Petrel gave the two Eagle Knights – who were staring at her with alarm – a quick smile. "The boy may believe he is of no use to anyone, but I do not agree. The moktar, in particular, will gain heart from his capture." She paused, thinking. Voices whispered to her from the air. "I have an idea where he might be…"
"Mi'lady…" Dawd stepped forward, extending a hand in warning. "You're in no condition to venture out into these streets – can't you hear the guns?"
Greta bound back her hair, head cocked to one side as if listening. There was a tumult of sound on the air – a hoarse droning sound filling the sky, the crash of distant bombs, the crack of rifles, screams, wailing alarms, the crackle and snap of burning buildings. She breathed in, tasting air stiff with smoke and fumes and the cloying, sweet smell of burning methanol. The whisper of her earbug was very faint, the voices of faeries and sprites darting among the hanging limbs of ancient trees.
"I've heard worse," she said, tying back the sleeves of her mantle and making sure her skirts were untangled. The absence of the antique Webley brought a keen, heartfelt pain. Poor James gave that to me…"Quickly now, if you value the oath you swore to the boy's father."
Without waiting for their response, Petrel limped across the rubble-strewn platform, heading for an arched doorway leading out into the street. Colmuir glanced at the two civilians who'd dragged him from the wreckage of the baggage car, cursed to himself and then ran after the woman. Dawd paused a moment as well, but only long enough to settle his gunrig and check the ammunition load in his spare Nambu. Then he too jogged out into the bright, humid morning.
The comp in his hand continued to flicker and whine, trying to pick up the prince's trail and failing, confused by the electronic maelstrom raging invisibly over the city.
"I don't feel so good," Parker said faintly. The pilot's face was chalk-pale and his lips were tinged with blue. Magdalena made a rumbling sound in the back of her throat, the soft pads of her fingers delicately probing the massive welting along his hip and knee. She considered his medband, which was two-thirds crimson and guessed the kit had shattered some joints.
"You're looking poorly," she allowed, searching quickly among the debris scattered around them for lengths of wood. The remains of a bench provided her with the rudiments for a splint. Maggie extended her claws, scored two of the sections lengthwise with a slash and then broke them apart by main strength. "Fur matted, can't clean yourself, nose cold as freezer-ice…"
Parker tried to smile, but failed to muster the strength. "Better…shut me down, Mags. Don't suppose…there's a medibot anywhere near…"
The Hesht shook her head, producing a roll of stickytape from her sole surviving duffel bag. The others were lost – along with thousands of quills' worth of comps, surveillance equipment and camping gear – in the wreck of the train. Working as swiftly as possible, she laid one section of wood along the human's side, then the other inside his leg. The tape drew tight, making Parker gasp. Magdalena showed him her teeth. "No stasis bag for you, my fine kit. No sharp-smelling, shiny clean medical bay. Only an old mother cat and a medband made of bark keeping you from the Peerless Hunter!"
"Oh…" Parker twitched painfully as she adjusted his shoulder. "Better get me…a fresh band, Mags. Something…sharp."
"All out." Magdalena fitted slats of wood around his shattered arm and went to find a board to immobilize his chest. "You'll have to share teat like everyone else."
Five minutes later, Parker was trying not to pass out as Magdalena hoisted him onto broad, ebon-furred shoulders, arm and leg taped tight to his torso. Her last duffel had been cut into a rough sling harness to carry him.
"You have to hold on," she growled, wondering if the monkey could handle the pain of being moved. "There's no medical attention here…we need to get you to a human hospital. Gretchen will be very displeased if you die. She will blame me."
"Ooooh…" Parker's head rolled limply to one side as his medband complained. "Don't wan' tha'…"
Time to go, the Hesht thought, licking her lips nervously. He's turning gray.
Setting her feet, Maggie adjusted her shoulders, took a step and then padded quietly out of the station house. The flames licking along the walls had reached up to brush the ceiling, and more glass was warping and cracking, adding yet more noise to the lamentations of the wounded and the dying hiss of steam.
On the steps leading down to the street, the Hesht raised her head and tasted the air. The sound of war continued to mutter and growl in the distance, leaving the avenue littered with debris – scattered bodies, abandoned runner-carts, drifts of blowing leaves and paper – and the air was tight with fumes and smoke. Far away, among the clouds, an air-breathing dragon boomed from horizon to horizon.
Looking both ways from the shadow of the door – just as her mother had taught her on the training fields of the clan-ark – Magdalena set off after the three other humans, following the clear scent of their blood drifting in the air. They had taken to the middle of the avenue, but Heshatun were drawn from warier stock and she kept to the mottled shadows under the shop awnings and broad-leafed trees lining the road.
Aboard the Cornuelle In the Upper Troposphere Above Continent Three
A familiar vibration against his back roused Hadeishi from a drugged, placid daze. He woke with his heart racing, overcome by a feeling of near-panic. There were voices on the air, but more immediate was an overriding urgency… The ship is waking, Mitsuharu, you must be at your station!
The metallic smell of urine and blood filled his nostrils. Hadeishi opened his eyes, took in a ceiling with two dead lighting panels and a dull emergency light and turned his head carefully to the side. The Chu-sa had woken up in Medical more than once and experience reminded him to move with deliberation. A handful of medical staff, haloed by portable lamps, tended an inordinate number of patients. The bay itself was in zero-g, which was one more sign of severe damage, and sticky webs of damage control spray kept loose garbage, debris and the wounded from drifting.
Hadeishi craned his neck, looking down his arm. His usual medband was gone, replaced by a cufflike unit attached to the medical bed. An amber indicator showed the medibot was running on battery power. I'm still in my suit – odd – ah, now I remember. The ship is damaged. I am damaged.
Everything popped back into focus. Hadeishi cleared his throat experimentally and found he could still move his tongue. And speak, I hope.
He clicked his teeth and felt the comm thread and earbug come alive against his cheek.
"Hadeishi to Engineering. Status?"
That was quick, Isoroku responded after a moment's delay. The engineer's voice was overlaid with a buzz of static. The Chu-sa heard the throttled growl of the main power plant and its attendant transformers, heat-exchangers and transmission apparatus in the background. The gui-ni said you'd be out for hours while you healed…
"The ship woke up," Hadeishi said, still feeling rather distant from the dark, suffocating room and his numbed body. "And so did I. Main power is on-line?"
Hai. Bottle's up, control systems are clean. We're about to start bringing up navigational control and the reaction drives. Should be able to make orbital correction in about…forty minutes.
"Do we have communications outside the ship?"