have to remain at her post until morning."
"Horn? No more than three hours, Captain, if that."
The alley ended at a wider steet. Mill Street, Maytera Mint told
herself, seeing the forlorn sign of a dark coffee shop called the Mill.
Mill Street was where you could buy odd lengths of serge and tweed cheaply.
"Here we are out of sight, though not hidden from sentries on the
wall. Look." He pointed again. "Do you recognize it, My General?"
"I recognize the wall of the Alambrera, certainly. And I can see a
floater. Is it yours? No, it can't be, or they'd be shooting at it, and
the turret's missing."
"It is one of those you destroyed, My General. But it is mine now.
I have two men in it." He halted. "Here I leave you for perhaps three
minutes. It is too dangerous for us to proceed, but I must see that all
is well with them."
She let him trot away, waiting until he had almost reached the
disabled floater before she began to run herself, running as she had
so often pictured herself running in games with the children at the
palaestra, her skirt hiked to her knees and her feet flying, the fear of
impropriety gone who could say where.
He jumped, caught the edge of the hole where the turret had
been, pulled himself up and rolled over, vanishing into the disabled
floater. Seeing him, she felt less confident that she could do it too.
Fortunately she did not have to; when she was still half a dozen
strides away, a door opened in its side. "I did not think you would
remain behind, My General," the captain told her, "though I dared
hope. You must not risk yourself in this fashion."
She nodded, too breathless to speak, and ducked into the floater.
It was cramped yet strangely roofless, the crouching Guardsmen
clearly ill at ease, trained to snap to attention but compressed by
circumstance. "Sit down," she ordered them, "all of you. We can't
stand on formality in here."
That word _stand_ had been unwisely chosen, she reflected. They
sat anyway, with muttered thanks.
"This buzz gun, you see, My General," the captain patted it, "once
it belonged to the commander of this floater. He missed you, so it is
yours."
She knew nothing about buzz guns and was curious despite her
fatigue. "Does it still operate? And do you have," at a loss, she
waved a vague hand, "whatever it shoots?"
"Cartridges, My General. Yes, there are enough. It was the fuel
that exploded in this floater, you see. They are not like soldiers,
these floaters. They are like taluses and must have fish oil or
palm-nut oil for their engines. Fish oil is not so nice, but we employ
it because it is less costly. This floater carried sufficient ammunition
for both guns, and there is sufficient still."
"I want to sit there." She was looking at the officer's seat. "May I?"
"Certainly, My General." The captain scrambled out of her way.
The seat was astonishingly comfortable, deeper and softer than
her bed in the cenoby, although its scorched upholstery smelled of
smoke. Not astonishing, Maytera Mint told herself, not really. To
be expected, because it had been an officer's seat, and the Ayuntamiento
treated officers well, knowing that its power rested on
them; that was something to keep in mind, one more thing she must
not forget.
"Do not touch the trigger, My General. The safety catch is
disengaged." The captain reached over her shoulder to push a small
lever. "Now it is engaged. The gun will not fire."
"This spider web thing." She touched it instead. "Is it what you call
the sight?"
"Yes, the rear sight, My General. The little post you see at the end
of the barrel, that is the front sight. The gunner aligns the two, so
that he sees the top of the post in one or another of the small rectangles."
"I see."
"Higher rectangles, My General, if the target is distant. To left or
right if there is a strong wind, or because the gun favors one side or
another."
She leaned back in the seat and allowed herself, for no more than
a second or two, to close her eyes. The captain was saying
something about night vision, short bursts hitting more than long
ones, about fields of fire.
Fire was eating up somebody's home while he talked, and Lime
(if Teasel had found her quickly and she hadn't been far) was
looking for her right now, going from sentry post to post to post to
post. Looking for her and asking people at each post whether they
had seen her, whether they knew where the next one was and
whether they would take her there because of the fires, because
Bison had known, had rightly known that the fires must be put out
but had been afraid to say it because he had known his people
couldn't do it, could not, men and women who had fought so long
and hard already all day, fight fires tonight and fight again tomorrow.
Bison who made her feel so strong and competent, whose thick
and curling black beard was longer than her hair. Maytera Mockorange
had warned her about going without her coif, which was not
just against the rule but stimulating to a great many men who were
aroused by the sight of women's hair, particularly if long. She had
lost her coif somewhere, had gone without it though her hair was
short, though it had been cropped short on the first day, all of it.
She fled Maytera Mockorange's anger down dark cold halls full of
sudden turnings until she found Auk, who reminded her that she
was to bring him the gods.
"I am Colonel Oosik, Calde," Silk's visitor informed him. He was a
big man, so tall and broad that Shell was hidden by his green-uniformed bulk.
"The officer who directs this brigade," Silk offered his hand. "In
command. Is that what you say? I'm Patera Silk."
"You have familiarized yourself with our organization." Oosik sat
down in the chair Shell had carried in earlier.
"Not really. Are those my clothes you have?"
"Yes." Oosik held them up, an untidy black bundle. "We will
speak of them presently, Calde. If you have made no study of our
organization charts, how is it you know my position?"
"I saw a poster." Silk paused, remembering. "I was going to the
lake with a woman named Chenille. The poster announced the
formation of a reserve brigade. It was signed by you, and it told
anyone who wanted to join it to apply to Third Brigade Headquarters.
Patera Shell was kind enough to look in on me a few minutes
ago, and he happened to mention that this was the Third Brigade.
After he had gone, I recalled your poster."
Shell said hurriedly, "The colonel was in the captain's room when
I got there, Patera. I told them I'd wait, but he made me come in
and asked what I wanted, so I told him."
"Thank you," Silk said. "Please return to your manteion at once,
Patera. You've done everything that you can do here tonight."
Trying to freight the words with significance, he added, "It's already
late. Very late."
"I thought, Patera--"
"Go," Oosik tugged his drooping mustache. "Your calde and I
have delicate matters to discuss. He understands that. So should you."
"I thought--"
"Go!" Oosik had scarcely raised his voice, yet the word was like
the crack of a whip. Shell hurried out.