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Setting
And Aurora came, in her saffron peplos, illuminating the peaks of the Andes, bringing light to mortals.
Genevieve could feel the vehicle hurtling down the highway, until then without obstacles, almost unnaturally silent, when, in the still-uncertain light of the rapidly rising day, three black specks dotted the orange horizon and a distant buzzing drifted toward them, like a swarm of flies.
But they were not flies.
The vehicle’s SAI system triggered the alarm without warning, the visors magnifying the sector where the shapes had appeared. Three Apache attack helicopters were on a rapid interception course with their vehicle, and they did not look friendly.
The black specks swelled quickly, and the helicopter formation fanned out several kilometers behind them.
The first missiles streaked toward the target. Evasion systems deployed from the vehicle, attempting to confuse their trajectories, with little effect. The pilot could do nothing. The missiles’ automated guidance did not deviate in the slightest.
On Genevieve’s visor, a message appeared:
Use it
She opened the cabin window. The missiles were closing fast, flying at supersonic speed straight toward them.
Genevieve opened the cabin door and, with a gazelle’s leap, climbed onto the roof, taking aim at the first missile.
The bow drew back, vibrating. The black arrow was released.
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A dart of dark light struck the warhead of the first missile only a few hundred meters away. The missile halted, as if struck by an invisible hammer, then collapsed into itself like a crushed wrapper, accompanied by the sound of twisted, compressed metal. No explosion. Its velocity dropped to zero in an instant, and a shapeless mass of metal fell almost exactly where it had been struck.
The other missiles met the same fate. One after another, the arrows hit them and brought them down.
The helicopters, however, remained airborne.
The lead aircraft, seeing the girl standing atop the speeding vehicle—her body perfectly still, save for her hair—opened fire with its machine gun.
This time the arrow split open like a black umbrella the moment it left the string. The bullets did nothing but rebound from the gravitational shield that had formed, falling to the ground like insignificant pebbles.
From the grip of the bow, black scales spread across Genevieve’s hand and flowed over her body, forming an armor impossible to breach.
Once more, she nocked the bow, and a new arrow appeared between her agile fingers. She aimed at the lead helicopter. The arrow shot forward like light itself, pierced the aircraft, and vanished inside it, leaving only a black hole—precise, perfectly round, dark-edged.
For a brief instant, nothing happened. Then came the sound, as with the missiles: metal folding and collapsing under a differential gravitational field. The rotor blades seemed to turn to wax, and the helicopter imploded into itself, crashing to the ground, reduced to a tenth of its original volume, forming a star of crushed, twisted metal that struck the desert heavily.
The two remaining helicopters pulled back, widening their distance.
The vehicle continued at maximum speed when, on the straightaway ahead, armored vehicles and tanks came into view, blocking the road alongside other military units.
The moment the vehicle entered their line of sight, systematic fire opened against it.
Genevieve, on the roof of the cabin, seemed almost fused to the vehicle. Nothing of her body moved except her straight blond hair. Then she raised her arms, and another arrow immediately formed on the taut string. One arrow flew, then another, then another, in rapid succession.
A sound spread through the air—a low note, repeated.
The arrows burst apart midair, and the distant vehicles were overturned, collapsing into themselves.
The road near the checkpoint became almost incandescent.
They had to stop.
