Roman caught sight of Occam’s heels as the meck vanished down the street. Dust from the approaching frame and cycles mixed with the smoke of nearby fires, whipping it into a black, choking wind. The cannon frame rolled up beside Mac as the cycles circled them. The bladed frame Cenn mentioned was nowhere in sight.

  The crew crouched in the debris. Kim had been right—if this fight continued to escalate, it could level the whole town. Unfortunately few, if any, spacefaring ships stayed on Quay. No escape, no relief. He wanted nothing more than to repay the beating Mac’s gang had given him, he had to make sure the crew came out ahead, it was the only way he’d find out about his people.

  The cycles carried two or three men each, all craning up at Mac’s shell like chicks snapping at their mother’s beak. Roman couldn’t make out their words, but Mac’s reply thundered over the PA.

  “This is the one, boys. Get me that meck and we’ll kick this sad little rock to the sun.”

  Val whispered as the gang cheered, “why do they want Occam so bad? It’s not like they can pilot it.”

  “They don’t know that,” Mina said, “and it doesn’t take a meckanist to see Occam is special.”

  Murphy shushed them as Mac continued.

  “Easy now, Rips is already in there. Bluke’ll provide cover. Keep that meck’s face pretty in town, hear?”

  Bluke’s unmistakable voice came through the PA.

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Oh me? I’m goin’ fishin’,” Mac chuckled, “now git, lil’ doggies!”

  The cycles split down the thoroughfare in packs, save for two who stayed behind to guard Bluke’s frame.

  Roman was about to puzzle out Mac’s words when his frame changed shape. Its leg joints straightened and locked, then the chassis descended between them like an elevator. When it settled on the tank tracks that served as its feet it looked like a towing truck—complete with a hook that now seemed to fit the machine. Without another word it rolled into an alley—eerily silent for something that big.

  And suddenly the scale of Arthur’s problem was clear: three frames, dozens of cycles, and a coordinated assault. Roman knew plenty about fighting against impossible odds—the the trick was springing a trap where numbers didn’t matter. How could they do that here, in a town where your enemy knew the terrain better than you did?

  Roman could almost hear Keats in his head, reminding him to stay on task. But which task should he prioritize? Helping the Westwood crew survive might very well lead to him being captured again.

  The image of Arthur facing this alone made the decision for him.

  “We have to help.”

  Cenn grunted an agreement, and Murphy surprisingly didn’t protest.

  BANG

  Bluke’s cannon fired, and the crew hit the dirt. Roman’s ears rang, drowning the distant explosion.

  “Help?” Val blurted with deaf ears. Snake slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Roman peeked over their cover—the bikers and Bluke hadn’t noticed. When he turned back, Kim was beside them, nodding to a newly blasted causeway between blocks. Roman followed, reluctant.

  Once out of earshot, Kim rounded on them, shoulders hunched like he expected goons to spill from the smoke any second.

  “I’m taking two men and heading for the safehouse. Best to move while they’re distracted.”

  “We could use your help,” Murphy said.

  “Then you should’ve bartered for it—first lesson of Quay. I’ll leave Remmy behind though. There are a few rifles in the cabinet, but less ammo than you or I’d like, but it’s something.”

  “Why are you leaving?” Mina asked.

  “People’ll be flooding that side of town. Others’ll probably hole up, hoping the chaos passes. We’ll pick them up on the way, do what we can.”

  “What about Crude-eye?” Cenn asked.

  “Oh, I’ll leave him where he is. Been wanting him in a cell for years. Not in a hurry to let him out.”

  Another blast from Bluke shook the ground. Kim waited, then went on.

  “A deal’s a deal. But if you can’t do nothing, don’t waste your life. Come find us.”

  He hesitated, like he might rescind the deal then and there, until Cenn scoffed. She combed fingers through her charred hair.

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  “We’re more qualified than you think,” she paused, then belatedly wished him luck.

  Roman had to admit, the crew was oddly suited for this. At least more than most: one bravista, an ex-infantry meck pilot, two sharp meckanists, and Snake—who so far hadn’t failed at anything Roman could remember.

  “Well,” Kim said, unconvinced, “Godspeed.”

  Then he was gone.

  “Are you insane?” Val snapped, drifting in the direction Kim went, “Arthur’s in an indestructible meck—he’ll be fine. We’re just flesh bags.”

  She yanked at her cheeks to prove the point, then jabbed a finger toward the battle. “What are we supposed to do against that?”

  “That’s our boy,” Cenn said, like that settled it.

  “Haven’t you been complaining about him since we woke up?” Val shot back, “now you care?”

  “Cenn’s right, Val.” Roman said, “It could be worse, we’re not fighting real mecks—just scrap.”

  Val tugged harder at her face, desperate to make someone see sense.

  “Guys,” she pleaded. “Mina?”

  The group turned. Mina crossed her arms, fear half hidden under a mask of resolve.

  “I don’t know how, but we have to help. We can't let them get Occam.”

  “We need a plan,” Murphy said.

  “Let’s get a closer look at that cannon,” Cenn said quickly, already moving toward Bluke. Murphy trailed her.

  Val still looked ready to bolt after Kim until Snake hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her back. Mina followed more slowly.

  Back on the thoroughfare, the crew pressed against the warden’s depot. Kim had sworn it could survive anything, so it was the only cover they could rely on.

  Cenn snapped her fingers after surveying the scene.

  “Step one: commandeer the cannon, turn it on them.”

  The crew hesitated. Surprisingly, Val cut in, resentment sharp as glass.

  “And how do you plan to get in?”

  Cenn frowned, “through the cockpit.”

  “Where?” Val demanded, wincing as another boom forced them to cover their ears.

  She repeated, sharper: “Where’s the cockpit?”

  “It’s—”

  “Show me, Cenn.”

  “What are you—”

  “She’s trying to make a point,” Mina cut in, voice low. “I don’t see a cockpit tray either. Do you?”

  Cenn squinted through the smoke.

  “Pilot had to get in somehow,” she muttered.

  Snake snapped his fingers, then formed a circle with one hand and shoved his other fist through it, miming a tunnel.

  “Gross,” Val muttered.

  Mina rolled her eyes, “he’s saying the cockpit’s probably inside the barrel. Bottom-loaded. I agree.”

  “That’s what I said,” Val argued.

  Murphy scrutinized them, “How do you know?”

  “No seams above the joints,” Val explained, tracing an invisible line in the air above the Frame. “It’s likely a multi-barrel build. Keep one chamber empty, drop the pilot in that way. The only way you’re getting in there is if you slide down the barrel of a loaded gun… It’s probably loud as hell in there.”

  Mina nodded though Cenn took longer to piece it together.

  “So we destroy it,” Murphy said.

  “With what?” Roman asked. “Snake’s stolen rifle?”

  Snake hitched it higher on his shoulder. Roman had never seen him fire, but he could tell from the way Snake carried it that he knew how.

  “Obviously,” Murphy said.

  “Keep the good ideas coming, every bad idea needs company,” Roman said, then caught Cenn’s look and softened his tone by one degree, “if we can’t steal it then I agree, destroying or distracting it is our best play.”

  “What about Arthur? How do we help him?” Mina asked.

  “This is helping Arthur,” Cenn said, “we have to change the odds.”

  The cannon roared again, ten straight seconds of thunder. For a heartbeat, Roman wondered if Quay itself could hold together. Of course the moonlet would survive, but the town? Mac and his gang must really want the meck, and also have the means to survive if the oxcellerators and gravwells go out.

  When the barrage stopped, Roman peeked out. Pronged anchors braced Bluke’s frame while the cannon pivoted on hip-joints. The riders left behind had climbed onto the frame for a better view, the cycles sat unattended.

  “Those bikes are fast,” Roman said, “we could steal them, cause a distraction that way.”

  “What if they don’t care?” Mina asked, voice more thoughtful than defiant.

  “If Bluke sees me, he’ll care.”

  “Idiot,” Val muttered. She hadn’t forgiven him yet—not after that game. If he hadn’t sat at that table, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

  “I take it you’re volunteering to drive,” Murphy said. “So you steal one, then what? He’ll just turn the cannon on you.”

  “I’ll be a much smaller target to try and hit than Occam.”

  “We’ll see,” Murphy didn’t even try hiding his faith in him.

  “And us?” Cenn asked. “We’ll just sit here while you ride off into the sunset?”

  Roman scanned the wreckage.

  “There’s gotta be something we can use. Maybe in one of these buildings… What about the Razor? Is it close? Anything in the hold?”

  “The ship?” Cenn scratched at her scalp, char flaking off. “It’s swiss cheese. I don’t think—”

  Snake slapped her back. When she spun, he pantomimed a deep breath, then mimed an explosion.

  “The afterburn,” Cenn grinned, and slapped him back. “See what I mean about good ideas?” She turned to the crew. “We’ve got something that could blow a hole in that thing. And this block, probably.”

  She dropped to one knee and traced a grid in the dirt, marking an ‘X’ a few blocks away.

  “We stashed the ship here. Get Bluke’s Frame into this spot, and we’ll handle the rest. But it has to be exactly here.”

  “But the Razor doesn’t have weapons,” Mina said, annoyance evident in her tone.

  “That’s true,” Cenn said wickedly, Roman saw why they called her She-devil, “the Razor is the weapon.”