The cruiser’s blowers whined shrilly and blasted jets of air straight downward. As the shrieking grew higher in pitch, the lumbering behemoth edged higher off the ground, while the air jets scoured dust and rocks from beneath it. Finally the turbos’ whining rose past the range audible to the human ear; the cruiser was now a good foot above the ground. She slid forward slowly, hatches open and a knot of footsoldiers riding topside behind the turret.
When they reached the end of the valley floor and rumbled past the last perimeter entrenchment, Vorgens popped out of the turret hatch and told the footmen:
“All right, now—get off and spread out. Keep low and move fast. Stay within sight of the cruiser. Report the slightest sign of movement. Remember, they’ve been watching us from up in the hills, so we’re bound to be attacked.”
He dropped back into the bowels of the cruiser and strapped himself into a slightly too-big bucket seat, next to Mclntyre, Vorgens turned on the omnidirectional video scanner and donned the communications headset.
Soon they were climbing the first low hills, and the countryside was changing from the bare rocldness of the valley to wide patches of dark grass and ever-thickening bush.
“These cruisers ain’t much help in this terrain,” Mcintyre muttered.
“What’s that?” Vorgens asked.
“Cruisers can’t take a very steep grade, sir. In climbing terrain like this, we’ve gotta stick to the gentlest slopes. That means the Komani can plot our course before we can. They know just where we’ve gotta go.”