Simeon did not reply but Michael could sense him responding to the new threat. Sun’s Mark might survive. He could not be sure of the Lions’ fate.

  “Papa!”

  Michelle’s cry of sudden fear brought him out of his reverie. She had brought the sandrunners. They were many-legged droids that looked like nothing more than over-sized centipedes. Red-carapaced and blue-headed, with pincers that glistened ebon-bright in the hot sun, they were a bioengineering marvel, but it was their capability to lay latent globules of explosive that made him love them.

  One of the creatures had raised itself before him and was waiting, but that was not what had frightened his daughter. It was the sandrunner that had lifted itself from the sand and swayed before her that had come near to panicking her.

  The beast clicked its mandibles at her, demanding the same information from her that the one waiting for Michael was looking for. A battle plan.

  He hesitated. He had not seen what the headman had already recognized—that Michelle had inherited the same battlefield abilities given him, and those abilities were now mature. He did not understand it. It was supposed to happen once every five or ten generations, not pass directly, and never to a female child.

  The sandrunner rattled its jaws at her again and she looked toward him for guidance. He reached for her mind, just as he had reached for Simeon’s before. She was not one of his commanders, and he shouldn’t have been able to touch her. When he did, the startlement on her face matched the shock he felt.

  He forced himself to be calm. No need for panic.

  He cast a glance at the sandrunner. It knew, must have sensed the newly awakened nanotech before anyone else could register.

  “Peace,” he instructed. “Do as I do. Do not panic and you will live. After this I will explain.”

  He could hear the sound of men dying as he knelt in the fine, red sand. The sandrunner reared, waiting as he held up a hand to stay it. He sent his daughter the data she needed and felt her mind grasp what it was the sandrunner sought, then he lowered his hand.

  The sandrunner closed its mandibles around his head. It was a frightening feeling to have those jaws wrap gently around his skull, but he had been trained to repress the urge to struggle. There was an almost inaudible click as the tips of the ‘runner’s jaws found the junction points on his temples, a nano-second’s pause as it downloaded the battle plan, then another click as it released.

  He twisted his head to see how his daughter was faring. Her hands were fists where she gripped the desert sand for comfort, and tear-tracks streaked her face, but she had remained still as the ‘runner took what it needed, so she still lived.

  Michael felt something unwind within his chest as he watched the bio-beast scuttle away from her. When she looked towards him, he nodded at her, letting her see the pride on his face as he pointed at the others.

  The other bio-droids had congregated around the two that had received the battle plans. One would lock its jaws onto the head of one of those with the plans, pause as it received the plans itself, then scuttle away so that another could take its place. Once the receiver was clear of the first plan-giver, it settled itself so that another ‘runner could take the information and share it.

  When they had all received the plans, the ’runners burrowed into the sand forming ripples that wove and underwove the desert’s surface. Together, they laid the mines needed to ruin the Scorpion’s pursuit. Michael’s instructions ordered them to cover the desert sand, since there was little hope of retrieving the beleaguered Marks, and no hope they’d try to escape back the way they had come.

  Those who successfully disengaged would flee away from the direction the settlers had taken in the hope the Scorpions would follow. The raiders rarely did, having tired of that trick long ago. Michael looked towards Michelle.

  “Welcome, Defender,” he said and saw her eyes widen in surprise.

  He could see that she had more questions than she could ask, and was grateful that she justified his pride by concentrating on the battle at hand.

  “Will the sandrunners be enough?”

  Michael shook his head.

  “The Scorpions have flyers now. We will need the discs.”

  “And the sky-lightning?”

  His eyes darkened with the remembered sandstorming of the picture from the winds.

  “I’m not sure it will answer me this time. I cannot ride the winds.”

  “Forever?” she asked.

  Michael shook his head. It was only a matter of time before the winds answered his call again.

  “At least two hours, too long for this battle.”

  Perhaps too long for him to save his people. He reviewed what he had seen of the battle, recalling the wind images and scouring them for hope. When he saw none, he ran projections, trying to predict the battle’s course. Too short. Even with the discs and the sandrunners, the Scorpions would be clear of his delays within a half hour.

  “Chelle,” he said, “Come here. I have to show you something.”

  She was young, but no younger than any other defender newly come to the trade. Unlike other defenders, however, she was not going to have months to learn unlock her powers herself.

  “When I close my eyes, I catch the wind and ride it above the battle field. There is probably more to it than that, but the knowledge has been lost to us over time. Sometimes the wind is available, but at other times it is not. For now, it is not.

  “Once I have seen the battlefield, I can remember exactly what I have seen as I saw it, and I can try to predict where the battle might go. If we had more time, I would have you try to catch the wind and learn these abilities for yourself. But now, I must show you.”

  Michelle nodded, and he touched his mind to hers. This time, he passed her the images he had gleaned from the wind and showed her how he created his projections. She grasped the concept, and he released the mind touch.

  She needed to try to activate the ability on her own, and his presence would only distract her. Her abilities would not work in exactly the same way his did, but they would work.

  Michael waited. If they were lucky, she’d be able to use his method of accessing projections to work out how to do it for herself. If she couldn’t, he’d need to enact the next part of his plan on his own. His patience was rewarded with a short ‘ah ha’ of success, then silence as she extrapolated for herself.

  “We’re not going to make it,” she said, moments later.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Michael nodded. There was no way the villagers could make the first river. The Scorpions would overrun them long before they reached it.

  “What do we do?”

  “We call them back,” Michael said.

  “But surely there’s some chance?”

  “Run it, again,” Michael ordered. “They won’t make the river, and they can’t make the Rim. There’s only one place we left to go if we hope to stand and fight.”

  Michelle did not answer. She was running the projections again. When she spoke, her voice was filled with resignation.

  “You’re right, sir. Shall I call them?”

  “No. The radio will alert the Scorpions. I will mind-touch the chief. Pray I am not too late.”

  “What will Caroline say?”

  Michael did not rebuke her. Michelle had refused to call Caroline ‘mama’ since the day Caroline had sent them away. He did not blame his daughter for her anger.

  “She might be glad of the company,” he said, and his answer brought a smile to his daughter’s face that lifted his heart.

  In spite of the danger, they would be together. If it was to be their last night… He pushed the idea away. There would be no time. He forced his mind to the matters at hand.

  “Leave the disks,” he ordered. “We’ll take our equipment into town now and set up.”

  “The Marks?”

  “There is nothing we can do for them,” Michael said, “and we’ll need some discs to keep the Scorpions busy while others guide the villagers back.”

  “Do we know where the caravan is?”

  “Keep a look-out. I’ll link to the chief, pass the coordinates to you. Look inside your mind. See if you can find the maps you need. You can calculate the way back and program a disc to fetch them. I’ll tell the chief to expect it.” Michael realized his daughter was staring at him. “Do you think you can give the plans to the discs?”

  Michelle blinked, thought about it, and nodded. Michael tried to reach the headman.

  Just like linking on the radio, only faster and more secure.

  “Bring them back,” he said, without preamble. He’d linked to the man before, and expected the chief to remember his mind-voice, but his order was met with a sense of confusion.

  “Who”

  “Defender. Bring them back.”

  Silence greeted him. Michael repeated his order, expanding it, addressed the man by his title.

  “Headman, turn the caravan around and head for the town. We cannot hold them. You have five minutes. No more.”

  If he was honest, they had closer to ten more minutes. If the Marks could hold.

  He brushed Simeon’s mind once more, but the man was too deeply engaged in the battle to risk contact. Michael slipped Simeon the idea of retreating to the town, once the Mark was clear of the raiders. He tucked it in the furthest corner of Simeon’s consciousness, knowing it would surface when the Mark commander wasn’t so hard-pressed.

  He tried to do the same for the commander of the Hawk’s Mark, but could not reach him. The man was either dead, or out of range. When he was sure he had done what he could to ensure at least some of the two Marks survived, Michael linked to the chief once more.

  “I need your location,” he said. “We will send discs to guide you.”

  The chief was in the radio wagon. While Michael had been trying to communicate with the two Mark commanders, the chief had brought the caravan to a halt and recalled the communications car. Michael had the coordinates in seconds.

  “I will send the disc shortly. Be ready to follow it.”

  “Chelle,” he called. “Here.”

  His daughter had unpacked seven discs, leaving the remainder boxed up on the buggy for later use. Michael kept his pride to himself. He had taught her well, but she was anticipating the battle and its needs without him. And with a speed and clarity that couldn’t be taught.

  Linking again, he sent her the coordinates.

  “They turned around?” she asked.

  “They will be.”

  “I’ll send two. One will be lit up. The other will be stand-by. It will fly dark and high unless the first one becomes non-functional. I’m sending these five against the raiders. They might give the Marks enough time to break free.”

  “Show me.”

  This time it was Michelle’s turn to send her father the battle plan. He reviewed it, suggested four minor tweaks to tighten it and sent it back. When she agreed, he started programming the battle discs, leaving her to set the two disc-guides in motion. Once they were finished, he helped her throw the remaining equipment into the buggy and kicked the small machine into life.

  As he did so, Michelle drew her side-arm, turned, and fired four rapid shots into the sand over his shoulder.

  “In! In! In!” he yelled, resisting the temptation to see what she was shooting at.

  She was in the buggy as he floored the accelerator, but she was focused on the dunes around them, and already firing again.

  “Buckle up!” It was all the warning he could give her.

  The slope into town was hazardous on foot. The buggy ride was going to be a doozy. The safety harness would stop them being thrown clear.

  With a snarl of frustration, Michelle slung the automatic and yanked the harness over her shoulders. As soon as it was secured, she snapped goggles over her eyes and started firing once more.

  The buggy hit the edge of the slope and became airborne. Michael held his breath until it touched down, knocking the wind out of him. Michelle gave a shout of protest as she lost her grip on her sidearm. The buggy hit hard and bounced. Michelle’s sidearm flew out of her hand and into the dune, disappearing in sand and the fading light. Night coming faster than the raiders.

  When the buggy hit again, the slope had flattened. The little vehicle bounced until all four wheels found traction and it slewed almost out of control. Michael fought the wheel and straightened it out, swerving around the rubble encasing one of the town’s long-dead palms, and racing to put some of the ruined buildings between them and the raiders on the ridge.

  “That’s going to complicate things!” he shouted, but the roar of the engine drowned him out.

  Michelle peered over the back seat, scanning the ridge behind the town, and they both fell silent. Michelle focused on their back trail, and Michael concentrated on driving through the ruins. Neither spoke again, until he slid the buggy into what had been the service lane beside the hotel.

  It was choked with fallen bricks and uncleared rubbish half-way down, but Michael was able to park the buggy under a fire escape. He cut the engine, and scrambled out, signaling Michelle to follow.

  Unloading the last two crates of sandrunners and discs, he stacked them. Together, they unclipped the rifles and stubby machine pistols from under the buggy seat, and then each took one end of the crates.

  “Let’s get these inside,” Michael said.

  “Front or back?” Michelle asked.

  Michael visualized the town in relation to the ridge, figured the front of the hotel would be sheltered from anyone still on the ridge, wasn’t sure how long they would have before their pursuit caught up with them.

  “They stopped on the ridge,” Michelle said. “No idea why.”

  That settled it.

  “Front,” Michael said, and led the way.

  Caroline was waiting, dressed in the yellowing white of her wedding gown. She met them at the entrance, holding the doors open while they lugged the crates inside and chivvying them into the manager’s office. She was not surprised to see them.

  “It’s the strongest part of the place,” she explained, pulling the office doors closed behind them.

  “Scorpions are coming,” Michael said, trying to remember not to stare at her, all too aware of Michelle’s brooding anger in the background.

  Caroline’s expression was gentle as she reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

  “Of course, they’re coming,” she said. “They were bound to come, eventually. The miracle is that it’s taken them this long.”

  She peered behind him.

  “Where are the others?”

  Michael glanced over his shoulder.

  “We sent discs to guide them, but there are Scorpions on the ridge. I don’t know if they’ll get through. We were going to make a stand here, but…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Caroline understood anyway.

  She laid a hand on his arm and then pulled him to her.

  “I have missed you, Defender of my heart.”

  Michael pulled her to his chest, engulfing her in a hug that had been a decade in waiting.

  “I have missed you, too,” he said. “Words cannot say.”

  They stood silently, for a long moment, before drawing slowly apart, aware of Michelle in the room with them, no matter how hard their daughter was trying not to intrude. When the quiet grew uncomfortable, Caroline spoke again.

  “I might have an answer to your problem,” she said.

  Michael turned.

  “It was offered ten years ago,” Caroline added, “but the councilors were in no mood to listen.”

  “The ceremony?”

  “The one I perform every year, but never complete.”

  “You never complete it?”

  “Not since my parents left.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It opens the shipping lanes.”

  “To where?”

  “To far Beershaba,” she replied. “Surely you didn’t think all the boats came from upstream?”

  Michael had indeed thought that, until he recalled how it had been before the river dried up, remembering how many had questioned why some boats visited all year, and others came only in the spring melt or autumnal peak when the waters rode high.

  Gates, huh?

  “We opened them in the foothills so no one would know. We were forbidden to reveal the truth, as were the traders and their crews.”

  The part of Michael’s mind connected to the wind clicked and a map appeared. Alongside it, a small window opened, giving a brief description of interstellar gates and the nan-tech that ran them. Controllers, too. People similar to him who could talk to the gates like he talked to the wind. Michael read the explanation, then looked at the map, locating Beershaba in relation to the town. He ran it once, then ran it again. After he’d run it a third time, he still could not believe it.