Doran's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The tech finished her work and cut Doran loose. He stood, tested his side, and found it held. Outside, Atlas waited in the alley. The mech stood ten feet tall, its blue optic glowing steady in the dark. Atlas had known Doran before the company stole his memory. Now the mech was the only thing in the world he trusted. "We need a safe way out of this district," Doran said. "North sector. But I don't know the roads." Atlas raised its palm. A broken map flickered there, most of it dark. "There is a tall tower at the center of the market," the mech said. "Traders keep route maps inside. We find one there." Doran nodded. The hunters would not wait long. Kira Vance walked this same trail, two hours ahead. He could not linger. They moved through narrow lanes. Metal ferns lined the walls, their leaves cut from thin steel plates. Doran brushed one and it rang soft against his arm. Then the ferns began to shake. Not from wind. Something moved beneath the polished bark. Beetles poured out. Dozens of them, then more. Their legs clicked on the stone. Red lenses blinked in the dark. They swarmed toward Doran in a living tide. "Behind me," Atlas said, and swept one massive arm across the lane. The blow crushed a row of them flat. Doran lifted his right arm. The rifle grafted there hummed and grew hot. He fired. A beam split the swarm and scorched a black line down the alley. Beetles burst apart. But more climbed over the wreckage, drawn to the heat and noise. "There are too many," Doran said. "They'll pin us here." He looked past the swarm. At the end of the lane rose the tower Atlas meant, wide at the base, stacked with lit windows. Its ground floor stood open, full of stalls and people. If they reached it, the crowd and walls would break the swarm's path. "Run for the tower," Doran said. "I'll clear the road." Atlas lowered its shoulder and charged. The mech plowed through the beetles like a plow through dirt. Doran ran in its shadow and fired to both sides. His arm burned near to failing. Beetles bit at his boots. One clung to his leg and he crushed it under his heel. They burst into the tower's open floor. Traders scattered. Atlas turned and slammed the heavy door shut. Beetles hammered against it, then went quiet. The swarm could not follow. Doran leaned on a stall and let his arm cool. They had made it. He crossed to a trader selling worn maps and spread coins on the counter. "Routes north," he said. "The safe ones." The trader studied him, then pulled a folded chart from a drawer and pointed at a marked road out of the district. Doran had his path now. But the trader tapped a second mark, farther up the road. "Corporate checkpoint," the trader said. "They're stopping everyone since this morning."