Dick Keaton was leading the pack of desperadoes on the floor of the high bay, running hard. He was less than four metres from an aghast Joshua when Baranovich’s fire bolt hit the data security expert clean between his shoulder blades. It burst open in a spectacular cloud of dancing twisters that drained away into the drizzle. And Dick Keaton was completely unharmed.
“Close one,” he jeered happily. His arms wrapped around Joshua, momentum carrying the pair of them over the edge of the central basin just as the mutilated framework collapsed. Fractured girders were tossed out of the crumpling wreckage in all directions, clanging loudly as they hit the floor. A huge split tore up the wall like a lightning bolt in reverse. It was a hundred and seventy metres high when it finally stopped. The framework structure settled into an uneasy silence.
The black water in the ironberg basin was freezing. Joshua yelled out as it closed around him, seeing bubbles bumble past his face. The cold shock was intense enough to make his heart jump—frightening him badly. Salt water rushed into his open mouth. And—Jesus, thank you —his neural nanonics came back on-line.
Nerve impulse overrides squeezed his throat muscles tight, preventing any water flooding his lungs. Analysis of his spinning inner ears revealed his exact orientation. His thrashing became purposeful, shunting him straight up.
He broke surface to draw down a huge desperate gulp of air. People in flexible armour suits were flying through the air above him; human lemmings landing in the basin with a tremendous splash. He saw Mzu, her small figure unmistakable in its prim business suit.
Keaton shook his head dog-fashion, blowing his cheeks out. “Hell, it’s cold.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Joshua demanded. “They hit you dead on, and it never even blistered you.”
“Right question, sir, but unfortunately the wrong pronoun. As I once said to Oscar Wilde. Stumped him completely; he wasn’t quite as hot on the riposte as legend says.”
All Joshua could do was cough. The cold was crippling. His neural nanonics were battling hard to prevent his muscles from cramping. And they were going to lose.
White fire smashed against the basin rim five metres above him. Radiant dribbles of magma ran down the basin wall.
“What in God’s name did you bring us here for?” Monica shouted.
“I didn’t fucking bring you!”
Her hand grabbed the front of his ship-suit. “How do we get out?”
“Jesus, I don’t know.”
She let go, her arm shaking badly. Another strike of white fire lashed above them. The rim was outlined like a dawn horizon from orbit.
“They can’t hit us here,” Samuel said, his long face was dreadfully strained.
“God, so what,” Monica answered. “They’ve only got to walk over here and we’ll be dead.”
“We won’t last that long. Hypothermia will get us before then.”
Monica glared at Joshua. “Can anyone see some steps?”
“Dick,” Joshua said. “Are your neural nanonics working?”
“Yes.”
“Access the shed’s management computer. Find us a way out. Now!”
This is a last-ditch madness, I know,samuel called to the Hoya.But is there anything you can do?
Nothing. I am so sorry. You’re too far away, we cannot provide fire support.
We’re retreating,niveu told him, his tone full of savage regret.It’s this diabolical antimatter. We’ve fired every combat wasp in defence, and they’re still coming through. The nations have gone insane, every SD platform went offensive. Ferrea was damaged by a gamma ray pulser, and Sinensis had to swallow out to avoid a direct impact. There’s only the two of us left now. We can’t last much longer. Do you wish to transfer? We can delay a few seconds more.
No. Go, warn the Consensus.
But your situation—
Doesn’t matter. Go!
“Half the shed’s processors are glitched,” Dick Keaton said. “The rest are in standby mode. It’s been mothballed.”
“What?” Joshua had to shout to make his mouth work. His kicks to tread water were difficult now.
“Mothballed. That’s why there’s no ironberg in here. The small canal leaks. They drained it for repairs.”
“Drained it? Let me have the file.”
Keaton datavised it over, and Joshua assigned it to a memory cell. Analysis programs went primary, tearing into the information. What he wanted was a way to drain the basin, or at the very least a ladder. Which wasn’t quite what he found when the schematics display rose into his mind. “Ione!” he shouted. “Ione.” His voice was pathetically weak. He worked his elbows, swivelling around to face Samuel. “Call her.”
“Who?” the bewildered Edenist asked.
“Ione Saldana, the Lord of Ruin. Call her with affinity.”
“But—”
“Do it or we’re going to die in here.”
The gee force on Lady Macbeth ’s bridge began to abate, sliding down from a tyrannical eight to an unpleasant three.
He certainly flies the same way as Joshua, Sarha thought. The few seconds she’d spared from fire control to monitor their vector had shown her a starship which was keeping pretty close to the course which the navigation program had produced. Not bad for a daydreamer novice.
“The Urschel is accelerating,” Beaulieu said. “Seven gees, they’re going for altitude. Must be a jump.”
“Good,” Sarha said firmly. “That means no more of those bloody antimatter combat wasps.”
All three of them had cheered when the Pinzola was struck by a fusion blast. The resulting explosion as all the frigate’s antimatter confinement chambers were destroyed had blown half of Lady Mac ’s sensors, and Pinzola had been eleven thousand kilometres away, almost below the horizon.
The orbital conflict had been played out hard and fast over the last eleven minutes. Several starships had been hit, but over fifteen had risen to a jump altitude and escaped. There were no more SD platforms left in low orbit, although plenty of combat wasps were still prowling. But they were all a long way from Lady Mac . That was Sarha’s prime concern. As Beaulieu had said, the old girl could cope with Nyvan’s geriatric weapons. They had a couple of new scars on the hull from kinetic debris, and three radioactive hot spots from pulser shots. But the worst of it was over now.
“Gravitonic distortion,” Beaulieu said. “Another voidhawk has left.”
“Sensible ship,” Sarha muttered. “Liol, how long until we’re over Joshua’s horizon?”
“Ninety seconds—mark.”
She datavised an order into the starship’s communications system. The main dish slid out of its recess and swung around, pointing at the horizon ahead.
Ione eased herself around the metal pillar to take another look into the shed’s high bay. The possessed up on the walkway were squirting a continual stream of white fire at the rim of the basin. That must mean Joshua and the others were still alive.
Now appeared to be the optimum time to enter the fray. She had hung back ever since she’d sprinted into the shed ahead of the agency operatives. This whole situation was so fluid, the outcome could well be decided by who had the greatest tactical reserve. She wasn’t quite sure where that decision had come from; some tactics file her ‘original’ self and Tranquillity had loaded into the serjeant, or internal logic. How much inventiveness she owned in this aspect she wasn’t sure of. But wherever it had come from, it had been proved right.