Page 105 of The Only Way Out Is Up

But I imagine the du Freis can afford it. In any case, Star’s attack doesn’t penetrate; it leaves a short tear in the decorative coating but no real damage. Star, expecting this, rebounds into the air and soars away. One of Clatter’s limbs comes down after him, more collapsing toward Star, then swinging in anger; it looks like the hammer-shaped head will glance off his back leg, no harm done—

Wham, and a screech of tearing metal. Sparks fountain into the air.

What the fuck was that?

[Analysis: ow. Assessing damage.]

Something punched Star hard, sending him flipping end over end. He hits the ground and skids backward on all eight legs. No, not on all eight legs; one is nothing but a sparking stump. The spike at the bottom of Clatter’s hammer-headed limb shot out at incredible speed, tearing through Star’s leg and pinning it to the ground with such force it’s cracked the flagstones.

As I watch, the spike retracts. Something in the hammer part goes clonk. A metal canister the size of my forearm ejects, still spitting sparks, and I hear clicks as a new one locks into place.

[Assessment: leg #5 nonfunctional. Other damage minor.]

Purge #5. Stay out of range for now.

There’s a pop as Star’s damaged stump falls away from its socket; I hope we can collect the pieces later. Adapting smoothly to his seven-legged status, Star scrabbles backward, keeping plenty of distance between Clatter and himself. There’s only so much room in the arena, though, and the slow-moving runic is closing the gap between Star and the wall.

The thing it ejected, the little canister, is left behind. I glance at Couvere—still hanging back—and sprint over to it. The sparks have died down, leaving only some strange metal pieces and the broken clay of a few dead sigils. Orange sigils, I note, a MOVE and several STRONGs and, cracked right in half—

Holy shit.

[Clarify: please?] Star jumps backward, nearly to the wall.

There’s an EXPLODE in each head. I grab the spent canister and run back to the cover of a pile of boxes. It drives a piston down into the spike. That’s why the arms don’t need leverage, all the force comes from inside.

I don’t use EXPLODE much on Star, since it’s a one-shot weapon. But these ejectable canisters solve that problem, as long as you can afford plenty of them. The sheer amount of wealth represented by those dozen arms and the turtle-shell armor is staggering, enough to keep whole Heap families in comfort for a lifetime. I remember Lorrimer talking about getting wall-of-bits-ed, and now I have a sudden, visceral experience of what that’s like. This isn’t a good design, not interesting or elegant, but if you can just throw unlimited money at the problem—

[Acting: I’m out of room. Trying something.]

Careful—

Star abandons his retreat as his back legs brush the arena wall. He rushes forward again, feinting toward the same spot he hit earlier. At the last minute, he kicks off the ground and shoots upward. One of Clatter’s hammers has already started collapsing toward him and he meets it halfway, aiming a pair of his legs like scissors near the spindly limb’s base. They easily break through, and the ungainly construction topples away like a falling tree.

Yes! That could work, cutting those things down one by one—

Two additional limbs are already unfolding as Star dashes out of range. Sparks gout from their heads. One spike slams down directly in Star’s path. He pulls up short and dodges to the left, but the other spike is already descending and nearly catches him. Star tips sideways, balancing on three legs, and evades a strike that would have pinned him to the ground like a captured butterfly. Another few leaps take him out of range again, and Clatter reverses and starts trundling back toward him without even needing to turn around.

[Analysis: not entirely encouraging. Damage inflicted, but—]

Keep trying that and you’ll get skewered before it runs out of arms. I have another idea. I communicate the plan to Star, half in words and half in mental images.

[Dubious: I thought you didn’t want to tip our hand too early.]

I don’t see much choice. Can you do it? The timing will be tricky.

[Confidence: I can do it. Be ready.]

The same scenario repeats on the other side of the arena. Star retreats and Clatter advances, waiting for the moment when it can pin Star against the edge. I glance at Couvere, who looks satisfied; he seems to be a man with plenty of patience. On the judging platform, however, Alzimyth is watching the proceedings with a visible curl to his lip, one finger tap-tap-tapping on the arm of his chair. Clearly he doesn’t think highly of all this run-and-hide business.

That’s about the right spot, I send to Star. Go!

Star abruptly switches direction, catapulting himself into another dramatic lunge for Clatter’s shell. He strikes his target dead-on—more yellow sparks but no obvious damage—and pushes off again, this time not vaulting over the other runic but leaping back the way he came. Three of Clatter’s arms descend around him, one to block his way forward and one to either side. I hold my breath, but Star saw this coming and he skids to a halt precisely in the center of the descending triangle of spikes. They crash into the stone all around him, throwing up clouds of dust.

Star’s not unscathed, though. Another one of his legs stuck out a little too far and got badly mangled by the lead spike, momentarily pinning him in place.

“Purge #3!” I shout, for verisimilitude. No idea if anyone can hear me. The twisted limb blows out of its socket, sparks cascading around it as debris scatters. Without it, Star is free again, and he jumps away before more hammers can fall. He retreats again, and Clatter comes on in relentless pursuit.

I wait. Alzimyth heaves a sigh. Star is nearly backed against the wall once more.