Ashes from the West

Cracking the code

Zip's fingers moved like lightning across the keyboard, her eyes fixed on the cascading lines of code that filled the screen. The stolen navigation data was a fortress—layers upon layers of encryption, each one more complex than the last.

Ronan watched her work, his jaw tight. The VTOL hummed beneath them, Ghost keeping them low over the desert, dodging drone patrols. Every minute counted. Every second Lyra was alone in Boston was a second too many.

"How much longer?" he asked.

Zip didn't look up. "I told you. Hours."

"We don't have hours."

"Then find me a faster computer. This one's a relic. I'm working with fifty-year-old technology here."

Ronan rubbed his eyes. The fever was creeping back, a dull heat behind his temples. His side was a constant throb, a reminder that he was running on borrowed time.

"Show me what you've got," he said. "Maybe I can help."

Zip glanced at him, skeptical. "You're a weapons designer, not a hacker."

"I designed half of Storm's encryption protocols. I know how his mind works."

She hesitated. Then she moved aside, letting him see the screen. The code was a maze of symbols and numbers, a language only a computer could love.

"See this?" Zip pointed to a section of the code. "It's a recursive loop. Every time I try to break through, it resets. I've been chasing my own tail for the last hour."

Ronan studied the code. It was familiar—a signature he'd used in his own designs. A trap he'd built to catch anyone trying to steal his work.

"I know this," he said. "It's a dead-end loop. Storm didn't create it. I did."

"You built a trap into your own work?"

"I built it into everything. I was paranoid."

Zip stared at him. "So how do we break it?"

"There's a backdoor. A sequence of commands that overrides the loop. I never told anyone about it."

He reached for the keyboard. His fingers were clumsy, the fever making them tremble. But he remembered the sequence—a string of numbers that had been burned into his memory.

He typed it in.

The screen flickered. The code shifted, the recursive loop dissolving like smoke. A new layer of data appeared—maps, coordinates, timetables.

Zip let out a low whistle. "You just saved us three days."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to decode it."

They worked together, side by side. Zip translated the technical language. Ronan interpreted the strategic meaning. Piece by piece, they built a picture of Storm's operation.

"The supply ship is just the beginning," Zip said. "Storm has a network. Supply depots, safe houses, communication relays. He's been building this for years."

"Where's the Titan?"

Zip pulled up a map. A single dot pulsed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "Here. But it's moving. Constantly. The supply ship is scheduled to rendezvous with it in forty-eight hours."

"Forty-eight hours. That's our window."

"It gets worse." Zip zoomed in on the map. "The rendezvous point is surrounded by a defensive perimeter. Hunter drones, automated turrets, the works. Getting in won't be easy."

Ronan studied the map. There was a weakness—a gap in the perimeter, a blind spot that could be exploited.

"Here," he said, pointing. "The drones rotate in a pattern. There's a three-minute window where the perimeter is open."

"Three minutes. That's not much."

"It's enough."

Ghost's voice crackled over the intercom. "Guys, we've got company. Two hunter drones, closing fast from the east."

Ronan looked at Zip. "Can we lose them?"

"Not in this bird. We're too slow."

"Then we fight."

He moved to the weapons console. The VTOL was armed with a pair of outdated missile launchers, relics from a war that had never happened. He checked the targeting system, his fingers moving on instinct.

"Ghost, keep us steady. I'm going to try something."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Just keep us steady."

The hunter drones appeared on the horizon, two black specks growing larger by the second. Their targeting arrays lit up, red beams sweeping the sky.

Ronan locked onto the first drone. The missile launcher hummed, ready to fire.

"Now!" he shouted.

He pressed the trigger. The missile streaked toward the drone, a trail of smoke in its wake. The drone tried to evade, but it was too late. The missile struck its wing, tearing it apart. The drone spiraled into the desert, exploding in a ball of fire.

"One down!" Zip cheered.

The second drone was faster. It evaded Ronan's lock and fired a plasma bolt that skimmed the VTOL's hull. The ship shuddered, alarms blaring.

"Damage report!" Ghost yelled.

"We're still flying," Ronan said. "But we won't be for long if we don't take that thing out."

He tried to lock onto the second drone, but it was too agile. It danced through the sky, impossible to track.

"Zip, can you jam its targeting?"

"I can try." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "Done. It's blind for the next ten seconds."

That was all Ronan needed. He fired the second missile. It struck the drone's engine, sending it spiraling into the ground.

Silence.

Ronan leaned back in his seat, breathing hard. His side was bleeding again, the wound torn open by the sudden movement.

"Nice shooting," Ghost said. "But we've got a bigger problem."

"What?"

"The fuel gauge is almost empty. We're not going to make it to the coast."

---

They set down in the ruins of a small town, the VTOL's engines sputtering and dying. The town had been abandoned for years, its buildings hollowed out by scavengers and time.

Ronan climbed out of the cockpit, his legs unsteady. The wound in his side was soaking through his bandages, a dark stain spreading across his vest.

"We need fuel," Ghost said. "And we need it fast. If we don't find some in the next few hours, we're stuck here."

"Scavenge," Ronan said. "There's got to be fuel somewhere in this town."

"I'll check the gas station," Ghost said. "You stay here and rest."

"I don't need to rest."

"You're bleeding out. Sit down."

Ronan wanted to argue, but he didn't have the energy. He sank onto a crate, his head spinning.

Zip sat down next to him. She was quiet, her eyes distant.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Bull. Talk to me."

She was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "I've been thinking about my parents. They died in the quake. The one that hit LA three years ago."

"I remember."

"I wasn't there. I was at a hacker convention in New York. I got the news on my phone. Just a message. 'They're gone.' That was it."

Ronan didn't know what to say. He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know that doesn't mean much. But I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine. It was a long time ago. I just... I don't want to lose anyone else. That's all."

"You won't."

"You can't promise that."

"I can promise to try."

She looked at him, her eyes wet. Then she nodded.

"Good enough," she said.

---

Ghost returned an hour later, dragging a fuel canister behind him. His face was grim.

"I found fuel," he said. "But I also found trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"There's a patrol. Storm's men. They're searching the town. They must have tracked our signal."

Ronan stood, ignoring the pain in his side. "How many?"

"Six. Maybe eight. They're moving through the buildings, checking every room."

"We can't fight them. We're too weak."

"We can't run either. The VTOL won't take off without fuel."

Ronan looked at Zip. "Can you jam their comms? Cut them off from each other?"

"I can try. But it won't last long."

"Long enough. Ghost, you and I take them out. Zip, you stay with the ship. If we don't come back, fly out of here. Don't wait for us."

"Ronan—"

"No arguments. Stay."

He grabbed his pistol and moved toward the door. Ghost followed, his own weapon drawn.

The town was quiet. Too quiet. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cracked streets. Ronan moved from cover to cover, his senses on high alert.

He saw the first patrolman—a tall man in black armor, his rifle scanning the street. Ronan waited until the man turned away, then moved.

He was fast, silent. The knife found the gap in the armor, just below the ribs. The man dropped without a sound.

Ronan dragged the body into the shadows and moved on.

The second patrolman was harder. He was alert, his eyes scanning the rooftops. Ronan didn't have a clean shot. He needed a distraction.

He picked up a rock and threw it. It clattered against a wall, drawing the patrolman's attention. The man turned, and Ronan was on him. One quick blow to the temple, and he was down.

Ghost took out two more in the same way. They were efficient, silent. The patrol was falling apart.

But then the fifth patrolman saw them.

"Contact!" he shouted, raising his rifle.

Ronan dove behind a car as the bullets tore through the air. Ghost returned fire, hitting the patrolman in the chest. But the damage was done. The rest of the patrol was converging on their position.

"We need to fall back!" Ghost shouted.

Ronan looked at the VTOL. It was still on the ground, its engines cold. They couldn't fly yet.

"We hold our ground," he said. "We don't let them reach the ship."

He fired, hitting a patrolman who was trying to flank them. Ghost fired, and another fell. They were holding, but just barely.

"Zip!" Ronan shouted into his comm. "We need that jamming! Now!"

"Working on it!" she replied.

The patrolmen's comms crackled, their voices disappearing into static. They looked confused, their coordination broken.

Ronan used the distraction. He moved, firing as he went. Two more patrolmen fell. The last one turned and ran.

"Let him go," Ronan said. "We need to get out of here."

They ran back to the VTOL. Ghost was already pouring fuel into the tank. Zip was at the controls, ready to go.

"How many?" she asked.

"Six. All dead or gone. But they'll call for backup."

Ghost finished fueling and jumped into the pilot's seat. The VTOL's engines roared to life.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The rendezvous point," Ronan said. "We've got forty-eight hours to find the Titan. Let's not waste them."

The VTOL lifted off, rising into the darkening sky. The town fell away behind them, its ruins swallowed by the night.

Ronan leaned back in his seat. His body was screaming, but he forced himself to stay awake. There was still so much to do. So much to lose.

"Get some rest," Zip said. "I'll keep watch."

"I can't sleep. Not with—"

"I know. But you need your strength. We're going to need it."

He looked at her. She was young, too young to be caught up in this. But she was here, fighting alongside him.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For not leaving. For staying."

She smiled, a sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I told you. I don't want to lose anyone else. That includes you."

Ronan closed his eyes. The exhaustion was overwhelming, a weight pressing down on him. But he didn't sleep. He couldn't. He kept seeing Lyra's face, hearing her voice.

"Dad, I'm scared."

He opened his eyes and looked at the stars. Somewhere out there, beyond the darkness, his daughter was waiting.

And he was going to find her.

No matter the cost.