the drastic driving. She was waiting for them as they unscrambled and
struck
74 fames Blish I
turf, carrying a hooded torch further hooded by her gauntlet, between two
fingers of which she allowed only a razor-edge of red light to shear at the
ground. Even in the dim monochrome, however, Jorn could see that she was
bleeding a black rill from one nostril.
For an instant thereafter he was totally confused. Then, against the
starlight, he picked out the colossal shaft of the Javelin, sweeping
motionlessly into the sky as though she would never end. Beside her, seem-
ingly clinging to one long dully-gleaming curve, was’ the delicate
scaffolding of the elevator, waiting to be extinguished like a flame at the
moment of take-off.
“That way,” the armorer growled, “that way.” She gestured along the sand
and salt with the razor-edge of the torch; but Jorn was already running. He
could hear others behind him. Far away, something-a bomb?-burst open with
a deep, heavy groan, and a minute temblor shook the desert under his
pounding, feet.
Then the aluminum deck of the lift car was ringing with the trampling of
boots as they charged aboard, shoving each other and grabbing for cables or
struts they could only guess were there. “…thirteen… fourteen … Now
by the Ghost … All right, get in, dammit, fifteen!” A whistle warbled
shrilly, almost in Jorn’s ear. The cab shuddered, and then, without any
pause, lurched skyward with a muscle-wrenching jolt.
After that, it did not geem to be going anywhere at all, despite the