Cytonic (Skyward #3)(59)

“Delightful.”

“Indeed!” Shots trailed us. “Um, don’t look at the shield.”

“It’s bad?”

“It’s mostly there to help in minor collisions. It can take maybe two hits from a destructor.” Another shot almost struck us. “Uh…wow. Spensa, is this what it feels like to be freaked out? I think it is what it feels like to be freaked out. Oh, how wonderful! I hate it!”

The destructor fire was blue rather than the red I was used to, but that was probably because it was from a different technological line. I dodged back upward, but one of the shots hit, making the invisible shield around my ship crackle.



The low-shield warning started blinking on the control panel. Yeah, low shields after a single shot? I guess that was what I got for flying a consumer-grade ship. And my top speed in atmosphere appeared to be terrible—the ship was rattling like the caverns did during debris falls.

Fortunately, we’d outfitted the ship with an offensive complement: two destructors and an IMP for bringing down enemy shields. That would also negate my own shield when used, but seeing as mine was apparently about as useful as a cardboard box, I’d take my chances.

Most importantly, my ship had that light-lance for towing. I knew now that I wasn’t going to be able to outrun my tails, and I certainly wasn’t going to out-endure them. But with the right equipment, I was pretty sure I could outfly them.

I swung over the top of a dust-covered fragment, kicking up an incredible wake. The destructor fire went wild then; the resonants weren’t used to flying through debris. They should have switched to firing by instruments.

I took a steep dive over the side of the fragment, but launched my light-lance and stuck it to the edge. Like a ball on the end of a chain, I swung around in the air, pivoting in a turn that would have been impossible without an energy rope. I gave my GravCaps a second to reset as I wove along the side of the fragment, then dove and light-lanced again to spin under it, after which I had to flip over to orient my acclivity ring downward. Whatever the other strange laws of physics were in this place, gravity worked like I expected it to.

The bottom of this fragment was furrowed and marked by chunks of stone—like a cave roof with stalactites, only much larger. I wove through these, and my proximity readout told me the two starships came in to follow.

They quickly lost ground on me, despite flying faster ships. Without light-lances, they had to swing around more slowly to get under the fragment—plus they obviously weren’t as comfortable flying through obstacles at high speed as I was. The truth was, they shouldn’t have followed me. Indeed, they made a common combat mistake that Cobb had beaten out of me in my first month of training. Never get too wrapped up in the chase that you forget good tactics.



In this case, they should have flown down farther below the fragment, where being able to fly straight would have made their superior speed an advantage. That told me they didn’t think tactically; they had learned to dogfight on their own, without training, and would make rookie mistakes despite their skill.

Perfect.

“Spensa,” M-Bot said, “I fear I must warn you that I’ve intercepted chatter from the other Broadsiders. They’re waking the off-duty flights and are scrambling both of them to add to the chase. You have approximately seven minutes until this fight is joined by six more ships.”

I should have been worried about that. But scud, this felt good. I was terrible at a lot of things. I was coming to acknowledge that the friendships I had were all despite my efforts, not because of them. I was insubordinate and stupid when my temper took over. My spying and diplomatic skills were laughable.

But I could fly.

Hot damn, I could finally fly again.

I spun through the air, leading my two tails in a grand chase around three separate fragments. What had felt vast to cross on foot now passed as momentary flashes of color. Gaps that had felt insurmountable now proved exciting for me to weave through, using my light-lance to make the tighter turns. The weak GravCaps meant I took more g-forces than I wanted, but I could mitigate that with careful flying.

All the while, I kept watch on the proximity sensor, reinforcing my judgment of the two resonants. They really needed some light-lances, plus proper training to use them. And they were too free with their shots. Cobb had reamed me on multiple occasions for my overeager trigger finger. You’d think that firing at all times would be smart, that it would give you the most opportunities to hit. You’d be wrong. Wild firing not only risked danger to your allies, it trained you not to aim.



“Spensa,” M-Bot said, “something is odd about this weapon fire.”

“The strange color?” I said, veering us down to the left between a pair of fragments.

“More than that,” M-Bot said. “I’ve been running diagnostics on this vessel, and our own destructors have a pair of attachments on them.”

“Like the ones on that unit we repaired?”

“Exactly. They modify the weapon fire…” He hesitated. “Spensa, I think it makes the destructors nonlethal. They’re meant to overwhelm electronic systems and make a ship lock up.”

Wait.

Wait.

Suddenly I understood why no pirates got shot down on raids. I understood how a group like this could even function. They had no access to manufactories—they had to use what they could steal or salvage. If ships were lost in firefights with any regularity, soon nobody would have anything to fly.