The Serpent's Dance

The Sand-Viper ate up the desert terrain at a blistering pace. The landscape became a blur of red and yellow outside my cockpit. My focus was narrowed to the tactical display, where the four red icons representing the raider buggies were closing in on the entrance to Serpent’s Pass. I was on an intercept course, a collision of violence waiting to happen. The low hum of the reactor rose to a high-pitched whine as I pushed the machine to its limits. This was what it was built for. A high-speed desert hunt.
I was a ghost of vengeance, a ten-meter-tall metal specter gliding over the dunes. The raiders hadn’t seen me yet. I was coming at them from their flank, using the suns’ glare and the rolling terrain as cover. Surprise was my only real advantage. Their buggies were fast and nimble, but they were built for harassing slow-moving freighters, not for tangling with a military-grade assault mech. They were about to have a very, very bad day.
The ghosts in my head were quiet for once, replaced by the cold, clear logic of combat. Target acquisition, trajectory, weapon selection. It was a familiar, deadly calculus. I felt a grim satisfaction in it, a feeling I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge for a long time. This wasn’t an order from a distant commander. This wasn’t for a strategic objective I didn’t believe in. This was for Elara. For the medicine. For the people in the settlements. It was a clean fight.
I closed the distance. They were now less than two kilometers away, four dune buggies bristling with makeshift armor and heavy machine guns. They were slowing down, preparing to find their ambush positions in the rocky outcrops at the mouth of the Pass. It was time to make my entrance.
I crested a final dune, and there they were. Four specks of black metal against the red rock. I brought the Sand-Viper to a skidding halt, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. For a moment, I was completely concealed. I used that moment to acquire my first target. The lead buggy. I locked on, the targeting reticle turning from green to red.
“Attention, unidentified vessels,” I broadcasted on the open raider frequency, my voice digitally altered by the mech’s comm system to sound deep and menacing. “You are interfering with a protected convoy. Power down your weapons and surrender, or you will be eliminated.” It was a formality. A chance for them to walk away. I knew they wouldn’t take it. Raiders were either arrogant or desperate. Neither backed down easily.
A burst of static, then a rough voice, laughing. “A protected convoy? Out here? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the guy who’s about to tear you apart,” I said, and I fired the main rifle. The sound was a deafening crack, a thunderclap in the desert silence. The high-explosive shell crossed the distance in a heartbeat and struck the lead buggy dead center. The vehicle erupted in a ball of fire and black smoke, the explosion echoing off the canyon walls. The laughter on the comms cut off abruptly. One down. Three to go.
The remaining three buggies scattered like startled insects. They were panicking, their ambush plan in tatters. They opened fire, streams of tracer rounds streaking towards me. Most of them pinged harmlessly off the Sand-Viper’s light armor. It was like being pelted with pebbles. One of them got lucky, a heavy round striking the mech’s shoulder with a loud clang, sending a jolt through the cockpit. A yellow warning light flickered on my console. Minor armor damage. Nothing to worry about.
I ignored their fire and charged forward. I switched from the slow-firing rifle to the rapid-fire cannon on my left arm. I targeted the second buggy as it tried to flee up a narrow ravine. A sustained burst from the cannon chewed up the ground around it, then stitched a line of fiery holes across its engine block. It swerved violently and slammed into a rock wall, flipping over and bursting into flames. Two down.
The last two raiders were smarter. They split up, trying to flank me. It was a standard tactic, but they were outmatched. I was faster, more agile. I focused on the one to my right. He was trying to get behind a large rock formation to fire at my back. I activated the jump jets on the Sand-Viper’s legs, launching the ten-meter-tall machine into the air. For a moment, I was flying, a metal angel of death against the blue sky.
I landed directly in front of the buggy, the impact shaking the ground. The driver screamed, a sound I could just make out over the whine of my reactor. He tried to swerve, but it was too late. I didn’t even use my weapons. I just kicked. The Sand-Viper’s metal foot connected with the buggy’s chassis, and the vehicle was sent tumbling end over end, a crumpled wreck of twisted metal. Three down.
The last one was running. He had given up the fight and was speeding away, back the way he came. He was no longer a threat to the convoy. My orders, the old Federation doctrine, would have been to eliminate all hostiles. No witnesses. No survivors. But these weren’t my orders. This was my fight. I had him in my sights. My finger was on the trigger of the main rifle. I could have ended him with a single shot.
I thought of Elara. “You can change what you do now.” I thought of the man I used to be, the Reaper, who would have taken the shot without a second thought. I thought of the man I wanted to be. I lowered the rifle.
“Go,” I broadcasted on the open channel, my voice back to its normal, unaltered self. “Tell every raider crew from here to the Dead Sea that this convoy is under my protection. Tell them the Shepherd is watching. Now get out of my sight.”
The buggy didn’t slow down. It just kept going, a rapidly shrinking speck of black against the red desert, until it disappeared over the horizon. The silence that followed was profound. The only sounds were the wind whistling through the canyons and the crackle of the burning wrecks. The smell of smoke and burnt fuel filled the air.
I stood the Sand-Viper there for a long moment, the red eye of its optic scanning the empty horizon. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind the familiar ache in my bones and the cold knot of anxiety in my stomach. I had won. The convoy was safe, for now. But the violence had felt… good. The control, the power, the deadly efficiency. It was a part of me I had tried to bury, and it had come roaring back to life.
My comm crackled. “Jax? Jax, what’s happening? Are you okay?” It was Elara, her voice tight with worry.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my own voice. “I’m fine, Elara,” I said. “The threat has been neutralized. The Pass is clear. You can proceed.”
“Neutralized? What does that mean?” she asked.
I looked at the burning wrecks, at the black smoke staining the perfect blue sky. “It means the road is paid for,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “Just get your convoy through. I’ll be watching.” I cut the comm before she could ask any more questions. I didn’t want her to hear the tremor in my voice. I didn’t want her to know that the Reaper was back. And I wasn’t sure if he could be put away again.