Rising Sun by David Macinnis Gill

and climb onto the roof of a noodle house. We climb up a ladder. Out onto a platform. More ladders. Then a swinging bridge that leads to the rings around the tower.
    I scan the fence using omnoculars. “See a break anywhere?”
    “None,” she says. “But I do have a plan.” She points to a wire that runs from the tower over the electrified fence a few hundred meters away. The end of the wire is tied in to a junction box. “See what the wobblies are doing?”
    “Crafty,” I say. “They’re using the juice from the fence to run current. Maybe we can use their hack to short out the fence.”
    Vienne shakes her head. “That’s not what I had I mind.” She hunts around on the tower rings until she finds a scrap piece of cloth. Then throws it over the wire and kips her feet. “Last one to the ground’s a big chicken!”
    “Wait!” I call.
    But off she goes, rappelling down the wire. She swings her feet up as she reaches the concertina wire and, with a flip, lands on the opposite side of fence.
    “She’s insane,” I say. “Beautiful and deadly but completely off her nut.”
    Vienne gives me a wave, motioning for me to follow. I glance at the ground below and then, with my head spinning with vertigo, look back up at the flimsy wire.
    A flimsy, live wire. In the rain.
    I shake my head.
    Vienne motions again.
    I shake my head.
    She mimics a chicken flapping its arms.
    I nod in agreement. “Call me chicken all you want, I’m not rappelling down a live wire.”
    “Please define the term ‘chicken,’” Mimi says, “in the context are you are using it.”
    “Chicken is slang for coward,” I explain. “I’m surprised you didn’t have that in your data banks.”
    “I do now.”
    Lucky me. I point to the junction box and motion for Vienne to disable it.
    She gives me the roger hand signal, and I look for the best way down from the tower. With the juice off, we’ll be able cut through the chain link. If there’s time.
    I spot Aziz walking the fence.
    Behind him, wielding a machete and an RPG, is a wobblie with juggish ears and a unibrow.
    “Krill?” I say. “I thought Vienne shot him.”
    “She did,” Mimi says.
    “No, I thought she killed him.”
    “She did not.”
    “Thank you for stating the obvious.”
    “You are welcome.”
    “I was being sarcastic, Mimi.”
    “I realize that. I chose to overlook it.”
    But there’s no ignoring the RPG in Krill’s hands as he stalks closer to Aziz, who is blissfully unaware of the đibui ’s movements, even though he’s pausing to do the status checks. Not that Aziz is making mistakes. Everything he’s doing is by the book. That’s the problem. In urban combat, there is no book because your enemy has no rules.
    “ Jumalauti! ” I say.
    “I believe the correct phrase is ‘ jumalauta ,’” Mimi says. “I am now capable of correcting your profanity in seven different languages.”
    “Oh, kuso .”
    “Your usage and pronunciation were correct.”
    Aziz is still testing the fence. Looking for a weak spot. Krill on his tail. Getting closer. Just a few meters away. Still blocked by scrap-heap piles.
    A few more seconds, and Aziz will be a dead man. The crew will have no chief.
    Can’t let that happen.
    I grab the power line, and electricity shoots through my hands. “C-can’t believe I’m d-doing t-this!”
    “Let go of the wire!” Mimi barks. “The voltage will overwhelm the nanobots!”
    “F-fix!” I stammer, and swing my legs over, launching myself into space. “Yahhhhhhh!”
    “Let go!” Mimi yells.
    But I can’t. My hands are locked on the wire, power shooting through me, my back arching as my muscles all seize up. I jet toward the ground like a glowing human statue, the ground rising up to meet me. This is the end, I think as my jaws clench tight against my own scream, cutting it off.
    “Let go!” Mimi screams. “Now!”
    My fingers twitch, and even though I don’t will it, they open, and I can only watch as they both open,