The rented flat bed truck rumbled to a halt. Dust, drawn along by the air around the truck continued forward a few feet before settling to the baking ground. Sayeeda stepped from the cab onto the riding board and then jumped down to the dusty rock of the canyon floor. In the cave mouth ahead of her a half dozen mercenaries crouched, pointing weapons nervously in her direction. Carelessly she took a cigarette from the pack in her breast pocket and struck the igniter with a fingertip, sucking on the filter to it lit to her satisfaction. As she had hoped it might, the innocuous action stopped her from being immediately shot.

“What are you doing back here!” one of the braver guards barked. Junebug started walking towards the cave mouth as though she had every right to be here.

“Canek got torn up pretty bad, he and the rest of the column are falling back west, keeping off the comms to avoid the yokels,” she lied. It was a plausible enough tale. These men would have heard the screaming and yelling on their comm nets as the ambush unfolded. They might know better, but they would want to believe  their comrades were still alive.

“You made it out?” one of the guards said, lowering his carbine and stepping into the open.

“No, I’m dead in the fucking desert,” Junebug responded acidly. She paused and glanced at the waiting soldiers.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Ge the shit on the truck,” she snapped in her command voice, gesturing towards the parked vehicle.  

“What?...” the nearest of the merc asked clearly confused.

“Get moving! Guns, on the truck, fucking yesterday,” she roared.

“We got casualties, we got captured men, that means enemy forces here sooner rather than fucking later. NOW GET THE GUNS ON THE GOD DAMN TRUCK!!” Her face contorted in in unvarnished anger. The soldiers bolted back into the cavern without a backward glance.

“How did you know that would work?” Taya asked as they rumbled off into the desert. The truck was loaded down till its axels creaked, but the mercs had managed to load every last weapon in Canek’s arsenal into the flat bed. Olive covered tarps were tied down over the crates and boxes, more for concealment than to secure the load. They had left the soldiers with a vague assurance that transports were on the way to extract them.

“They were scared,” Junebug explained as she pulled the road out of the creek bed and up onto the dirt road leading back toward the wadi. Distant dust clouds showed other vehicles on the road, but none were yet insight. By the time Canek’s men realised they had been duped they would be long gone.

“They want someone to tell them that there is a plan and that everything is under control,” she went on, shifting the big rig into gear and picking up speed as the heavy engine torqued and lugged.

“Also, they always leave the dim wits on guard detail for a big operation. If they were worth a damn, they would have been in the desert with the strike force.” Taya seemed to consider this as the sped along through the desolate landscape.

“Would it have worked with your old unit?” Taya asked. Sayeeda laughed grimly.

“Nah, we always had enough wounded that we had a couple of guys in charge of these kind of things. THey have shot us before we went two feet.”

------


The anti-grav generator was of an old Rennish configuration. It had probably began life as a load distributor for a super freighter container ring. It was in sections that could be assembled into a pair of ten meter rings, though each section trailed a dizzying array of wires and connectors. The junk dealer had been willing to part with it for a pair of modern assault rifles and two cases of grenades. Sven’s coup finally seemed to be doing them some good as it had put weapons at rather a premium. Whether people wanted protection from the new regime, or there were old loyalists who wanted to take back the place Sayeeda didn’t know, and so long as they were out of here before the shooting started, she didn’t much care.

“Where is our Goddes-damned lizard freak when we need him,” Junebug groused as she slid the first ring segment down to Neil. The pilot was dressed in one of the half finished mech rig. They could have used Saxon’s strength to unload the guns that were now stacked in the main hold, trade goods they could use to complete Neil’s insane retrofit and to replenish the Highlanders much depleted arms locker, but the Hex was apparently still in whatever heat management coma he had fallen into after they returned from the desert. Sweat ran down her shoulders and back as she heaved, lifting enough of the weight so that Neil’s servo assisted arms could pull it free and carry it towards their improvised workshop. Neil had strung a large tarp from the side of one of the ships engine pods, beneath a lift derrick they had rigged with pullies and woven titanium cable. Cutting equipment and work benches had been set up in the shaded area and tools had been carried out of the hold. A lattice of electrified wire fenced the whole area off, in an effort to stop local thieves from growing too bold. Junebug would still insist they posted a guard, though that meant long shifts for her and Neil, unless she wanted to trust Taya with the job, which she wasn’t certain was a good idea. Fortunately the locals had seen enough dirtside refit attempts not to be too curious, beyond the occasional glance at Neil’s mechanized suit.

At least Indra was keeping out of sight. Junebug sucked at her cheek as she worked, in a gesture of puzzled contemplation. She was still confused by what had happened in the ship. Her mind seemed to alternate between Indra leaping into her arms and Neil kissing her. The segment she was lifting nearly slipped from her fingers and pain jolted through her shoulders as she grabbed at the metal.

“You alright?” Neil asked her, lifting the segment away with a whine of servos.

“I’m fine,” she told him, “just tired of dust and heat. How long do you figure to get this rigged up?”