Vignettes
The Creek
The intelligence was probably false. Mistaken coordinates, rumor confused as fact, timing misunderstood. The Captain had told everyone to fan out; somewhere nearby was possibly a small resistance group with technology that could almost rival the Power Suits of the Phoenix Project. But all appearances increasingly said that any such band had long since departed—or died at the hands of Lord Dread’s forces.
Pilot scanned the rim of a hill scattered with gnarled trees. She had hours earlier returned her weapon to its holster and begun to walk more casually. Still, she took careful steps to avoid revealing herself.
“Nothing so far,” Scout said over comms.
The Captain replied, “All right. A few more minutes, then head back to the Jump Ship. Looks like we were wrong.”
Pilot continued to the top of the hill and gazed beyond. It sloped gradually down to a rocky flat with a denser canopy of leaves.
“Power level at 86%,” her Suit reminded her.
She snorted. “As if I need to hear the slow countdown to brighten my day.” Her aching feet carried her down the hill. She drew her weapon as the trees closed in; anything could be hiding behind one of the trunks or in a hidden hollow. Biomechs were easy targets, but they occasionally exhibited slightly better-than-a-machine cunning. And who knew where Soaron was; that annoying metal bird had a predilection for showing up at the worst times. But Hawk would keep an eye open
The trees were just a thin line. As Pilot stepped through them into another opening, a creek came into her view. It wended slowly among jutting gray rocks and tufts of thick grass. She looked around and then checked behind her.
Birds sang from the branches or among the blades of grass. A squirrel dashed from the water to a nearby tree.
Pilot holstered her weapon. Her hand rose, slowly, then stopped, then rose again to her chest. Her Power Suit deactivated. She again looked around, a bit more frantically, but then returned her attention to the creek.
The soft babble reached her ears and drew her closer.
A quick glance back.
Then she was beside it, the jagged edge of the worn land a few inches above the flowing water. Jennifer sat, again glanced around, and quickly removed her boots. She set them aside. The toes of her right foot stretched toward the water, closer, closer, and jerked back when the cold liquid touched them. She then plunged her foot in and gasped. “Easy does it, you idiot. You don’t need to stub a toe on a rock—Jon will never let it go.”
Jennifer slid her left foot into the creek, closed her eyes, and sighed. The pebbly bottom gave way and let soft mud ooze between her toes. The birds continued to sing. The water continued to speak incomprehensible words to her about peace and a time when she was a girl.
A girl. Her eyes snapped open, but not to see the cold, antiseptic surfaces of the machine world. They saw the dirt and the chaotic life, the random flow of water, and the clouds above, deformed ships sailing the skies.
“Okay, everyone back to the Jump Ship,” the Captain said.
Jennifer swung her feet back onto solid ground and stood up. She scanned the surroundings as she tried to kick the water off. A few moments later, she crammed her boots back on, her wet feet sticking here and there as they went in.
Pilot raised her fist to the phoenix on her chest. “Power on.” Her Suit reactivated.
“Power level at 84%.”
“Oh shut up.” Pilot glanced once more at the creek and drew her weapon. “They need someone to fly them home. Maybe I’ll see you later.” She lithely marched back through the trees, and the creek’s gentle babble faded beneath the electric hum of her Suit.