“Flames are catching up with us!” yelled Nym.
Chip risked a glance backwards, nearly sending the tractor into the wall. “Stop the alcohol!” he shouted. “If those flames catch up with the trailer, it’ll blow us to shit!”
Ginny resolutely stuck both feet into the cargo net again, and lowered herself over. Facing out, back the way they’d come. Then she let go with her first hand, and then the second. The ends of her long hair swept through the dust as she cupped both hands under the tap. She knew that all she had to do was to break that alcohol line, but hanging by her heels, seeing the flames leap closer, was terrifying. The trailer bounced and the libation in her cupped hands spilled. A small stick-up knob of Magh’ adobe plucked violently at her hair. Her legs and feet screamed with the effort.
And then a huge force plucked her upright. Hauled her onto the top of the trailer. All he’d been able to reach was the front of her blouse, which would never be the same again.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Chip shouted into her face. “You could have killed yourself! You silly little idiot!” Then he dived forward to help Pistol, who was attempting to restrain Nym’s driving efforts.
Well! Apparently he did care . . .
Bronstein flung herself into flight. “Come on, Siobhan. Let us see if we can get ahead of these speeding lunatics. See what joys lie in store for us.”
Ginny peered at the GPS figures. Less than a half a mile to go! She looked at her spiky-haired, stubble-faced love, his face dirty and sweat streaked, his gaze intent on the tunnel-road.
He wasn’t very tall, she had to admit, and his torn-sleeved shirt showed arms that were more sinew and scar tissue than beautifully sculpted muscle. Well, he might not be the cover picture from her favorite romance. Actually the thought of him in elegant Regency knee-smalls and a swallow-tailed coat . . . was enough to provide her with a welcome snort of laughter. She’d never again be able to imagine a romantic figure in quite the same way.
He glanced at her and she smiled. And he smiled back.
* * *
She was looking at him. He could feel it, and it made him feel guilty. He had had no call to shout at her like that. It had just come out. She really was a good kid for a Shareholder. In fact it was hard to believe that she was a Shareholder. More like a mixture between a crazy bat, and a pragmatic rat. With twice her share of plain old-fashioned guts. Pretty too. Yeah, okay. A bit skinny. And she’d torn a bit much off that blouse and skirt for a man’s imagination. But she had the kind of face that grew on you . . . even those glasses. That cascade of thick dusty gold hair tied up with that ridiculous bandana. Shit. Just when you got to like someone—they were bound to die. Hell, they were all bound to die, and damn soon too. The barriers between Vat and Shareholder seemed very irrelevant right now. In the midst of this lot, the boundaries between bat, rats and humans seemed virtually imaginary. The only thing he couldn’t identify with was that Korozhet. At least the alien had kept its mouth shut, although someone had said the damn things spoke through their asses anyway. Its voice wasn’t very loud. Maybe it couldn’t make itself heard above the tractor.
He looked at Ginny. And she smiled at him, that trusting, generous smile of hers. He found that his answering smile came very easily. He also found himself bitterly regretting some missed opportunities . . .
“Why don’t you come and stand over here?” he said, looking at her uncomfortable position.
“I need something to hold onto.”
“You could hold onto me.”
The Korozhet addressed her repeatedly in the next little while and she didn’t even notice. Chip, of course, had no trouble ignoring its demands to be set down.
* * *
Idylls never last.
Siobhan called from ahead. “Bronstein says next left. Maggots are coming.”