“You’re the man who’s telling it. Approach vector set. LZ select confirmed. Descent program activated. We’re going on it.”
“Thirty seconds. Release latches. Be ready to go.” A short pause, then, “Somebody must be sick. That’s an ambulance down there.”
The plateau top flattened ahead of them, then rose above. The shelf grew and unfolded below. And then, suddenly, from the c-com op again, “Break off! Evade! Evade! We’re taking fire! Bursts ahead, starboard!”
Mullen clutched at the seatback in front of him and his head swam as the pilot flipped to manual and sent the Airchief into a stomach-wrenching, climbing turn. Balls of flaring orange swept by outside. Confusion broke out in the rear as unrestrained bodies that had been poised ready to move fell and collided to the accompaniment of shouted curses. A pattern of crimson blotches appeared in the mid-ground between the veering craft and the rocky shelf—detonated short as warning shots. Even so, several scattered cracks sounded of fragments striking the structure.
“What kind of schoolteachers are those?” the pilot snarled over his shoulder. “I thought you said this was gonna be a picnic. The operation’s off. We don’t have anything to take on that kind of artillery.”
Mullen found that his mouth had gone dry. It had been a long time since he’d been in any kind of firing line. “That little creep! Somebody else bought him! We were set up! He’ll fry when I get back! Nobody crosses me and walks away! Okay, let’s go home.”
* * *
Kieran and the others had followed what they could of the action from the little that Gottfried, still perched on the slopes above the shelf, had been able to capture through his lenses. They were as unable to make sense of it as anybody at the Troy site, as the commotion coming in over the monitoring taps showed. To cap it all, in the midst of frantic calls from Banks to Asgard asking for instructions, Farquist joined in, making it shrilly clear that he and his medics hadn’t come here to get involved in a private war and demanding to know what was going on—as if anyone there could tell them.
Kieran decided that he had created about as much mischief here as he was likely to. It was time to carry the good fight to other quarters. He was fascinated by Pierre’s self-assembling nano-synthesizers, and was certain that therein lay the means to make Gilder finally crack. But to do it he needed to get to Gilder directly, and the way to do that was not here. But possibly the wedding group assembling in Lowell might offer opportunities. Accordingly, he called Solomon Leppo and told him to get out to Tharsis in any kind of flyer he could lay his hands on and take Kieran back right away.
Leppo arrived with a partner called Casey, sooner than Kieran had dared hope, in a sleek flymobile “special” they had modified themselves. Kieran left with them for Lowell just as Cobert’s snatch squad was taking off from Troy to come and get him. He told Hamil and Walter that he’d just have to leave them to deal with Banks and Cobert for the time being, and come up with something to account for his disappearance. But then again, a coherent explanation for the antics of an eccentric like Keziah Turle was hardly something that could reasonably be demanded. Like Jesus Christ, the twentieth century’s General MacArthur, and the Schwarzenegger Terminator of the old movies, he assured them that he would be back.
17
It was good to be back. Lowell felt urban and cosmopolitan, strange as that sounded for what was itself just a microscopic part of humanity gathered under a collection of domes and dugouts surrounded by desert. But it was a big step up from being confined in vehicles, portable cabins, and surface suits.
Since there was a chance that June’s place might be watched, Kieran called to let her know he was in town and then checked in at the Oasis—which was, after all, where all the action was happening that he hoped to use to his advantage. After treating himself to some clean clothes from the lobby-level shops and consigning his grubby desert wear to the hotel laundry, he showered, shaved, and relaxed for half an hour with a touch of Vivaldi and a Bushmills Black Bush straight. Then, feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, jaunty, and invigorated, he went down to the bar to reconnoiter the situation and consider his options from here. As luck would have it, Patti was working the shift. Her face lit up as she recognized him.