But Rebo felt different. Unlike the genetically engineered phibs, and in spite of the skin-suit they had given him to wear, the runner was cold. More than that he was tired. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the powered sled on which his body rested, Rebo knew he would never have made it that far. Now, as he and his commandos lay doggo among the swells, a team of scouts were probing the point where the Otero emptied into the bay. The mouth of the river was sure to be guarded, or so it seemed to Rebo, so he wasn’t especially surprised when a bright-eyed phib arrived to tell him as much. What little light there was emanated from the city beyond—and both men rose and fell with the swells.
“They have a net stretched across the Otero,” the youngster whispered. “And guards on both banks. It would be easy to kill the pigs though . . . just give the word.”
“No,” Rebo said emphatically. “No killing. . . . Not unless absolutely forced to do so. The bodies would be discovered—and the norms would rush to protect the ships.”
“Then what should we do?” the scout wanted to know.
“Stay in the water,” the runner instructed. “And cut two holes in the net. Keep them small, no larger than a sled, and mark them with radio beepers. Then, once everything is ready, let me know.”
The youngster said, “Yes, sir!” and sank below the surface. Then, as Rebo and the rest of his raiders continued to bob up and down, a light detached itself from those that lined the shore and gradually grew brighter. That was accompanied by the rhythmic splash-creak of oars and the low rumble of conversation. A noncom surfaced next to the runner, whispered, “Guard boat!” and hooked his thumb downward. The runner nodded, took the rubber mouthpiece between his teeth, and goosed the sled’s electric motor. It purred softly as short wings cut into the water, and the sled slid beneath the waves. Because he didn’t have gills, Rebo was forced to rely on oxygen stored within the cylindrical sled, and had already grown used to the metallic taste. The tiny instrument panel in front of him glowed green, and once the submersible was about fi?fteen feet under the surface, the runner leveled out. Other green lights could be seen to the right and left, but none was bright enough to be visible from above, as the guard boat passed over their heads.
Fifteen long minutes passed after that—a near eternity in which there was plenty of time to wonder whether the scouts had been discovered, the alarm had been given, and the entire plan revealed. Time, too, in which to wonder how much oxygen he had left and feel the relentless cold creep into his bones. But fi?nally, with the surety of someone who had practiced underwater navigation his entire life, the scout appeared out of the gloom. And, at the young man’s urging, Rebo directed the sled upward.
There was a feeling of relief as the city’s slightly blurred lights appeared, because even though it was dangerous on the surface, it felt good to be in his rightful element again. The scout had extremely white teeth, and they appeared to glow in the strange half-light. “We’re ready, sir!” he proclaimed. “Follow me.”
So Rebo followed, and it wasn’t long before the lights grew brighter, and were split by a canyon of darkness where the river entered the bay. The entire force slid beneath the waves at that point, formed two columns, and was subsequently guided upriver by a combination of low-frequency voice commands, homing beacons, and watchful scouts, one of whom was there to shepherd the runner through one of two holes in the net. The passage was anticlimactic in a way, since it had taken so much effort to prepare for the moment, yet nothing went awry.
Once upstream of the net and the guards, things began to change. The water was fresh, there was a strong current to contend with, and lots of obstacles. Having scraped a bridge support, and come close to colliding with a boulder, Rebo tucked in behind one of the more experienced phibs. Then, by following the noncom’s glowing ankle bracelets, the norm made his way up the fi?rst section of the river without further incident.
But it wasn’t long before the commandos encountered the fi?rst of what would prove to be a number of challenges. The face of the dam stood at least fi?fteen feet high, which meant the raiders would have to climb it and hoist their sleds up after them. Strong though the amphibians were, even they couldn’t swim twenty miles upstream and still have suffi?cient energy for what lay ahead.
Fortunately, there weren’t any guards other than the mill keeper’s dog, which barked twice, then collapsed with a sling-launched spear through its throat. The body was hidden, and guards were posted even as specially fabricated swing arms were deployed. It wasn’t long before the fi?rst sled was lifted onto the top of the dam and more followed. Eager for something to do, and cognizant of how important it was to set an example, Rebo took charge of the crew that was working to drop the newly arrived sleds into the lake that lay pent-up behind the dam. Then, as the fi?nal units were hoisted up and over, the moon began to rise. Except that the runner knew that the half-seen orb wasn’t a moon, at least not a natural one, which meant he was looking at Socket. Rebo wondered if Norr could see it but thought that was doubtful since the sensitive was in Shimmer. But there was no opportunity to pursue the thought, as the last sled went over the side, and the commandos made clean dives into the moonlight-streaked water below. The runner tried, but was responsible for a sizeable splash, much to the amusement of his water-dwelling subordinates. Then the journey continued, as commandos pushed their way up to the head of the long, narrow lake, where they were forced to portage around a hundred-foot-wide ledge where the Otero spilled into the water that was backed up behind the dam. That task consumed forty-fi?ve precious minutes and left Rebo wondering whether they would arrive at the objective on time or be caught by the rising sun—an almost certain disaster given the fact that the phibs would be many miles inland, open to attack from above, and vulnerable to Arbuk’s ground troops.
But it was too late to turn back, so all Rebo could do was push such thoughts away and keep on going. The next stretch of river was relatively benign. It consisted of a long series of gentle S-curves that acted to slow the current and make progress somewhat easier. Rebo couldn’t see the land to either side but imagined it to be fertile and bordered by neatly kept farms. The commandos made good progress through that stretch, thereby regaining some of the time lost earlier and raising the runner’s fl?agging spirits. Finally, having reached the railroad bridge that crossed the Otero just east of Prost, it was time to disable the sleds, sink them out in the middle of the river, and hike crosscountry. The artifi?cial moon had arced most of the way across the sky by then, and even though Rebo welcomed some light to see by, the off-worlder knew that it could betray his command as well. One by one the phibs shouldered their various loads, scrambled up the steep riverbank, to assemble on the tracks above. The rails gleamed with refl?ected moonlight and made a gradual turn toward the west. The runner gave a series of orders, waited to make sure they would be followed, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the phibs spread out along both sides of the line.
Navigation became relatively easy at that point, since all they had to do was follow the track to the village of Prost and the warships that waited there. The rest would be simple. Or that was the way it seemed until the runner heard the mournful sound of a steam whistle, knelt to place a hand on cold steel, and felt it start to vibrate. A train was on the way! But which one? A routine freight? Or the train.
Meaning the one that was supposed to haul the ironclads to Esperance.
The phibs nearest to the runner turned to him for orders, the whistle blew again, and Rebo struggled to decide. Should he attack the train? It could be loaded with troops?
Or allow it to pass? Only to face what could be even more opposition when he entered the village of Prost? The seconds ticked by, his heart beat faster, and a big round light loomed out of the darkness.