The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

At Oronyx Experimental, he gets his chance.

WHILE THE OTHERS scrambled frantically at the barrier of the chain-link fence, Fixit kept his head. He ran to the Lightning S-150 AV and keyed in the security code on the touch pad. He had watched Logan Tom set the code earlier and paid close attention to the sequence of numbers. His memory did not betray him, and the locks released. He slipped inside, flicked on the switches that would power up the engine, engaged the shift, and shot forward. The vibration of the vehicle throbbed through him like a shot of adrenaline, and he was grinning broadly as he wheeled toward the opening in the fence.

He knew what he had to do.

He caught a glimpse of Chalk’s pale face, shocked beyond words, as he tore across the flats from the highway toward the fence. The Lightning hit a deep rut and nearly tore the steering wheel out of his hands as he bounced wildly to one side. For just an instant it occurred to him that this was a huge mistake, that he wasn’t up to it, and then he was through the gap and rocketing toward the battle. Logan Tom was down, sprawled on the earth, his staff a dozen feet away as the machines closed on him. Sparrow and Panther had turned back and were firing the heavy Parkhan Sprays into their attackers, desperately trying to keep them at bay. But it was a futile effort; the machines were too well protected.

Fixit glanced down at the array of weapons buttons on the dash, just below the loran’s bright lock-on screen, sorted through his memories of what they did, and chose two of four with red arrow symbols. He punched them in as he swung out and away from his friends to get clear of them, and a pair of dart missiles launched from the vehicle and into one of the machines, exploding with a blinding light and sending out a shock wave that rocked the AV

and knocked Panther and Sparrow sprawling. Two of the machines disappeared. It caused the others to turn toward him, and he punched the second set of buttons.

But this time nothing happened. Two were all that were loaded, he guessed, wishing he had asked a few more questions when he’d had the chance.

His grin tightened as the AV rocked and lurched through laser fire. Oh, well. Too late now.

He roared toward the machines, their lasers stabbing the concrete all around him and then the Lightning itself. He held the machine steady, his arms aching with the effort, and increased speed. He was on top of them in seconds, sideswiping the closest, crumpling several of its metal legs and crippling it. Then he was past them and tearing toward the hangars from which they had emerged. Not where he wanted to go. Were there more? He wheeled back, the AV skidding, tires shrieking. For just an instant, he thought he was going to lose control completely. Logan Tom was on his feet again, sprinting for his staff. He snatched it up and wheeled back in a single fluid motion.

Blue fire exploded from the tip and rocked another of the machines. He was yelling at Panther and Sparrow.

Fixit charged the one that remained, throwing the levers to what he believed to be the heavy BRom charges, shells that could punch through concrete. But torch wire uncoiled instead, ripping free from the containing spools and wrapping the last attacker in yards of corrosive thread that burned the metal skin with white-hot intensity. In seconds the wire had eaten through, and the machine was lurching like a drunken animal.

Fixit reached Logan Tom and skidded to a halt. The Knight of the Word leapt for the passenger’s door and threw himself into the machine.

“Go!” he snapped, hands flying over the weapons panel. Fixit did as he was told, and the AV screeched toward the fence. Panther and Sparrow had already reached the barrier and were charging through, the other Ghosts crowding around in celebration. Fixit took the Lightning through right after them and jammed on the brakes at the highway’s edge. He was breathing so hard that for a moment he just sat there, his hands on the wheel, his body shaking, his eyes staring straight ahead.

“You can let go now,” Logan Tom told him, and reached over to help pry his fingers loose. The dark eyes met his own. “That was good work, Fixit.”

Fixit nodded, and then grinned. “Thanks.”

Logan nodded. “You might want to look in the backseat now.”

When he did so, he found himself staring at the prone figure of the Weatherman, still strapped to his stretcher. Fixit took a deep breath. He hadn’t even noticed that the old man was there.

The Weatherman’s eyes were wide and staring. It didn’t look as if he was breathing.

“Get out of the vehicle and join the others,” Logan ordered, his voice strangely calm. “Go on, before they come over here. Hurry!”