72: Deva
Deva
Brice was crazy!
Deva sat in the pilot’s seat, watching the chaos from the high window. It was streaked with grime, darkened from fire, dotted with blood.
“You want me to drive this thing?”
“Can’t be that hard.”
Was he joking? “I only know the theory!”
“Time to put it into practice.”
She looked at the busy control panel. Sure, she’d scanned the manuals, knew how this stuff worked. Lots of technical sections, all kinds of fancy functions—heating, air-flow, entertainments system. And the thing was designed for lattice control.
“Get it started,” Brice said.
“It’ll be noisy.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She looked up, saw someone jump onto the cab, an angry, red face at the window. They swung a metal pole. It clunked against the toughened glass.
Then they jerked. Red spray e
