patter of rain in the puddles.
Downers babbled and chattered and scurried up behind him. He tried to gain his
feet, meaning to get down there, where people of his own had fallen, blasting
that hatchway.
Then the ship’s lights came back on, and the engines rumbled, and it began to
fire again, guns sweeping the slope.
Still alive. He raged at it, hardly felt the hands which crept about his arms
and sides and tried to carry him… Downers, bent doggedly on helping him,
chattering and pleading with him.
Then the ship shut down both the firing and the engines. Rested dormant, lights
winking, but with the hatch gaping dark and fire-blackened.
Downers pulled him away, threw arms about him as he tried to stand, and dragged
him when his leg went out from under him. A hisa’s thin hand patted his cheek.
“You all right, you all right,” a voice pleaded. Bounder’s. They crossed behind
the hill, hisa gathering up more of the dead and wounded, and suddenly human
figures were coming toward them out of the woods, humans and hisa together.
“Emilio!” he heard, Miliko’s voice. Others were running toward him behind her…
Men and women left behind… he struggled for a few running steps and reached her,
hugged her insanely, with the taste of despair in his mouth.
“Ito,” she said, “Ernst—they got them. The blast jammed their hatch.”
“They’ll get us,” he said. “They’ll call down the bigger stuff.”
“No. Got a com station in the bush; one message… one fast message to base two
com unit at the gathering… it’ll get them out of there. We got them.”
He let go, because he could, began to fade—looked back toward the ship,
invisible behind the hill; there was another flare of engines, ominous thunder,
a desperate ship trying only to save itself.
“Hurry,” she said, trying to help him walk. He came, hisa hovering all about
them. “Hurry,” the hisa kept saying, over and over again, surrounding all of
them, some walking, others silent, carried by the hisa, over the face of the
hill and beyond, deep among the rain-dripping trees, up into the hills… they
kept moving until sense grayed and blackened and he sank down into wet bracken,
was hauled up again by a dozen strong hands and carried at the last almost
running. There was a hole in the hillside, a place among the rocks.
“Miliko,” he said, irrationally fearing the dark, close tunnel. They took him
into it, and let him down, and in a moment arms gathered him up again and held
him, rocking gently, Miliko’s voice whispering into his ear. “We’re all right,”
she kept saying. “The tunnels will hold us all… the deep winter burrows, deep in
all the hills… we’re all right.”
Chapter Four
« ^ »
i
Norway 0045 hrs. md.; 1245 hrs. a.
They were pulling back. Australia was veering off, Pacific and Atlantic gone off
the track. Signy listened to the sigh of relief which ran the bridge as the
channels gave good news instead of the disaster which had been heeling them.
“Look sharp,” she snapped. “Damage control, get to it.” The bridge wavered in
her vision. Alcohol, perhaps, though she doubted it. They had gone through
maneuvers enough in recent minutes to sober her.
Norway was intact for the most part. Graff was still nominally at helm, but he
had let it go to alterday’s Terschad for a moment, and spared a look at
telemetry, his face bathed in sweat and set in a long-held grimace of
concentration. G went off combat synch and weight became definite, comfortingly
stable.
Signy stood up, listening to the reports of longscan, testing her reflexes.
Stood steadily enough. Looked about her. Eyes glanced furtively in her
direction, darted back to business. She cleared her throat and punched in
general address. “This is Mallory. Looks like Australia has decided to cash it
in too for the moment. They’ll all be pulling back to base and giving Mazian an
assist. They’ll be taking Pell apart. That was the plan. They’ll be headed for
Sol Station and Earth; and that was the plan. They’ll carry the war there. But
without me. That’s the way it is. You’ve got your choice. You’ve got a choice.