Troublemaker

Freelancer Rythe dove out of the gray sky just as a dozen outlaws with heavy weapons pushed through the trees and snowdrifts to renew their assault on the ancient tomb. They hadn't noticed her yet. Neither had the Arcanist researchers, who cowered within, waiting to be overrun. The annual plunge in temperature brought cold winds, ice, and a sharp increase in predators looking for easy prey.

These predators, however, were about to learn Rythe was fond of explosions.

The blue ready-light appeared inside her helmet. She often said she loved all her weapon indicator lights equally, but really, this was her favorite.

"Tough love time!" she yelled and pressed the trigger adorned with a tiny pink heart. Her shoulder-mounted missile launcher swung into position and released a heaping round of the toughest love that modern munitions could deliver.

A spectacular series of eruptions flung dirt and outlaws into the air.

"Boom!" said Rythe. Routed, the outlaws scattered. She encouraged their enthusiastic retreat with a long stream of bullets from her machine pistol. "Is it me? C’mon, you guys! I can change!"

Laughing, she spun her pistol around her finger and few times before clicking it back into place. It was a good day; green jungle, white snow, and blue ready-lights as far as the eye could see. She dropped down to the ruins where the researchers were hiding.

"You can come out now! The bad guys are gone."

The Arcanists slowly emerged from behind their damaged walls, warming their hands and nervously looking for signs of further attack. When none materialized, they waved a beleaguered thanks.

Arcanists, she scoffed, pfft. Rythe waved back, taking a quick survey of the battlefield to make sure that none of the outlaws entertained any ideas about circling back. All clear.

"Gaddy, you there?” She spoke into her helmet. “Calamity averted. Check that sucker off." Today was an important day and she was keen—and maybe a little nervous—to get started.

"Just Gad, thank you." Her cypher responded via psychic connection. Rythe didn’t like to think about it. "I’ll notify the enclave. Exceptionally loud work as usual, Rythe."

"Blue light special, baby!" Rythe followed a wide, fast-moving river, flying close enough to kick up a cold mist. "Hey, is there a young, pain-in-the-the ass wiggling around beside your brain chair?"

"My amplifier. Yes, she’s right beside me. Miss Hope is… very excited. Switching you both to short-wave radio while I ready her connection." There was a painful crackle and the hiss of static in Rythe's helmet. Radio was korox shit.

"I wasn’t wiggling around!" Hope squeaked. She was probably wiggling around. "Cypher Gad said you were helping some Arcanists. I wanted to see that! You okay?"

"Never better, kiddo. You ready to ditch crappy radio and connect via mind science?"

"Almost! He’s patching me in now."

"Ready for connection," the cypher said.

A few more pops followed by a soft hum. Connection. "Whoa," Hope said. "Everything’s sorta blurry. Wait, what’s that? I’m flying! Is that what you’re seeing? This is so weird! This is way better than radio!"

Rythe held up her hands and made a rude gesture.

"Auntie!"

"Visual check confirmed," Rythe said. "Let’s fly around a bit before we head over there. Everything good?"

"Yeah! Must be way different to be right there with you."

"Your mom didn’t want me to do flips and rolls the first time I dragged her out here in person."

"She said you ignored her."

"Obviously. It was my sacred duty to bring sexy danger to the friendship table." The river gave way to a waterfall that dropped into icy fog. "Oh look," she said innocently, "Time for my morning shave."

"What—?"

Rythe plunged over the edge, cut her jets, and began a long, howling, dive. Her speed increased until the world was a green and gray rush. Together, they entered the white mist like a bullet.

A heartbeat later, she burst out of the fog. The ground approached with lethal speed.

"Auntie!"

Rythe flashed her jets and turned a messy collision into a smooth curve over a herd of grazing korox. One, maybe two, slices of pie could have fit between Rythe’s suit and the bristly hair on their armored backs.

"Love it!" Rythe yelled. The korox hooted their disagreement.

"That was crazy! You’re the best!"

"I am the best." Soaring high up, she turned into the wind. Snow began to fall in a haze of fat flakes.

"What did my mom bring?" Hope's voice was soft, even a bit tentative. "To the, uh, friendship table, I mean."

"Oh, kiddo." Rythe smiled. "The important stuff. A look at a different life. Like having a family—you and your dad, stable job. I mean an engineer? Geez." Rythe was silent for a moment. "Not sure why she put up with me. Must have been tough to keep reminding me about the future."

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom was patient. She made plans, was always prepared—all that. Everything I’m bad at." Rythe laughed. "I remember the first time I met her. We were kids at school—younger than you. She had this ridiculous yellow scarf, said it protected her from monsters."

"Don’t you wear a yellow scarf?"

"Of course, but I’m in the monster business. Duh."

"Duh." Hope agreed. Rythe could hear the smile.

"Yep, saved me from my own stupidity many times. Sometimes I fly crazy, y’know?"

"I do know."

"Sooo disappointing her spawn is a smartass."

Rythe felt the tingle of laughter over the connection. Way better than radio, she thought. She loved this kid.

They flew on. Rythe pointing out a group—a hug? a snuggle?—of grabbits munching on frosted long grass, and no, she wouldn’t bring one back to Fort Tarsis. She circled a crumbling stone tower; age-cracked double doors invited the curious inside for a peek. She hovered high above a massive Shaper construct that wound in and out of the ground like a metal snake frozen in the cold.

"This is amazing," Hope said.

Rythe could hear the awe in her voice. "It’s tough to explain. People don’t get it, or don’t want to. But your mom did."

"Can’t believe you waited so long to show me."

"Yeah, well, I wanted everything to be perfect. And look at this, good timing, over there are the Hammertop Mountains. That’s where we’re headed."

"We’re going up there?"

"Not up, through. Super-secret tunnel. Takes us right to the very edge of the Eastern Reach. Looks out over a huge…something. Magic Cloud Land. The absolute best view in Bastion."

"Magic Cloud Land?"

"Totally official name."

"Suuure."

"So disappointing."

An icy haze wrapped around the base of the mountains like a thick blanket. As Rythe approached, a cluster of greasy lights appeared in the fog. What’s that? She kept the thought to herself, not wanting to worry Hope with it. Maybe it was a camp. She spotted movement, people. Who’s squatting on my secret—?

An explosion knocked her sideways. A second of oblivion. Then a muffled ringing in her ear. She was falling, spinning out of control. With a grunt, she reconnected with her suit. Shields were gone. Sluggish response. The left side of her suit was charred black, erasing the purple flames.

Now that pissed her off. "I just got this painted!"

Gritting her teeth, she sparked her jets once, twice. They caught, stopping her fall. Her guts slid into her toes. The ringing resolved into screaming.

"—are you there? What happened? Hey—!"

"I’m here! I’m okay." Rythe dove low into the mist and skimmed the ground as red lines of tracer fire smashed through frozen trees and earth. "More outlaws. Hate these guys."

A parade of bullets bounced off her chest plate, lighting up the icy fog in staccato bursts. She careened back and forth, landing hard behind a large, moss-covered rock.  Half-blinded by spotlights searing the ground on either side of her cover, she managed to make out a few details. It was, in fact, a camp in front of her cave entrance. A big camp. Barricades, supplies, and guns, guns, guns. They were using her super-secret tunnel as some kind of grubby headquarters.

"Big mistake, villains!"

Hope's voice sounded in her ear. "Auntie?"

"Right here—look, I’ve got some laundry to finish up. I’ll be right back, okay? Sit tight."

"What? No! Let me—"

Rythe cut Hope’s connection. Damn it. Today was supposed to be about nice stuff, not gunfire stuff. These bastards were screwing this up.

She pulled out her pistol and blazed a fiery line across the blinding lights. "Guys, I’ve got this important thing going on today!" she called out. The outlaws returned fire. They didn’t care about her important thing. "Typical!"

Her pistol clicked on empty. Meanwhile, her rocky cover was being chipped away by relentless gunfire. She had to move, but first she risked a quick glance—there, a short distance in front of her, clustered near the entrance, the main group of outlaws. Slapping her pistol back in place, she pulled out the big guns. Which weren’t guns at all, but Nelly, an electrified sword.

"Whoa, Nelly!"

She leapt forward past the spotlights, clearing the space between her and the outlaws at the speed of the dangerously impulsive. She swung Nelly in a long arc and smashed it down in the middle of the group. "Blammo!" The resulting impact wave pitched the outlaws back against the entrance with a satisfying thud. She felt something collide with her knee and she fell to the ground. A steady tingtingting crossed her armor as more fire came from the tunnel itself. She dragged herself up and tossed a grenade forward. A fiery explosion revealed she was facing a large bunch—a cudgel? A tantrum?—of outlaws.  "Quality resistance, guys! Six out of ten!" Spiteful gunfire erupted from deeper in. "I’m lovin’ the passion!"  She reloaded her pistol in the confusion. More bullets equals more bulleting. A pop followed by a low hum sounded in her helmet.

"—can’t just drop me! What’s going on? You said outlaws? Why is everything on fire?"

"Hope?" Bullets stitched across her helmet. "What the hell?"

"Are you hurt?" Hope yelled in her ear. "Tell me what's going on!"

"I’m fine! Disconnecting!" She shut Hope’s connection down. Again. She opened a line to her cypher, “Gaddy, keep her out! Nothing to see here!" She fired her pistol down the tunnel as punctuation.

"She’s very—” Gad began.

"Just do it!" Rythe threw another grenade. The explosion reverberated just inside the entrance. "Game on!" She ran into the cave. A lot of gunfire greeted her.

She put her pistol away and pulled out her shotgun. When she needed more oomph, Miss Biscuit always brought it home. She moved and fired until there was no response—her go-to battle plan. It smelled like oil and burnt Freelancer. She ran in long, thumping strides down the stone passage.

Missiles!

She dodged right, narrowly avoiding the salvo that streaked past. "You have a turret in a cave? Way unsafe!" The passage led to a large cavern. Last time she was here, it was dark with a few patches of glowing moss. This time it was filled with a collection of rusty barricades, make-shift spotlights, and gas fires lighting up the room with orange menace. “Bastards," she called out as the gunfire opened up from several locations, "But good hustle. Maybe eight out of ten?”

She ducked behind a pile of scrap metal as the gunfire pinged off everything around her. Glancing around, she spotted a teaching opportunity. Squinting one eye just like her trainer told her not to when aiming, she squeezed off a shot at a gas canister. Hisssss… boom!

That was her cue.

She blasted off straight across no-man’s land and crashed through a barricade into a surprised group of outlaws.

A wide sweep of her gauntlet knocked two of them back, while she fired Miss Biscuit one-handed in the small space. "Park the explodey things elsewhere next time, master criminals!" A small object clinked against her leg. Grenade! She flung herself back through the wall a heartbeat before the blast ripped through the structure.

Ouch.

Rythe dismissed the many blinking warning lights. Her suit was in bad shape. She felt warm blood squish against the padding. Her important fleshy bits were also in bad shape. A familiar low hum sounded in her ear.

"Freelancer Rythe, I wonder if you might reconsider—”

"Nope! Go Crimson Lancers!”

"Rythe—”

"Tune in next week!"

She had to get to that missile turret. Shouldering her way through several barriers, she jumped back into flight, jets blazing. She was getting a bit woozy.

"I can’t think of anything cool to say!" She shouted as though she was saying something cool. The turret responded with more missiles that glanced off the tunnel wall and exploded, knocking her into a hard tumble. She gasped, driving air back into her lungs as she pressed herself against the cave wall. A group of outlaws were using the turret as cover. "Dramatic last stand! Love it!"

She checked for the blue ready-light. No go.

"C’mon, blue light. Talk to me."

The turret swiveled and locked on. Sparks from ricochets filled her vision. Warning lights were everywhere. Gunfire sliced through her skin.

"Damn it, blue light!"

Ding. Blue light.

"Tough love!" She slammed the heart trigger and a volley of missiles from her shoulder arced wide and rained down in a fiery half-moon. Love the booms! Rythe leaned heavily against the wall, Miss Biscuit ready to answer any follow-up questions. Ragged breaths. When the smoke cleared, all that remained were a collection of small fires, black divots, ex-outlaws, and shredded metal. She was bleeding down the front of her suit. She pressed a hand against her shoulder. "Crap, I just got this fixed."

She slumped against the tunnel wall. "Great work today, everyone." She limped along a few feet, listening. Nothing, no more outlaws. She coughed. "Let’s pick it up again tomorrow."

"Freelancer?" A voice in her ear.

"I’m fine, Gaddy, er, Gad. Super-secret tunnel clear. Hope okay?"

"Nonplussed, but fine. She’s waiting to be reconnected."

"One sec."

Frozen vines and moss covered the last few feet of the tunnel until she stepped out onto a wide, stone ledge into the whistling wind. The cliff dropped away into a sea of low clouds as far as the horizon would allow. Magic Cloud Land.

"Okay, patch her in." A pop and soft hum.

"—no! You tell her right now… what… oh, wow." Hope’s anger dropped away.

"You seeing this?" Rythe asked.

"Yeah. It… goes on forever."

"Best view in Bastion, as promised." Rythe shuffled her feet. "Hey, look, sorry about… before. I just thought—"

"Thought what?" The anger returned. "I’m just some kid? Like I can’t handle it?"

"No, hey, it’s not that. I wanted today to be good stuff, y'know?" She sat down with a groan, her legs dangling over the edge. "Like this place. It was your mom’s favorite."

"My mom’s dead," Hope shot back. "Some stupid disease took her away and I could only watch."

"I know." Rythe’s heart tightened. "I’m so sorry."

"Then stop hiding things. I’ve already seen the worst."

"Hope—”

"You scared her—you know that?" Hope’s anger pacing back and forth behind her words. "You take so many risks out here, but you had a special way of looking at things. You loved all of it—even the really ugly parts. A crazy joy for life."

"She said that?"

"All the time." Her anger faded. "Today I wanted—" Her voice broke, "I needed you to show me how to do that."

Oh, kiddo. Rythe rocked back and forth on the ledge, snow kicking up from the endless valley. The wind was bitterly cold. Clean and fresh.

"Okay." Rythe said. "It’s a deal." She slowly stood up, her body and suit creaking in protest.  "So, um, I was thinking about swinging by that tower we passed back there—the one with the doors. You interested?"

“What? No. You can barely stand up. Don’t… fly crazy.”

The voice and tone were achingly familiar.

“You’re right, kiddo,” Rythe said. “I’ll head back. We can look for a bandage or two. And pie.”

“Sounds great.”

“But we’re exploring that spooky tower next time—just you and me.” Rythe added.

"Will there be monsters?" Hope asked.

Rythe hesitated. “Maybe.”

"We’ll be okay."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yellow scarf. Duh."

"Duh." Rythe laughed.

Special thanks to Cathleen Rootsaert, Mary Kirby, Jeffrey Campbell, Ryan Cormier, Karin Weekes, and Danielle Gauthier for being the first to bring Rythe to life.