THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

“I don’t know about that,” Detweiller said. “It looks like La Viro and some others are staying behind.”

That was true. But the group was walking back toward the temple.

Sam snorted and said, “They’re probably going to pray for us!”

“The Gascon’s in sight!” a watchman said.

There it was, the sun white upon her, her bow up as she poured on full power. And there, about five hundred feet almost directly above her, was the enemy helicopter. It was slewing around, tilting, so that its machine-gunners could fire downward.

“Byron, tell de Marbot to fire upon the chopper!” Sam said loudly, but at that moment the roar of discharging grailstones drowned his voice. When the thunder had subsided, he repeated the order.

“Enemy launch sighted!” the lookout said.

“What…?” Sam said. Now he too saw the red sharp-nosed bow and the curving armor-plated back and gun turrets of the original Post No Bills, stolen by King John. It was coming out of the towering gap.

A single rocket leaped from the opening in the face of the cliff. It flew straight, locked into the red-hot exhaust of the copter. It shone like a long line drawn against the black mountain with a flaming pencil. And then it and the chopper became a round ball of scarlet.

“There goes the last flying machine on this world,” Sam said.

The ever-cool Byron said, “Better wait, sir, until the helicopter has hit The River. Otherwise, the rockets’ll go for it. It’s the hottest object out there.”

The blazing main body and its satellites of metal pieces fell with what seemed an unnaturally slow pace. Then they struck the water and disappeared.

Byron spoke into the radio reserved for communication with de Marbot’s walkie-talkie. “Direct one rocket volley at the enemy vessel.”

“Jesus, sir!” the lookout said. “The Rex is coming out too!” Byron looked once, and he punched the alarm button. Sirens began whooping. The crowd that had been standing on the flight deck quickly disappeared.

Sam forced himself to speak calmly though his heart was racing. “Drop the grail-connector. Telescope the crane.”

Byron had already told the deckhands to cast off the lines. Detweiller sat waiting for his orders, his hands on the sticks. Byron looked out the port. “Lines all clear, sir!”

“Back her out, pilot,” Sam said.

Detweiller eased the sticks from neutral, pulling them toward him. The giant wheels began turning, and the vessel slid by the dock.

There was smoke all around the launch of the Rex. It was swept quickly away, revealing a blackened boat. It wasn’t moving, so perhaps it had been badly damaged. But three inches of duraluminum armored it. It could take a hell of a lot of punishment. Maybe the crew was just stunned by the explosions.

Now the Rex Grandissimus was halfway out of the darkened strait. It shone whitely, then became pale as the sun slid all the way behind the mountains. Twilight fell on the lake. The sky darkened. The mass of closely packed stars and gas sheets in the sky began to glow as the sunlight faded. By the time complete night came, the light above would be as bright as a full moon on a cloudless Earth.

The two launches were smudges of paleness. The Rex was a greater whiteness, like an albino whale seen just before it burst through the surface of the sea.

So, old John had decided to attack while the Not For Hire was tied up for recharging. He was not turning back. He’d take his punishment whether he liked it or not.

How had John known that the boat was tied up? Easy to explain. Somewhere up on the mountain on a ledge above the mouth of the strait was a lone observer with a transceiver. That would also explain the readiness of the Rex’s defenses against Petroski’s attack.

Sam spoke quietly to the pilot. Detweiller stopped the vessel, then turned her toward the Rex and applied full speed ahead. Byron said, “What should the Post No Bills do?”

Sam waited a moment to reply while he watched the arc traced by the rockets from the cave. But surprise was dead now. John knew that the missiles came from his now usurped cave. Before the rockets had gone halfway, flames spurted from the Rex, and trails of fire rose from it. The two packs met about fifty feet above the boat, and the roar rolled across The River. Smoke covered the vessel and was whisked away.