The guards exchanged a few words, and then one of them detached to commence another slow amble along the familiar line. Somehow, just from the way he moved, Erskine could tell he was Terran. Erskine touched a button on his compad twice. Three answering flashes on the “channel” light told him the two Kronians waiting in that direction were ready. He signaled to Dru, who raised a hand in response, and Ida, who touched her nose. Erskine watched until the guard was almost at the point he had marked, then made a “go” motion in the air with his hand.
Ida emitted a cry and tumbled from the platform to a plank forming part of a walkway from a ladder a few feet below. The guard by the crane turned toward the sound, and simultaneously Erskine and Dru emerged from cover. It was only a matter of a few yards; a quick, silent rush was all it needed. . . .
But something—either Ida’s fall wasn’t convincing enough, or maybe the way her gaze was directed—made the guard look back. It was like one of those moments when a person is about to have a car accident and can see everything happening in slow motion, but finds themselves powerless to intervene; or a dream where running seems to be through jello and doesn’t consume any distance. The guard’s gun was coming up, and Erskine was still too far away. The plank walkway should have enabled Ida to arrive quickly too, but she had barely picked herself up. Seeing the situation, she hurled a wrench in desperation but it clanged harmlessly off part of the crane base as the guard fired. Erskine found himself reeling, folding out of control like a boxer whose legs have gone, then his head thudded into the ground as he fell heavily and drunkenly. He knew he had been hit in the stomach, but for the moment he felt nothing and was only aware in a detached kind of way of Dru staggering backward as the guard fired again. Another shot sounded in the direction the patrolling guard had gone. Erskine rolled over to look along the rear of the stores building and saw one of the Kronians kneeling, clutching his chest, the other standing a yard or two back with his hands raised, the guard covering him. Running footsteps were already approaching. The voice of the guard who was closer came, directed at Ida. “Drop everything you are carrying. Now come down from there, very slowly.”
Erskine let his head fall back in the mud. Yes, the whole thing was over. And well before the afternoon.
* * *
” . . . as soon as Shayle figures something out,” Keene told Sariena. “The idea is to get access to a channel up to the Varuna. Then, hopefully, we’ll find a way from there.”
Sariena went quiet, thinking over what he had said. “Valcroix and those others with him aren’t going to get here in the Eskimo,” she replied finally. “Which means they’ll have to transfer to something faster.”
“Another reason for taking over the Aztec,” Keene said.
Sariena looked uncertain. “So what does it do? Coast while the Eskimo catches up? Or would it be quicker if they went back to meet it?”
“I’m not sure. You’re the orbital specialist.”
“And you’re the propulsion engineer.”
They were both tired. Keene showed his hands. “Either way, the sooner for them, the better. So we need to do something fast. The more I think about it, the more it seems it has to be too late already.”
Sariena smiled thinly. “That doesn’t sound like you, Lan. But you’ll try anyway, right?”
“Damn right.”
After another pause, Sariena added, “Although, if it’s true, it means that Aztec won’t be getting here so soon. So Zeigler can’t be counting on it for reinforcements anytime soon. Why did he make his move when he did? It means he has to hold out that much longer. Why wouldn’t he have waited?” She raised her eyebrows. Keene could only shake his head. “Could he be expecting to strengthen himself in some other way?” Sariena asked.
“What other way is there?”
“Maybe there are more Pragmatists here than have shown themselves yet.”