The Forgotten City by Nina D'Aleo Page A

raised it, but didn’t fire. Silho could see the stranger’s flaring body-lights, but his silhouette was completely still. With his electrifier primed, Copernicus edged forward to the stranger. Silho followed, and when they were right in front of the man and he still hadn’t shifted at all, she blinked back to normal sight. It was an Androt soldier, covered in body armor head to foot, a heavy artillery weapon hanging from one hand. Silho stared at his face. It was completely unmoving, the features frozen in an expression of anger and pain, and he wasn’t breathing – but, by his body-lights, he was definitely still alive. Silho glanced at Copernicus, who was examining a wound in the machine-breed’s chest. It was extremely deep and his clothes were saturated in white blood. Androts were usually rapid healers, so it was strange the wound was still open and extensive.
    “What’s happened to him?” Silho whispered.
    “Shut down,” Copernicus replied. “It’s what happens when machine-breeds suffer catastrophic injury. They shut down their bodies to preserve their minds.”
    “I haven’t seen this before,” Silho said. Corpses of Androt soldiers had been turning up everywhere, but none like this.
    “They’ve been dying rather than letting themselves be taken,” Copernicus told her.
    “So they could be reanimated?” she asked.
    “Sometimes, yes, if their injuries can be healed.”
    “And this one?”
    Copernicus shook his head. “Surprise attack, I’d say … and by the looks of it, taken out by his own kind, otherwise the other Androts would have found him by now.”
    “Was he a traitor?” Silho asked.
    “Maybe, or perhaps just a man tired of fighting.”
    Silho considered his words as Copernicus dragged a leaning shelf over in front of the Androt, blocking him from being seen from the street. The mass-mover roared closer, bringing with it the sound of marching boots. Copernicus and Silho quickly picked their way to the very back of the shop, where they hid behind several rows of high shelves. They crouched in the shadows, electrifiers aimed at the shop’s front. The prison-craft roared closer, shaking the ground. Silho pressed back into the darkness as light-blasters shone into the shop and scanned across the interior. Gangster voices called out to each other. She glanced at Copernicus, waiting for his direction. He gave a slight shake of his head. Hold . She clutched her weapon tighter, waiting, until the thunder of the craft moved on, growing more distant as the search left their street. Copernicus lowered his electrifier and holstered it. He stood and looked down at Silho. His expression was cold and detached, fight-ready, but it softened as their eyes met. It was very rare to see behind his control and Silho felt suddenly overwhelmed by panic.
    She stood, ripped up her face mask and said, “Don’t fight Caesar.”
    “It’s the gangster way,” Copernicus said.
    “I don’t care. I have a bad feeling. There must be some other way – something I can do.”
    Copernicus shook his head. They’d already been over every other option and found them all lacking. Silho wasn’t sure if she could, using light-form, mass immobilize the gangsters guarding the prison camps without taking it one step too far and slaughtering them all, and either way the effort would most certainly end up with her burning again. She could regenerate, but with extensive damage – it would take time, and then there’d be the backlash from Caesar to worry about. The fight-in was the only legitimate way to take control of the machine-breeds’ fate.
    “I understand how you’re feeling,” he said, “but the situation is what it is, and we have to continue. We have to free the machine-breeds. No one else can.”
    “I know but … I just feel …” She struggled to express her deep foreboding.
    “Fear …” He stepped forward and took her hand in his.
    “It’s more. Something is wrong …”
    “Silho,” he said