It's unfair how pretty they are.

Weird to focus on that, right? Pack of hunters surrounding her, flares of blue and orange against the night, streaks of brilliant light reflected against the waves. She sits at the center of the flower, salt in her nostrils as she skims mere meters above the surface of the water, the hunters a dome above and around her.

No sound but the roar of the jetpacks and the soft shooshing of the waves. No thoughts but speed. Serenity at a breakneck pace.

Damn you, Merilt, for taking this away from her.

Jetpacks are pretty cool, you know? Like, don't tell the grav-rail she said this, but there are actually some applications where they're more useful?

F'r'instance, you know, just naming something that springs to mind off the top her head, they're pretty damn good for pursuit of a single target by a coordinated group while in an atmosphere. 

In space, grav-rails are king. Put a gravity well in front of something, and you can fall forever, and the only thing stopping you from accelerating forever is the possibility of a rogue planet being in the way.  But in atmosphere, terminal velocity rears its ugly head.

She dives headfirst down the side of the planet, arms flat against her side, minimizing her profile, and wishing for once that nature had made her flatter. The dress--that lovely, billowing, swooshy dress, with all the layers and fabric--is somewhere miles behind, having been wriggled out of as unnecessary drag. Nothing is too precious to sacrifice in the name of lower wind resistance.

And yet they're still gaining on her! Look at those little flooferdoodles and their solid-fuel anachronisms!

See, that's what they are in the stories, right? Anachronistic, primitive, used by depraved villains who are cocksure of themselves, and outsmarted by the clever Azura?

But what the stories always seem to forget is that it [i]works?[/i] The Ceronians conquered the Azura with jetpacks! It works because they're coordinated, and they're [i]faster than she is,[/i] even with the rail! Is it really an anachronism if they're still working the same way they did hundreds of years ago?

Um. Okay.

So, um, all she needs to do, right, is figure out, you know, how to beat a strategy that's bested the best Azura minds for a century. In the next few minutes. While not being an easy enough target to be hit on the battle rhythm, and not close enough to be drawn into the net.

Heights and depths. Heights have failed her, but depths… Water. Water's an option.

She stares at the Huntress, trying to read intention behind those eyes. Is the flicker there a promise? A threat?

Okay. Play with that idea for a second. Dive into the ocean, propelled by the rail. Water means resistance, more than air. But more for them than for her, born of water. Do their jetpacks work underwater? Assume they do, assume that the solid fuel inside the jetpacks does not require oxygen for its combustion and will not be extinguished in the ocean. Assume the jetpacks will still have the advantage.

Salt. Does the salt corrode it fast enough? Can she evade long enough for that to be a thing? 

They've nocked bows. Do bows work underwater? Do the Pix know how to fight underwater?

Her brain fizzes and bubbles, like caged lightning.

Electricity. ELF. Salt. Salt in water. Saline. Salt water and electricity.

The flower is closing, she can tell. The longer she flies, the more chances the Pix have to set up the battle rhythm. Maybe she makes it to the spaceport before then? Can she gamble on that? 

Can she gamble on the ocean?

One hand flicks over the belt, and she dives arms-first into the waves. Coolness and silence roll over her, shocking and icy.

Air isn't working. Water might.

And let's be honest, she [i]wants[/i] them to follow her. Make them suffer for their prize. Give the painters some sodden victors for their mural.

Splashes, muffled roars behind her. 

Right then. She doesn't want to turn her head, check to see what damage that's done to their formation.

Water. Their organization is done by pheromones, right? Perfect synchronization, perfect unity, interpreted by scent? Can they smell underwater? Does that work? Does she dare hope that they'll get disrupted by that?

More importantly, do they know the new range of an ELF through saltwater? Gotta be better than through air, right? Because she sure as hell doesn't, and she'll probably only get one shot to find out.

Death or glory.  Or, well, you know, a big-ass gag or escape, but that doesn't scan as well? 

She waits for the formation to reform, offers a quick look of hope at Artemis, darts for the edge, and hopes like hell. Hopes she's gotten the range right. Hopes their formation is disrupted by the water. Hopes she's faster than them. Hopes Artemis smiles on her rather than them. 

Come on. Let's roll those dice.