The Juno and I drop to our knee and sight our weapon up at the tower. I can feel the others do the same.

“It’s quiet now,” says Salt. “No returns on anything but stone.”

Lear perks up again. “The tracks end right here.” The Decatur stands and aims a finger downrange. “If that thing lights up, where do you run?”

“Front,” says Salt, “get yourself into the crags. Rush them.”

“Flank,” I say, “lose them in the dunes. Come around.”

“Down,” says Hail.

We look back at her.

The Spirit stands on the edge of a chasm, a wide crevasse where the dunes come to an end, becoming a slow waterfall of dust.

I edge closer and risk an eye into the break. It’s all rock for the first few metres, but there’s something underneath. A ceiling in cross-section. A vault made of something that looks like brick.

There’s a massive chamber beneath us. Beneath all of this.

“Hush,” says Hail.

Her shell begins closing its connections, one after the other, leaving just enough to mark her out on our displays. It vents silver mist from the sinks on its back, bleeding heat into the breeze. “Five minutes.” She nods to me. “Rook, you’re next. Nice and quiet.” Salt and Lear. “Thirty minutes clear, and you two are the lightshow. Whatever happens, you come calling. Loud as you can make it.” Her voice falls to a whisper. “Cover me.”

Eight

EIGHT

THE JUNO AND I stand in the breeze, watching the crags. We’d be watching the Lighthouse too, but the other machines do a better job, so I leave them to it. I’m twitchy enough as it is, watching the little timer in the corner of my eye. Five minutes feel like they’ve stretched to an hour.

We look over our shoulder at Salt’s Decatur.

“My turn. See you in thirty.”

His machine knocks an easy salute off the corner of its head. “Good hunting.”

We’ve already vented our engines through and through, but now we shutter our networks, kill any extra systems that might be making noise. Anything we can spare.

“You ready, old bird?” I whisper.

The counter jumps and ceilings out at 97, as high as the limiters will let us go. Our reactor-heart beats quickly.

“Thank you.”

We step up to the edge of the crevasse. It feels darker now we’re standing on the brink, looking down for any sign of Hail. She’s in there somewhere, and I half expect to see her headlamps, but she knows better than that.