Once upon a time, humanity would say, "It's raining cats and dogs." This was associated with heavier-than-normal rainstorms at first, but it found humorous use as a fun idiom.

  And yet when Pa-5 woke to heavy thuds above her head, and the first thing her panicked, scratchy voice screeched was, "It's raining Aud!" she found nothing funny about it. More thumps confirmed she wasn't imagining it. With a start, she kicked the sheets free, tumbled off her bunk, and collided with Ec-5. She muttered an apology, racing to her bunk locker.

  She had boots on in six seconds, heart pounding as the noises from outside escalated. There was the occasional call, then thuds all around. Someone muffled a scream as one such thud happened right over her head, denting the roof paneling.

  Gunfire obscured the shouts. The sounds of heavy machinery powering up accompanied. Above both, there were blood-curdling screams she knew better than her own. She snapped on a helmet and experimentally discharged her barrel. There wouldn't be a better time.

  She grunted, shoving open the door and feeling the mass of bodies pouring out behind her, Ec-5 by her shoulder. She hadn't made it four steps before a mass of fur slammed into her like a WAV, sending her tumbling. She lost her pistol somewhere, and her hand felt like a hot spike ran through it. Her scream mixed in with the others, yet she rose. This was no place to die.

  Her eyes locked with Ec-5 as he was ripped open from neck to hip. The others scattered away as his body, still in the Aud's maw, detonated. The clever man rigged his shielding core to overload.

  Hers was the reason she was still alive. The Aud puffed smoke, eyes bulging. But as a yellow, it was beyond such a simple emergency explosive. It chased after another group.

  Like hailstones, more tumbled down from the black stalactites kilometers above their heads. She spared herself losing an arm to another Aud, rolling on reflex. It would've continued into the still dispersing crowd, but a mass of metal was there to halt the charge. The pilot's vocoder rumbled. "Engineers, report to the nearest WAV--"

  The yellow had help; orange fur dented the rear of the WAV and sent it tumbling, mirroring her earlier predicament. The pilot never had a chance to stand. A flurry of movement covered the frame, and a spurt of blood escaped a puncture in the machine.

  It was the only sign of a death otherwise forgotten. Pa-5 was already gone, dashing alongside El-5 to the nearest WAV garage as the pilot had ordered. They snapped off wayward shots at whatever looked larger than a WAV in the periphery.

  They reached what looked like a secured checkpoint, where a line of WAVs stood. The gunmen and turrets behind them fired from cylinder launchers and sonics. They achieved disorientation and weakening, but rarely killing.

  The two waited for a moment of quiet, then dashed down the temporary no-man's land. One Aud crashed down from a rooftop, its clumsy tumble of legs nicking Pa-5. Her temporary partner wasn't so lucky, crushed under the main bulk. She ran faster, holding back tears of frustration.

  She slipped past the line of armors, past the line of turrets, and past the next line, and the line after that. The Aud that'd breached this tiny section of the fort were stuck under heavy netting.

  Those clever enough to dodge the first time required the heavy WAVs to move in for tackles and grappling. She kept a wide berth around defenders firing into their hides, drilling past their resilient fur. She couldn't determine if they would make it through before the defensive lines broke.

  As ordered, her destination was the closest garage. She flung herself against the scutumsteel barriers, hand pressed into the pad. It whirred, and she was in, slamming the gate behind her. She collapsed on the first bench she saw.

  Hard as she tried, a trickle of tears ran free. Ec-5. The pilot. El-5. Whoever else the Aud caught with their pants down, or was ready but died anyway. It wasn't fair. Someone nudged her foot. It was an officer with an orange band around his bicep. "Injured?"

  All she could manage was a nod. He dragged over a woman who kneeled before her and attended to her ribs and hand. The officer stepped away as the medic injected her with liquid sun.

  The golden fluid bubbled as it flushed beneath her skin. She felt like a blanket had wrapped her chest, and while the bliss was temporary, her hand throbbed less. The medic studied her while setting the bones in her hand. "Rest here a minute, then go down to report."

  She had to count the seconds herself, using the exercise to calm her breath. As it ticked by, she went over the nightmare. Reasoning and rationale provided little to no help in explaining what happened.

  The Aud crushed Fort Io from above. They should've done what they always did, ram the walls until they lost interest in being used as target practice. WAVs would then escort engineers venturing outside to repair what damage they could. But this attack was vertical, and the height of the cavern ceiling was nothing to scoff at.

  The smallest Aud weighed no less than hundreds of kilograms. That any of them could haul themselves up near-vertical cavern walls was improbable. Never mind crossing the ceiling to position themselves over the fort. Doubly unlikely. Pa-5 refused to believe it.

  This wasn't a rare instance of the Auds learning. They had shown signs in the past of adaptive capabilities. Some of the smarter ones let their brethren rush in as meat shields. Or they would settle in for a tactic seen in prolonged sieges: starving out the defenders. That was how Fort Clyvis fell.

  But not in a hundred years would any of them be smart enough to reinvent three-dimensional warfare. Communicating it to the rest, on top of that? This was a level of coordination and awareness that only humans had.

  She rolled aching shoulders and proceeded to the back of the garage. Her feet never touched the hatches checkering the floor. A flight of stairs waited, and at the bottom was a catwalk. Below her was a familiar sight: the stacked hanger. Like books on bookshelves, WAVs stood idle in neat grids.

  The heavier ones toward the bottom required anti-grav modules to reach service lifts. At the center was a central platform. Servicemen in gray skinsuits rushed around to strap in whatever spare WAV pilot made it down. Once they entered their armors, they skipped most pre-deployment checks and made for the lifts.

  She hated when the pit in her stomach grew less intense. In the end, it didn't matter how much she admired the men and women who stepped into those suits. She found she was still grateful to stay behind the emergency defenses.

  The mad frenzy of it gave a faint comfort. If she ignored the situation outside, it looked like the engineers were prepping for a routine horde attack. The illusion broke when another officer grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along.

  "No time for rest. Engineer, right? You were to report to the sitesman."

  Pa-5 twisted free. The sitesman was the ultimate authority on-site unless a general was visiting. He also shouldn't be near where the garage was. What did he want with her? "I'm better off helping out down there, sir."

  "You're better off where you're told. Your betters have operations here handled." He scowled, the darkness of the hangar contorting the skin lines. Because it had been a subsystem cave belly, the hangar was a hollowed-out bowl in the ground. Poor lighting, among other things, was often complained about.

  A natural result of not constructing the whole space from scratch, really. He directed her back in the right direction and walked back up the catwalk. "We need to ration how many pilots go up. It's not full capacity, so they'll make do without you."

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  Rationing. He made it sound like the soldiers thrown back out were nothing more than a number the strategists tweaked. She could never stand that kind of language, even after years of using it herself. Pa-5 shimmied down the ladders to save time. Each lower catwalk she landed on thudded. The final one she rolled free of, ignoring how her chest made her want to cough.

  She stumbled on the rebound; warm arms caught her. Her eyes looked up to see Ra-3's, bright and mournful. He didn't ask her if she was alright or who she saw die. She didn't question the new patch covering the side of his head or ask who he had to leave behind.

  They hugged, frayed emotions shared through a simple gesture. They would've stayed there longer, but Er-2 was there as well, calling them to hurry.

  The bottom floor was a free plaza of space, surrounded by four walls of heavy-clad WAVs. The fitting platform above summoned one every half-minute, leaving another empty spot. Each new suit deployed wasn't a cause for celebration. They were replacements, serving as a grim reminder of the bloodshed above.

  Altogether there were nine of them. They assembled into a line and received new injections of a stronger concentration. The liquid sun was so potent this time their irises turned gold, and their veins bulged. The euphoria bordered on uncomfortable, but no one voiced complaints.

  The medic who'd completed the injections nodded to the waiting officer. He traded places with her to deploy a communications rig. Everyone else attending stepped back, as close to privacy as they would get.

  It whirred, unfolding as lights flickered along the cylindrical exterior. The shell separated, and an emitter within blasted a projection of Ul-5 into being. His image fizzled.

  The Fort Io's sitesman had a completely shaven head as every serviceman did. His eyebrows made up for it, two thick bushes that scrunched into beady eyes. He wet his lips and cleared his throat. As he spoke, he fingered his brown band.

  "I'm not one for beating around the bush, and we don't have time to break things gently. I'm going to come out and say it. Fort Io's done. Wherever the Aud pulled this stunt from, it's what they needed to tilt a final battle in their favor. We've lost too much manpower. They damaged too much of the critical architecture. We couldn't continue operating even if we pulled through. The chances of it are so low that you shouldn't hope for it."

  An engineer Pa-5 was unfamiliar with spoke up. "Sitesman, what does that have to do with us? We could hold out longer if we got back to our posts to provide some extra hands. At least bleed them a little more."

  "Yes, you could," he acknowledged, "but that would be pointless. There's no tip-toeing around our imminent deaths. But we need to warn The Last Light about our fall. With us gone, it'll be them alone against the hordes from all directions but east. No more bastion outposts providing buffers. They'll need to prepare for a horde that's going to come from all directions the next time the Aud attack."

  "Haven't you already sent them--" A crotchety stare pinned Pa-5 before she could finish.

  "I've attempted to. Many times. But something happened to our transmission towers. The running hypothesis is that the first wave of falling Aud knocked them over." That was odd, though. Even if the fort's were out of commission, the capital should be able to compensate.

  "Since we can't snag any origin frequencies leading back to the Last Light, we've assumed the worst." He walked up the line, halting in front of Ra-3 with a sharp turn. "That's where you all come in. While the rest of us hold back and distract the Aud--maybe take a chunk with us--you nine will carry the message. You are to take a light WAV and split, making your way to the Last Light on individual paths. They've been pre-recorded and uploaded to the HUDs, so don't worry about getting lost."

  His hands moved behind his back. "You have two minutes for questions, then we're deploying you."

  A shaky Po-1 went first. "Sir, we're not pilots. How d-do you expect us to make it to the Last Light in WAVs? Never mind that, how do w-we make it to the city before the hordes?"

  "You're not dedicated pilots, but you've all completed basic piloting training. It's better than nothing. As for the time concerns, that's why we've allocated lighter and faster suits for you to wear. You're not going to be pretty piloting them, and you won't be able to fight for squat. I don't expect most of you to survive the trip, which is why there's more than one of you. Next."

  "How much of a head start can we expect before they begin pursuit?"

  "That depends on how long the Fort can keep limping along. Nothing past forty minutes, but it'd be better still to stay economic with any estimates. We'll send out one last transmission when we're toppling, but who knows if your WAV's communication modules will catch it."

  "Will there only be nine of us deployed on this suicide run?"

  "Not a bad name. No, you're the first wave. If any further non-combat personnel make it here, we'll send half of them after you. The rest stay to do their duty. I hardly expect you to make it with a head start, so I'm holding out less hope for them. Any last-minute ones?"

  When no one stepped forward, he sighed. "I know you're all terrified. Believe me, I know. The situation isn't better here, so look at things this way: you'd have no chance of survival if you stayed. By being one of the few to leave, you might make it back to the Last Light. If anyone makes it, be sure to drink something in our memory. Dismissed!"

  Other engineers moved in as the sitesman saluted and dematerialized. The shell collapsed on itself. The nine reached a line of waiting suits, already powered and on standby. She took a moment to run her fingers over the interlocking plating below the pauldrons.

  Would she have had a longer lifespan as a dedicated pilot? She might've gotten transferred around more and been at the Last Light or Fort Rhea right now. She forgot the brief melancholy when a supportive hand squeezed her shoulder.

  Mounting the gurney, she let them strap her in. One couldn't take WAVs on and off like a traditional suit of knight's armor. Even the smallest class of armor was twice Pa-5's size, easy.

  The internals had molded around in a way to make room for a single occupant, inserted via the gurney. Besides inserting the pilot, the gurney also acted as the spine of the suit. It was a modular piece that could slide in and out when the pilot entered or exited.

  The gurney lifted, and she crossed eyes with one of the engineers. The woman was working the controls. Her counterpart had tight lips and something between a glare and pitying eyes. The gurney turned on an axis, cutting off the view. Pa-5 dropped into the waiting WAV, hitting the bottom with a clink. She smelled the tinniness of freshly-polished scutumsteel. Her brow pressed against the padded helmet.

  They began the first round of checks. Each major component and external module had to be properly attached. Bolts tightened, free space was vacuum-sealed, and they adjusted the plates to better fit the WAV to its pilot. Then onto the electric and weapons systems. The battery core alone got three checks.

  The biomechatronics were last, but time was scarce. All the engineers overseeing the fitting process could get was feet stomping and crudely grabbing objects. Movement was difficult. Recalling the pilot who saved El-5, Pa-5 tried to copy his posture and stance. Things did get easier, but near-falls were still common.

  To save on precious minutes traded for lives above, the fitting crew brought anti-grav modules. The nodes slotted into spare module sockets, making everything lighter in an instant. The sudden weight shift was another distraction, but ultimately served well.

  "Don't get used to this kind of ease of movement," one of the engineers explained. She had overseen the insertion process. Though she wouldn't see it through the helmet, Pa-5 avoided eye contact with the other woman. "The nodes act on independent battery packs; inferior to the suits' cores. They won't last past an hour."

  The trip brought them even lower than the bottom storage plaza. She suspected they were out of the fort proper now. Entering the semi-converted lesser tunnel system beneath it? Small lights drilled into the walls at interspersed points gave off a low, collective glow.

  Five separate pathways branched out, and they split into groups. She cast a feeble wave to the others, wishing she hadn't been the only one-man group. Then her only companions were her guide and the tunnel.

  "Have you reviewed your path yet?" As a matter of fact, she had, but not too close. Summoning her HUD's interface again was as easy as thinking. She went through an awkward out-of-body experience. Feeling like she floated free from the suit, her perspective propelled outside into the major cave system above.

  Behind her was Fort Io, a green model of the external defenses from afar. It was east of the greater western tunnels, a long, complex line of spirals that drifted away and off the grid.

  A line of dots marked her path, beginning at a cliff base lower relative to her current position. She guessed that was her initial destination. Then, the line curved upward, taking her right back up.

  She frowned. That couldn't be right. She continued to trace the line, disbelieving; her path made a wide arc around the fort. It followed up with a retreat into the Greater Western Tunnel System.

  "Hey. Did the sitesman make a mistake?"

  Her guide gave a tense shrug. "I don't know. If it looks suicidal, keep in mind that all the others are as bad, or even worse." They passed the final row of lights, moving into the shadows to stop at a thick slab of scutumsteel, and he concentrated on his task. He tapped two points in the blockage. "Hit these locations with half of your WAV's strength."

  She positioned her arms and lunged forward. Like point-blank sonics, the scutumsteel covering her knuckles crashed against the wall. It parted down the middle with minimal chipping. Pa-5 inhaled. “Is it bad that I expected one of them to crash through and stomp us flat?”

  “The majority are still above us. Aud are stupider, and the sitesman’s dangling a lot of human-shaped bait in front of them. You should escape the vicinity fine.” He shifted to his other foot. “Or, no offense intended, you’ll join us in being too dead to care.”