Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

somewhere.
    “We’re scouts, so let’s scout. We check out their truck, learn as much about their technology as we can,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.
    The design of the truck was odd—there were no curves to it. There were slanted, diagonal lines, but no rounded edges. The corners of the vehicle were so sharp they couldn’t have been molded metal; they had to be flat sheets of steel that met at precise points. Was this an example of advanced engineering or their chosen style? I wasn’t sure.
    The cockpit had very simple controls. A bar of metal shaped like a delta wing seemed to serve as both the throttle and the steering mechanism, depending on how you manipulated it. The system reminded me of a joystick. There didn’t seem to be an ignition or even a start button. Experimentally, I touched the power bar. The engine thrummed into life. I nodded; it had sensed my contact. My physiology must have been similar enough to a Gray Man’s to fool it. I gave the bar a tiny nudge forward, and the vehicle surged a few feet in response.
    “Anyone could drive this,” I said to Fiona. She stood outside in the sand, watching me with big eyes.
    “Are we going to steal this machine and ride to their base?” she asked. The next words she blurted out in a rush: “I want to kill more of them.”
    I glanced at her, trying not to appear disturbed. She stood there with dead Gray Men all around her feet. Old Red lay farther away, turned half to ice behind her. The smell of burnt alien flesh alone was cloying and difficult to take. But all Fiona could think of was her next kill. That knife she gripped and regripped in her hand had a hold over her mind I didn’t fully understand. Maybe only certain objects generated such emotions. I had several objects and didn’t feel any urge to kill.
    “I don’t think so,” I told her, climbing down out of the cockpit. “They’ll all come to this spot. We can’t be so obvious. I’m going to go back and talk to Gilling. Stay here and cover Abigail.”
    As I walked to the rip and stepped within its embrace, Abigail spoke to me. Her voice was just above a whisper. I could tell all her concentration was required to keep up our shielding.
    “Can’t we all go home?” she asked.
    Abigail was so peaceful compared to Fiona, the contrast was shocking. Her curly black locks hung around her neck. Her upraised hands were tipped with blood-red nails. She was as peaceful and calm as Fiona was bloodthirsty. She only wanted to go home to our existence, and I felt bad turning her down, but I didn’t want to give up yet. We’d proven we could fight with them and win on their turf. We were the aggressors for once. I wasn’t ready to run yet.
    “Just give me a few minutes more, Abigail. If you drop the shield, they will see the rip clearly and come right here. They will know everything then.”
    Abigail nodded slowly, sadly, accepting my instructions. Fiona had no difficulties with my instructions. She stood near Abigail and slashed at the alien truck. It was odd, seeing her cut the air and hearing scraping sounds coming from the metal of the vehicle that stood about fifty feet away. I wondered vaguely if slashing something metal could dull the edge of her knife—even though she wasn’t actually touching it.
    Feeling like a bastard, I stepped back home and left them in the hostile desert. A half dozen hands with tightly held objects rose up to confront me when I stepped into view. They lowered their objects when I stepped out of the blurring rip and they realized who I was.
    “Where are the rest?” Gilling asked. His voice sounded confident, almost disinterested, but I could tell he had been waiting nervously like the rest of them.
    “The Gray Men saw us before we could get the shielding up. A truck came out to investigate.”
    A dozen glittering eyes stared at me. No one spoke. I could see they thought I might be the last survivor. Rheinman, the mechanic with the ball-peen hammer, tapped his palm with the head of his object. His cheeks twitched. He probably figured I’d ditched the rest—or killed them.
    “We won the fight, and we captured their truck,” I said.
    A murmur went through the group. They were relieved and fearful all at once. I understood what they were thinking as they exchanged worried glances. They’d officially announced war upon the Gray Men now.
    “Where are the rest?” Gilling asked again.
    “Abigail is maintaining her shield. Fiona is protecting