have to wait
for a lull in the duel. I'm about to report Ottumtee's sighting to Kitu and order my 'drille back into battle elsewhere when something in the swarm of Valentines catches my eye.

At first it's only a glint of white among the tangle of enemy fighters, but then the tumble shifts, and I see it's the unidentified object, the equus of unknown design—only now that it isn't streaking across the sky, I can pick out more of the details, and I realize the design isn't completely unknown.

I've seen it before—in Kizabel's workshop.

We're going in,
I tell my 'drille.
Spiral formation.

There isn't a lot we can do in there, Chaser,
Iftito cautions.
Maybe if we hang back, wait for the gunships—

We're not going after the sources,
I say.
We're going to bring back that equus. You can bet there will be people waiting to speak with whoever's inside. Surround and extract, understood? And be careful—we don't know what it can do, and no guarantee it's friendly.

No guarantee it's friendly?
Pelashwa says incredulously.
It basically just saved Earth from total destruction.