from Descent (Woman at War 3)
In a perfect world—or, at the least, a better one than this—I would be allowed to appreciate the cool, crisp daylight and the scent of rain carried on a breeze. I could gaze upon the greenery downhill and not worry about a scope’s glass reflecting or monstrous insects or where I might seek out food. I might hear a bird chirping and not think dark thoughts.
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Next life, June.
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I was outside again for one reason. Hell awaited me.
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The four Napeequans gawked fearfully at the sky. At Cheney’s side, Zjarnuha clung to him, arm tendons bristling.
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This, I reminded myself, was simply beyond their comprehension. Whatever glimpses or rumors of strange metal birds any of them had experienced before this moment simply could not prepare them for it. Any sec, now, they would see something which dwarfed their Great Muddafurriz Spirit. Everything would change. Walls would crash down, inexplicably. All would wither in the shadow of this eclipse. There would be no going back.
Above, gray-pink clouds yielded to an enormous patch of darkness. The disembodied great roar took form. Purplish engine thrust churned wisps of pink away, eradicating moisture with a brutal honesty. This—to me, to the Napeequans—was a thing which could not be denied. The Mitties and their world-ending form of modernity were here.
Less than a mile above us, the Mitasterite cruiser crawled through descent. Yarniha uttered a kind of panicky sound, the only noise her voice-box could make. Her sister was frozen in awe.
"Quite magnificent," Cheney gushed, hefting my rifle.
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