Pieces thrown high enough did get through, bringing fire, destruction, and terror wherever they came to ground.
Jan, who was senior officer in Jellico’s absence, at last turned his back to the screen, unconsciously straightening his powerful shoulders as he did so. “There may be some new fires or an odd blast or two, but I’d say the worst’s over. Those people need all the help they can get and need it fast if a lot more aren’t going to die who should make it.
“Steen, Johan, Tang, stay with the Queen. Keep her ready to lift fast again if you must, though I doubt that’ll be necessary now, and hold the transceiver open. The rest of us’ll see if we can’t make ourselves useful.”
The Canuchean refugees had set up their camp, a small city in itself, a good half mile north of the starship’s emergency berth.
The spacers found little confusion there, and Dane Thorson had not been long within its bounds before he felt a fierce pride in these people.
He was seeing the spirit that had carried Terra’s offspring to the stars and won them their place there, on planet after planet where survival itself should have been inconceivable. The refugees had a headstart in that everything was well ordered thanks to Adroo Macgregory’s preparations, the training he had insisted upon giving his people, who, with their households, made up the vast majority of those currently assembled here. Those who had actually endured the blast itself had not yet begun to arrive in number.
There was grief and fear, but the Canucheans were responding with the determination to fight, not permitting themselves to sink into despair. The very young and those otherwise unable to give aid were gathered together in the keeping of appointed caregivers. The rest were already heading back to their stricken city and seaport.
The Stellar Patrol was visibly active. Rael’s warning had reached them in time. They, too, along with the city’s police and emergency services whom they, in turn, had alerted, had evacuated and gotten far enough out that they now had personnel and gear to send back in.
The Queen’s crew found Ursula Cohn at a makeshift command post seemingly surrounded by communications equipment and an ever-changing sea of grim-faced men and women, civilians and members of the various services alike, all either bringing reports to her or awaiting her orders.
Her strained eyes swept those around her. They stopped when they came to rest on Van Rycke and Thorson. “You people probably gave this town its life. You’ve certainly cut down on the amount of dying. Help’s already on the way from communities all up and down the coast. By nightfall, we’ll have mostly everything we’ll need in terms of supplies, equipment, and manpower.”
“By nightfall, a lot of people alive right now are going to be dead if they’re left where they are that long,” the CargoMaster stated flatly. “We’re here to lend a hand. The rest of the Spacers’ll probably be following pretty close on our heels.”
“We can use you.” Her expression clouded. “Any word from your Captain or Doctor Cofort?”
“No.”
“We’ve commandeered every functional flier and transport we can find. I’m giving you and your crew priority status behind my people and medical personnel. I can’t send you all back into the town on one vehicle, but every one of you’ll be at work within half an hour.”
“That’s all we want.”
“That transport over there is refueling for another trip in. You and Mr. Thorson can go with it.”
“We appreciate that, Colonel. Thanks.”
The two Free Traders hastened to claim their promised places, squeezing in so that as many others as possible would be able to board.
Dane kept his eyes lowered, not wanting to meet those of his chief. Van Rycke and Jellico went far back as a team, and they were a close one . . .
Suddenly, another thought pierced him. Poor Queex!
Only two people in all the ultrasystem had loved him, and he had lost them both in one black instant of destruction.
23
Miceal turned his flier perpendicular to its former course, threw it into hover, and flipped it onto its side so that its undercarriage faced the sea and the blow that was to come.
Even as the invisible fist of energy slammed into the machine, he leapt from it, yanking Cofort after him as he sprang.
The vehicle gave one jerk, as if it had truly been struck by a massive solid object, but the man was only dimly aware of that or of the way in which it was hurled against the building beside them. The flier had given them a fraction-second of shelter, and by launching themselves into motion, traveling with the blast wave instead of meeting it with their bodies in the full grip of inertia, they had won a measure of freedom of action. It would not last long, but if they moved fast and luck was with them, they might improve their chances of surviving reasonably intact—if his reasoning was in any way correct.
Jellico stumbled as he struck the pavement but managed to keep his feet. Shoving the woman before him, he dove into the nearest of the dark, refuse-littered entrances to the buildings’ subterranean levels and slammed her to the ground.
Rael gave a sharp cry as she landed hard against a broken stone block and went limp.
The Captain knew she was hurt but could “not pause to attend to her. They were too far in, and their time was almost gone despite his having moved almost instantaneously in response to the explosion’s assault. Desperately, he jerked her inert body out toward the light, positioning them directly beneath the arch, close to but not actually leaning against the seaward wall.
Only a superhuman effort of will enabled him to do that much. The world around them was chaos, an insane whirl of sound, flying, crushing debris, and fire. The Trader Captain felt as if he were being pummeled by a crew of Malkites specifically trained to reduce a human body to dismembered pulp.
He set himself to endure. They were nearly three long blocks from the site of the explosion, far enough to blunt some of its initial force, and their hastily claimed hiding place provided some shelter. This much they could survive if fortune did not go back on them.
The same could not be said for the structures around them, utterly exposed and inflexible as they were. With the precision of a planned mechanical demonstration, one after another collapsed under the seemingly irresistible impact of the blast wave striking them head-on.
Jellico’s stomach twisted in pure terror as a deep, crushing rumble told the fate of the building in whose entrance they cowered. Spirit of Space! Had they escaped being crisped or torn asunder or shredded by shrapnel and flying glass only to meet their ends in this rat’s hole?
He hunched over Rael, striving to shield her, to give her whatever protection his body could provide . . .
It had begun in an instant; it was over in seconds. The physical torment ended abruptly, and the infernal din subsided, lessened by distance. Even the shouts and cries of the injured survivors outside became less immediate.
There had been no move or sound from his companion since he had flung her into this place, and Miceal hastily turned to her. Immediately, all his fear returned, closing his throat, very nearly stopping his breath. She was lying perfectly still, her eyes closed, the thick lashes looking ominously dark against the uncommonly pale skin. Was she dead? Could such beauty remain in dying, or was it merely that death had not yet had time to lay its full mark on her?
He reached out to touch her neck in search of a pulse, but in that moment, Rael moaned softly, and her eyes opened.
It was comforting to find the Captain bending over her, alive and apparently unscathed.
The open, albeit rapidly fading, dread on his face scattered that nascent sense of well-being even as it formed.
She hastened to sit up but fell back again with a sharp cry of pain she was not quick enough to quell.
Jellico’s arm was under her shoulders in a moment.
“What’s wrong, Rael?” he demanded tensely. “How badly are you hit?” Just because he had managed to weather the blast wave’s hammering without taking significant harm was no guarantee his comrade had been so fortunate. Internal injuries could take a while to kill . . .
“This business of having one’s life saved has its disadvantages,” she grumbled. “I think I must be one prize-winning bruise. I’ll probably scare the starlight out of myself every time I go under the steam jets for a while. — Give me a pull up, will you? I should be mobile on my own after that.”
He complied. The woman winced as she gained her feet but then straightened. “I’ll live,” she assured him after taking several quick, experimental breaths.