“Hold your fire,” she called out.

  The Dusters looked at her like she was crazy, but they obeyed.

  Helga stepped up beside me. “He must have a message,” she said. “You’ve got to admit, the old buzzard has a brass pair on him, coming up to our doorstep like this.”

  I nodded, knowing she was right. I wanted to blast Viktor off his high horse just as badly as the rest of these yokels did—but we all held back. We needed information. Maybe, just maybe—he would offer us a deal. Maybe we could get the families out of town, for instance.

  The rider halted about hundred yards from our walls. He sat there on his horse, with a straight spine and a straight face.

  Helga turned to her Dusters. “Stay here. Keep that cannon ready. Tanner and I will go see what he wants.”

  They didn’t like it, but they knew better than to argue. Helga and I stepped out from behind the wall, walking towards the gate where Viktor waited.

  As we approached, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a trap. Viktor was a Magister, one of the Techborn’s most powerful agents. He wouldn’t have come alone unless he had something up his sleeve.

  The big gate creaked open, and we walked out into the open desert. We met with Viktor on the dusty road that led out into the wasteland.

  Viktor sat atop his mount, looking down at us with a smug expression. I wanted to wipe that look off his face, but I held myself back.

  “What do you want, Magister?” Helga called out.

  Viktor smiled, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “I have a message for you—and for Dane Tanner. For all the Dusters of Cinder Hollow.”

  My hand dropped to the hilt of my weapon and tightened there into a ball. Whatever he had to say, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it.

  Chapter 32

  I looked the Magister up and down. He was a real piece of work, this one—arrogant as hell. That look on his face, it was like he smelled shit all the time.

  “All right, Viktor,” Helga said. “Let’s hear it. What’s your offer?”

  Viktor’s grin widened. “Straight to the point. I like that.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “The Overlord, in his infinite mercy, is willing to accept your surrender.”

  I snorted. Mercy, my ass. “And what are his terms?”

  “Quite simple, really. All the Dusters will become slaves of the Techborn. They will serve us, as is their rightful place.”

  I felt Helga was unhappy—but she didn’t yell “no” at him right away. That surprised me. She must be thinking of her people, of the suffering they’d endure if she refused the Techborn demands.

  “That’s the deal, huh?” I asked. “Submission and slavery for all? At least you’re keeping things simple.”

  “No,” Viktor said, squinting at me. “You… I know who you are. An escaped slave. A murderer. A failed assassin. My master will not allow you to become a simple slave, now.”

  “Has he got something special in mind?” I asked in an unconcerned tone.

  Viktor’s eyes glittered with malice. “You, Dane Tanner, will die. Slowly and painfully. You killed Kade Janson, the Overlord’s son. For that, you must pay with your life.”

  “Worm!” Helga said, stepping forward. “What if we refuse your terms?”

  Viktor shrugged. “Then you will all die. The Techborn army will sweep through Cinder Hollow like a heated knife, killing every last one of you.”

  “We would ask something of you,” she said. “Let our civilians leave in peace. The young, the old—”

  “No. I have given you the only terms we shall offer. Accept them—or refuse. It makes no difference to me.”

  I looked at Helga. She met my gaze, her eyes hard. I knew what she was thinking. We couldn’t accept these terms. But if we refused, we might be condemning everyone in Cinder Hollow to death.

  It was an impossible choice. I felt for her.

  Helga turned back to Viktor. “We’ll need some time to consider your offer.”

  Viktor nodded, that infuriating grin still on his face. “Of course—but the Overlord’s patience is not infinite. You have until dawn to respond—or else…”

  With that, he turned his mount and rode back towards the Techborn lines. I watched him go, my mind racing.

  We had a decision to make. And whatever we chose, people were going to die. I just hoped we could live with the consequences.

  “We can’t accept those terms, Tanner,” Helga said to me. “My people won’t go for it.”

  She was right, in my opinion. The Dusters would never submit to becoming Techborn slaves. As far as my special status went, I sure as hell wasn’t going to lay down and die for killing that piece of shit Kade, either.

  “We’re outnumbered and outgunned,” I said. “We need a plan.”

  Helga’s gaze turned calculating. She looked after Viktor. “What if we captured the messenger? Used him as a bargaining chip?”

  I considered it for a moment. It was tempting. Viktor was a high-ranking Techborn. Just shooting him off the back of his walker would be fun.

  “Nah,” I said finally. “That’s not going to make Janson change his mind about anything. He’ll just attack sooner.”

  Helga looked like she wanted to argue, but she kept her mouth shut. “So, what do we do?”

  I looked out over the walls of Cinder Hollow, at the Techborn army surrounding us. We were in a tight spot, no doubt about it.

  “We’ll fight,” I said simply. “We’ll use every trick, every weapon, every bit of knowledge we have. We’ll make them bleed for every inch of ground they try to take.”

  Helga nodded, a fierce grin spreading across her face. “I like the sound of that. There will be no surrender. I’m not even going to ask my lieutenants, or the mayor… we’re going to fight.”

  Unsurprised, I gave her a sloppy salute and went to walk the crappy walls of Cinder Hollow one more time. My boots crunched in the sand, then over creaky boards.

  Beyond the walls, night had fallen. The desert was quiet. Too quiet. The Dusters inside the walls were tense, waiting for dawn. The word was spreading, the Techborn would attack at first light.

  I wondered if Callista was with the Techborn army. Was she here, somewhere in the dark? In the morning, would she lead the charge to wipe us out? I couldn’t get her out of my head. The way she’d looked at me, the feel of her skin against mine. These memories were fresh, and they messed with my mind.

  Shaking off these thoughts, I checked my weapons for the hundredth time. My buzzblade hung at my hip, fully charged. I’d been issued a thunderbolt of my own now. It was loaded and ready, too.

  Looking up, I saw the sand-cannon perched on the rocks overlooking the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was well-positioned. The Dusters who were supposed to fire it were inexperienced. I doubt they’d hit anything on their first try, but hopefully, they’d get a second chance when the time came.

  Walking the wall, I considered it to be a joke. The core was old wood, with scrap metal and rusty wagon wheels welded together to give it some strength. It wouldn’t hold against a determined assault, but it was all we had.

  Let them come. We’d be ready. Either we would die—or they would. There didn’t seem to be any other way out, now.

  The night dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Eventually, I thought I could sleep. I walked to the campfires and tents that dotted the open areas between the shacks that made up Cinder Hollow.

  That’s when I found Megan sitting alone by a campfire. She was staring into the tiny tongues of flame. Her eyes were haunted. I knew that look. I’d seen it on the faces of many colonial women.

  She looked up as I approached. “Tanner?”

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  I sat down next to her, the heat from the fire washing over me. It felt good after the cold night air. Megan reached into her pack and pulled out a bottle of something that smelled like paint thinner.

  “Drink?” she offered.

  I took the bottle from her and took a swig. It burned going down, but it was better than nothing. We sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth.

  “I miss him,” Megan said finally. “Hammer, I mean. We grew up together. He was a good man.”

  I nodded. “He was. Damn good fighter, too.” Then, I told her about how he’d gotten the robot guards to chase him. That act had led to his death, but it had allowed me to sneak inside the Arabella.

  She seemed saddened until I told her how close I’d come to killing Janson.

  “Too bad you didn’t finish him.”

  “Yeah…”

  “It makes more sense, why he’s hunting you for vengeance. First his son—then him. You must seem like the bane of his existence, from his point of view.”

  The booze was starting to take effect, warming me from the inside out. I could feel my muscles relaxing, the tension draining away.

  “We’ll make the Techborn pay tomorrow,” I assured her. “For Hammer. For all the rest of them, too.”

  Megan nodded. “Damn right we will.”

  We drank together to honor our fallen friend. The mood around the fire had lifted slightly, buoyed by shared memories and the promise of revenge.

  Tomorrow, we’d fight. Tomorrow, we’d face the Techborn and all their might. But tonight, we’d remember our friend and drink to his memory. It was the least we could do.

  I drained the last of the booze and tossed the empty bottle aside. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks up into the night sky. Megan shifted beside me, her shoulder brushing against mine.

  “Dane,” she said softly. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

  I turned to look at her. Her face was illuminated by the flickering flames, shadows dancing across her features. She looked beautiful and sad.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip. “I want to make love to you. Tonight. Before... before tomorrow happens.”

  I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t been expecting that. But as I looked at her, I realized I wanted it too, wanted her. If this was our last night alive, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend it.

  After sliding an arm around her, I felt her melt against me. That was it for me. I reached out and cupped her face in my hand. She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. I kissed her then, long and deep. She tasted like booze and wood smoke and something uniquely her.

  We broke apart, breathing heavily. I stood up and held out my hand to her. She took it, and I pulled her to her feet. We walked hand in hand to my bedroll, spread out under the stars.

  I laid her down gently, my hands roaming over her body. She arched into my touch, gasping softly. I kissed her again, trailing my lips down her neck.

  Afterwards, Megan rested her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I stroked her soft hair.

  “Dane,” she whispered. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything,” I said.

  “Kill the Techborn tomorrow. All of them you can.”

  That was the kind of promise I was happy to make. “You got it.”

  We drifted off to sleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. For a few precious hours, the war and the Techborn and the death that awaited us faded away. There was only us, and the stars, and the hope that somehow, we’d make it through to see another night like this.

  Chapter 33

  My eyes snapped open at the sound of gunfire. Damn it… The Techborn were here!

  I scrambled out of my bedroll, grabbing my gear. Megan was already gone—probably manning the walls. I raced through the pre-dawn light, my boots pounding on the packed earth. The sky was a sickly pink, like milk and blood blended together. Not a good omen.

  I reached the walls just as the first Techborn came into view. They marched in perfect formation, their armor glinting in the early light. There were hundreds of them—maybe thousands. We were in for a real battle.

  My first thought was of the sand-cannon. Why wasn’t it firing?

  Normally, such a gun would be sounding like a screeching, continuous bug-zapper by now. Beaming out a brilliant line of energy and particles—but it wasn’t doing anything. It was silent.

  Climbing up the rocks, I was already cursing and shoving aside any confused Duster who got in my way. I’d worked hard to get this damned thing up onto these rocks. It was set up high, at a nice vantage point for a reason. Up here, it had better range and a commanding field of fire.

  The thing about that kind of plan was you had to frigging fire it! Preferably before the enemy got in close.

  There was a pile of pig-iron shielding around the weapon, and although a wisp of white smoke was rising from the emplacement, it didn’t look like it had been knocked out.

  One young guy was fooling around, struggling with something. Could that kid really be the one they’d assigned as the gunner? Shit, he looked like he was maybe sixteen.

  “What the hell, kid? You know how to shoot this thing?”

  His face was white with black streaks. He turned to face me, almost falling on his ass as he spun around on his heels. “The gunner… help me.”

  Peering in the half-light, I looked into the pig iron enclosure that had turned the sand-cannon into a turret of sorts. There was a man, slumped over the levers and readout screens.

  He was more than dead, and he was only about four-fifths of a man. His head had been blown clean off.

  “Thunderbolt snipers?”

  “That, or a mini-missile,” the kid said. “Help me get him out of the seat.”

  I reached in. My hands gripped smoking, bloody coveralls and my arms heaved. The dead gunner was plucked out of the seat like a rotten tooth. I let the body slide downhill—there was no time for niceties.

  After wasting a full second looking downslope at the sliding, smoking body, the kid climbed into the gunner’s seat.

  “You know how to run this thing, kid?”

  “I’ve been watching. I’ve loaded it—dozens of times.”

  “Great… Hop to it.”

  The young technician struggled with the controls. The kid looked like he’d never fired the damn thing before—or anything else for that matter. It wasn’t his fault. Poor training, no backup for the assigned gunner—that was the fault of leadership. Besides that, the weapon was a rusted piece of junk.

  “Need a hand?” I asked.

  The kid looked up at me, his face pale. He nodded.

  The Techborn were still coming toward us in a marching line, maintaining formation and discipline. It was unnerving and a sharp contrast to the band of hooligans on our side who were hollering and cracking shots into their lines at random.

  I don’t know what the kid expected when I’d offered to help, but his eyes bulged in a funny way when I reached into the turret and hooked him under the armpits. Then I hauled his ass out of there, letting him slide down the rocky slope after the dead man. Without even a glance in that direction, I jammed my body into the gunner’s seat and fired up the cannon’s targeting system.

  Cracked screen, dirty sensors—everything flashed urgent requirements for a software update I suspected was going to be long in coming. So much for getting a lot of help from the targeting system. I switched to manual mode.

  Remembering what training I’d had on these weapons systems—it had been a few years—I checked the magazine first. It looked like the kid had dumped a whole gallon of particles into the magazine. That was too much.

  Worse, it looked like the grit might have been contaminated with moisture—was that blood? No wonder the damned thing wouldn’t fire.

  The Duster kid had climbed back to his feet by now. I dumped out the magazine and called over my shoulder. “I need the cleanest, driest sand you can find. Beach sand, the coarse stuff—that’s the best.”

  Nodding his head, he trotted away. Right about then, a round spanged off the turret housing, making the whole thing rock ominously. Someone out there must have seen that we were trying to get the cannon operating again.

  “Watch out for incoming!” I shouted after the kid.

  He came back fast—faster than I would have believed. He must have had bags of grit waiting in a row. It turned out the kid was way better at feeding me ammo than he had been as a gunner—go figure.

  The kid watched me work, his eyes wide. I dumped about a quarter of the sandbag into the breach. The grit wasn’t perfectly even in quality—but at least it was dry. Not ideal, but it would have to do. I got the magazine to about half-full, then tamped it down and hit the auto-load button. At least that worked.

  The cannon purred to life. It moved, shivering like a bird ruffling feathers. It rose up under my butt, the barrel traveling out over the landscape.

  There was a lot of whooping and yelling—happy sounds. The kid even beat his hands on the roof of the turret housing. That made me wince—it felt like I was under fire. But who was I to stop the guy from celebrating a little?

  Grabbing onto two control levers, I went to manual mode and swung the cannon around. With the auto-targeting systems busted, I was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

  Sighting down the barrel, I lined up the business end of the cannon with about a hundred Techborn. This group was mounted, and they’d converged to charge towards our shitty walls. Their walkers squeaked and thumped as they came. The two-legged machines moved with uncanny speed and agility, bounding over boulders effortlessly. They ate up the distance, braving the small arms fire from our defenders.

  Probably, they’d been told the sand-cannon was knocked out for good. That miscalculation was about to cost the Techborn army a lot of lives.

  When I had the cannon lined up with the right edge of their charging line, my finger hovered over the trigger. The kid fidgeted nervously beside me. I ignored him, all my attention on the approaching enemy.

  “Steady,” I muttered, more to myself than the kid.

  The Techborn were close now, close enough that I could see the reflections on their polished armor. I let out a slow breath and squeezed the trigger.