Dynamis | Chapter 6 - Paradigm (Patreon)

Lilibelle twiddled her thumbs impatiently while Warrick and Ivy silently maneuvered the DF. It’d been almost an hour like this. Each time she tried to strike up conversation, her chaperones rarely responded with more than a word. If she was exceptionally lucky, then they’d offer a sentence. A singular sentence.

It was enough to drive a girl insane.

This is ridiculous. How the hell am I supposed to learn a damned thing if they won’t talk to me?

She spent much of her time tight-lipped, careful that she wasn’t too forward whenever she had a question or a comment. They’d told her from the moment she got in that they expected her to sit tight and shut up. Getting snappy with her superiors would look terrible in her report, and right now, she needed every good word she could get.

Karl might be a coward, but at least I could do something in the simulations.

“Approaching target,” Warrick said, flipping a switch above his head.

“Decreasing power to thrusters.” Ivy flipped a similar switch above her. The DF steadily leaned back until it returned to a more vertical posture. “Engaging camouflage.”

At last, Lilibelle could feel her equilibrium returning. The room was hardly spacious, and being tilted forward for half of the mission had given her a headache. She’d been tucked away in a corner of the central unit like some unwanted garbage. It made it hard to see what was going on outside the DF, and she swore that each time she leaned forward to have a better look, Ivy purposefully adjusted the thrusters to snap her back into her seat.

Everything about this situation screamed that they’d begrudgingly taken her along for the ride. Their short replies aside, they made no effort to ask about her comfort or make sure that she was safe. In fact, she was almost positive that the seat they installed within the central unit was in need of repair. Occasionally, one of the cords attached to her suit would flicker. Naturally, she voiced her concern, but Ivy was dismissive.

Assholes. I’m half-expecting to find chewing gum on the seat.

The DF came to a sudden halt, and Lilibelle was sure for a moment that her shoulder had dislocated. She gently rolled it to alleviate the pain, and when she opened her mouth to ask about the sudden stop, she quickly clammed up, not wanting to escalate the situation.

“Requesting SR-157f,” Warrick said.

“Granted,” Ivy replied.

These two have to be the driest motherfuckers I have ever—

“Taking position.” Warrick pushed a lever in front of him. It slid into a groove under the control panel, and he pulled a handle to his right to release a joystick from beneath the main controls. A large black shaft descended from the ceiling, and he fit his head into a groove at the bottom, while gripping the joystick.

The DF retrieved a large rifle from its shoulder. It bore a sleek, black finish and was nearly as long as the DF was tall, with the barrel encompassing almost half of the weapon’s total size. A thick length of tubing dyed a faint green with hints of white where it connected led from the top of the weapon to the back of the DF, outside of Lilibelle’s range of vision. 

Lilibelle leaned forward to see what he was aiming at. A large reticle appeared on the main screen in front of Warrick while he continued to zoom in. At the center of the reticle was a large pillar of concrete. It jutted out of the top of a large structure surrounded by additional layers of concrete. Being as secretive as many of the corporations were, she could find no emblem, color scheme, or design that would clue her in on the facility’s owner. Most facilities looked the same above ground: grey, quiet, with walls so high that they rivaled the dams of the old world’s designs.

Warrick and Ivy had been vague on the mission’s details. All she knew was that a group that had originally signed on to provide Deadeye with weaponry had broken their promise of exclusivity and shared similar schematics with Paladin, a rival mercenary group.

A few RF units were patrolling the compound. Though with how far away they were, she couldn’t discern any of their weapons or finer details.

“Locked on,” Warrick said. “Requesting maximum power.”

“Granted.” Ivy gradually pulled a lever to her left. The DF hummed as power was taken away from the left side of the unit. The lights dimmed, steadily losing their light until the room was pitch-black, save for a few of the screens. When the power was at ten percent—which was the minimum required to keep the DF’s arm from falling—she pushed the opposite lever to her right up to the top. A message flashed on screen indicating excessive energy usage, and she quickly dismissed it. “You may fire when ready.”

Warrick drew a deep breath, then released it in a grunt. He flicked open a clear plastic covering at the top of the stick to reveal a red button, then allowed his thumb to hover over it. Lilibelle gripped her armrests and braced as the man pressed the button.

A high-pitched whine filled the central unit. A flash of green light swept over the room, and the DF reeled violently from the kickback of the rifle. The sounds of muffled explosions filled the cockpit, and Lilibelle looked up. A large hole had not only punctured the shaft Warrick had aimed at, but the entire mountain behind it. Explosions followed shortly after, with several of them turning a concerning shade of green.

“Mission accomplished,” Warrick said. “Returning to base.”

Did they stick me with a pair of robots? What the hell gives?

Warrick and Ivy made the necessary adjustments, and power returned to their designated areas. As the lights and equipment resumed their original states, the DF holstered the gun back on its shoulder mount. Warrick maneuvered the DF to face the opposite direction, and the boosters fired at their original fifty percent.

There wasn’t a smile, a grin, a chuckle, not even so much as a damned grunt out of their mouths.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” Lilibelle chanced asking. She’d had it with the crypticism and the overall apathetic approach to the operation. They couldn’t come down on her for asking a simple question, could they?

Ivy glanced at her, then swept a length of her violet hair over one shoulder, her attention glued to the screen in front of her. “All you need to know is that someone broke their vow. We’re paying them what they’re due. That’s all.”

Warrick grunted, and Ivy narrowed her eyes. Was that a grunt of disapproval?

Lilibelle tapped the end of her arm rest when an alert caught her attention.

“Company,” Warrick said.

“Twenty-three RF units,” Ivy replied. “Parakeet class.”

Warrick grunted gruffly, then flipped a few switches to his right. “Hate those gnats.”

Parakeets were as annoying and minimalistic as they came. Armed with lightweight weaponry and a plethora of boosters for maximum maneuverability, they specialized in overwhelming opponents with their speed and numbers. The caveat was that they were cheaply made. Minor damage was often a death sentence, and the simplest of weaponry could puncture them. They were aptly named.

Finally. Maybe I can finally learn something.

“Requesting WM-35,” Warrick said.

“Granted,” Ivy replied. Once again, she diverted power—this time, from the legs and the arms, to the shoulder-mounted weaponry—and adjusted the sliders steadily. “Parakeets closing in.”

“This better get all of them.” He cracked his neck to the side, then swiftly turned the DF unit one hundred eighty degrees, toward the Parakeets. He pressed a button that resembled the same one Karl usually pressed for the MT system. The system responded with a click, and Lilibelle looked up at the main screen. The system beeped repeatedly as red reticles hovered over each target, guided by the secondary control stick Warrick was using. One by one, the reticles turned green, indicating that they’d successfully locked onto their targets. The count came up to twenty.

Warrick pressed the trigger. A crisp click followed, and the cabin shook with the release of twenty missiles. Lilibelle narrowed her gaze as she watched the missiles soar toward their targets. The Parakeets maneuvered away from the missiles, only to get caught by a chain of explosions that covered the entire screen in a row of fire and black smoke.

The reticles disappeared.

“Targets eliminated,” Ivy said. “Returning power to default levels.”

“Don’t,” Warrick said. “Just wait.”

Ivy frowned. “Warrick, they’re all—”

“Wait!” He growled through his nose and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the screen for even a second. The seconds passed. He used his pointer finger to brush the bright red trigger on his stick, waiting patiently for something. “There you are.” A sinister smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and moments later the reticles returned. He guided them over the remaining Parakeets. One. Two. Three. He pressed the trigger, and a smaller wave of missiles flew out.

The Parakeets split off into a triangle formation, and the missiles pursued.

“Warrick!” Ivy cried, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on the screen, woman!” He returned the gesture, adding a glare. Ivy did as he said, then Warrick added, “I’m the one in charge here.”

Ivy’s breath hitched, and Lilibelle watched as the muscles of her jaw worked.

Lilibelle bit the portion of her suit where her thumb was while she watched the missiles. They were quick, but their wide turns left much to be desired. Given how Warrick had deployed them earlier, she surmised they were designed to cover a wide area, to eliminate large groups of targets before they had a chance to realize what happened. But the last three Parakeets had seen exactly what happened, and now they were easily evading their attackers.

The Parakeets are faster. If it were me… She would dare not say what she thought next, for fear that the universe would respond unfavorably. I would lead the missiles back to my target.

Lilibelle watched the screen, growing more and more nervous with each passing second. The Parakeets ran laps around the DF, and Warrick and Ivy watched closely, their hands glued to their panels.

“Minimum power to legs! Divert the power to thrusters!” Warrick said as the three Parakeets completed their formation, heading directly for them from three different sides.

“Diverting power!” Ivy said, pushing the sliders steadily upward.

“Now, woman!”

“Don’t!” Lilibelle barked, terrified that the sudden adjustment to power could damage their nerves. “You could kill us!”

The lump in Ivy’s throat visibly jumped while she continued to steadily adjust the power. Fear gripped Lilibelle’s heart as she looked up at the main screen. Her breath caught as the Parakeets completed an L maneuver, pulling up sharply moments before they could crash into them.

The missiles soared toward them from three directions. Warrick jerked the stick to his right, and the DF responded in turn. The DF slipped through a gap between two of the missiles, and Lilibelle clapped her hands to her ears in anticipation.

The missiles collided with one another. The explosions shook the DF so hard it felt like her stomach organs would fly out of her body. Her brain throbbed with the force, and Warrick desperately tried to regain control of the DF. Ivy’s screams filled the cabin. Blood spurted from Warrick’s left shoulder onto the floor.

Seconds felt like minutes, and when the shaking at last dissipated, Ivy’s screams descended to whimpers. Blood pooled onto the seat out of her ears and nostrils. Her mouth hung open and her left arm limped at her side. Messages flashed on Ivy’s screen, warning her that she was in serious jeopardy of suffering permanent brain damage.

Ivy would die if they didn’t do something fast.

“Warning,” the DF’s automated system blared, “left arm unit has been destroyed.” The system repeated the message as a hail of bullets penetrated the dark smoke left behind by the missiles. The Parakeets performed another L maneuver, once again covering multiple sides. Warrick stuck his right arm into a small alcove where the manual control groove resided, then nudged it to his left to override the DF’s right arm. He swung the arm with impressive speed, but he would have to go twice as fast if he was going to catch the Parakeets.

“Damn you all to hell!” Warrick bellowed as he flailed the arm behind them to try and catch one of the other Parakeets. The DF whined with his haphazard control, and Lilibelle gritted her teeth.

“Stop!” Lilibelle cried. “Ivy! Divert power to the arm!”

“No,” she whispered, “we have… we have to get out of here.”

“Just listen to me! Please! Divert power to the right arm or we’re going to die!”

“I’ll sooner end my own life than allow a fucking unit of Parakeets to kill us!” Warrick said.

Lilibelle swallowed. Her mouth was dry as a desert. She glared at Ivy. “Do it.”

Ivy’s chest heaved with her breathing. She nodded, moving three of the sliders down, then moved a fourth—the one closest to the middle—slider up. The cockpit’s lights dimmed, and Lilibelle looked at the screen in front of Ivy to confirm that the right arm was at two hundred percent.

“Now, wait,” Lilibelle said, one arm extended toward Warrick, “until right before they complete the bend of their maneuver. Then strike.”

“You don’t know if they’re going to try that again,” Warrick hissed.

“They will. It’s worked every time. They have no reason not to.”

Warrick’s left eye twitched. His bloodied arm hung at his side, thick and dark and bulging with muscle. Lilibelle half-wondered if the man could still move it.

The Parakeet’s signature whine approached. Ivy confirmed the crafts were rapidly approaching.

“Wait,” Lilibelle reminded Warrick.

“I know!” the man growled. “Fuck it, I know. Just shut up and let me concentrate.”

Lilibelle’s upper lip twitched. The fantasy of striking him across the face came and went. Her shoulders tensed, and just as the smoke was clearing, the Parakeets came into view.

“Take this!” Warrick jerked the control groove to his right, and the arm responded with alarming speed. It struck the craft behind him, separating it into two pieces. As the pieces descended, he swerved to his left and struck the second Parakeet at a downward angle. He leaned forward, biding his time as the third Parakeet drew near.

Warrick threw a punch to his left, narrowly missing the Parakeet. The Parakeet turned, and as it did, Warrick shifted the arm up and to his right with lightning speed, clipping the bird by its tail. The Parakeet descended in a spiral, crashing into the trees below.

“Warning,” the system said, “right arm structural integrity compromised.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Warrick said, clicking a switch at the center of the console.

With all targets eliminated, a moment of silence permeated the cockpit. Lilibelle licked her lips, and quietly said, “We need to get out of here. They’ll send reinforcements.”

“You like spouting the obvious shit, don’t you?” Warrick said, then removed his arm from the control groove. He winced as he rolled his shoulder. With his nerves connected directly to the DF, striking those Parakeets had to hurt.

“Fuel’s at eighty percent,” Lilibelle noted. “We can afford to burn the tank. Direct as much power as we reasonably can to the thrusters. We need to get you back to headquarters as soon as possible.”

“Ivy,” Warrick said.

She didn’t respond, and Lilibelle wondered if she’d suffered hearing damage.

“Ivy!” Warrick repeated louder.

“W-What?” She steadied her breathing, and Lilibelle hoped she wasn’t about to throw up.

“Did you hear what I said?” Lilibelle asked. Ivy shook her head, so Lilibelle repeated herself in a raised voice.

Ivy did as she was told, and Warrick glared at Lilibelle. Lilibelle crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, amused that the man still had it in him to look down on her after what had just happened. She was willing to wager they’d all be dead right now if she hadn’t said anything.

Go on, Lilibelle thought, tell me to shut up. Tell me I state the obvious. Give me something to write in my report. “Something amusing you?”

Warrick returned his attention to the screens. “No. Not a damned thing.”