On the great sea
The sailboat’s bow dipped, broke through a foam-topped wave and threw a fi?ne mist back over the cabin and open cockpit. Shaz, who was standing just aft of the cabin, put out a hand to steady himself as he watched what he knew to be Socket drop below the western horizon. Hopefully, within a matter of days, he would set foot on the artifi?cial satellite and be present when Logos took control of it. At that point a number of choices would present themselves. If the opportunity arose, the combat variant could kill Tepho and claim the star gates for himself. Or he could continue in his present role, wait for the norm to make a mistake, and pick up the pieces. Fortunately, either strategy would deliver the results the variant wanted. But that was then, this was now, and Shaz had work to do. The plan, which had been conceived by Tepho and approved by Arbuk, was to sail the phib vessel to Buru. Once Shaz landed, he would present his credentials to the commandant and lead a party into the island’s interior, where he was supposed to locate and secure the star gate. That was the plan, anyway, but there were plenty of things that could go wrong, including the weather. A bank of clouds had been visible off to the southwest just before the moon set, the breeze had stiffened within the last few minutes, and Harluck’s crew was pulling the jib down. None of it boded well, but the off-worlder tried to take comfort from the fact that bad weather could provide the boat with some much-needed cover and help keep the phibs at bay. And that was the case, or seemed to be, until a dim, barely seen sun rose, and Harluck announced the bad news.
“There they are!” the pirate proclaimed, as he pointed to the west. “Phibs! Three of them! All trying to cut us off!”
It was bad news, but Harluck sounded triumphant, as if glad to be right even if the phibs were to sink his boat. The combat variant couldn’t see anything at fi?rst, but fi?nally, by squinting just so, Shaz was able to make out three tiny triangles of sail, all on a course to converge with Harluck’s tiny vessel. “All right,” the off-worlder said calmly,
“maintain the course you’re on.”
“But there’s three of them,” the pirate objected. “They’ll cut us to pieces!”
“No,” Shaz maintained stolidly. “They won’t. Not if you do what you’re told.”
Harluck was ready to put the helm over at that point and make a run for the mainland, but looked up to discover that Phan was aiming a pistol at him. It winked red as the bow collided with a wave, the deck lurched, and the targeting laser dipped. That left Harluck with no choice but to maintain the course he was on even if it meant that a violent confrontation was almost certain. The next few hours seemed to creep by, as all four of the boats continued to converge, and the low-lying island of Buru appeared in the distance. It was little more than a shadow at fi?rst but gradually took on additional substance, as mile after mile of ocean passed beneath the single-masted boat’s keel.
By that time the other vessels were clear to see, and when viewed through a small pair of binoculars, were clearly intent on intercepting Harluck’s boat. But why? The phibs didn’t know who was aboard it. Yes, there was the possibility the fi?shing boat had been recognized as stolen, and the phibs were determined to intercept it for that reason, but the combat variant didn’t think so. No, it was almost as if they were on their way to Buru for some other reason, spotted the fi?shing boat and wanted to fi?nd out what it was up to. There was no further opportunity for analysis as the lead vessel produced a fl?ash of light and a brown-edged hole appeared in Harluck’s fully infl?ated sail. “The next one will hit our hull,” the pirate predicted glumly. “The whole thing will be over soon.”
The combat variant heard the words but didn’t bother to reply, as Phan fi?red her rifl?e. It was an enormous affair, almost as long as she was, and chambered for .50 caliber ammunition. It had been diffi?cult to fi?nd a good spot for the weapon, but having settled on the bow, the assassin lay prone, with the barrel resting on a bipod. The trick was to compensate for the fact that both vessels were in constant motion, not something the average marksman could do. But the assassin was far from average. There was a loud crack as Phan squeezed the trigger, followed by a whoop from one of Harluck’s crew members, as a fi?st-sized hole appeared in the other boat’s hull. The fi?rst slug hit above the waterline, but the second struck below it, as did the third. The phibs fi?red in return, and their aim was good, but while still lethal, their energy weapons lacked the punch that the projectile weapon had, and they were soon forced to shear away as half a dozen wings appeared overhead and fi?red down on them from the sky. Phan worried that the variants might attack Harluck’s boat, too, but they didn’t, which seemed to suggest that a warning had been sent out from Esperance via winged courier. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been shooting at their enemies. Whatever the reason, the blast-scarred fi?shing boat was allowed to enter the island’s only harbor, where the pirate dropped the anchor and went in search of a bottle. He had been sober for more than half a day by then—and had every reason to get drunk.
Near the village of Prost
The train had already started to slow in preparation for the stop in Prost when a man appeared up ahead. He stood in the middle of the track and waved both arms. The engineer swore, blew the train’s whistle, and pulled the brake lever. Metal screeched as the drive wheels locked up, sparks fl?ew, and the locomotive fi?nally began to slow. It wasn’t going to stop in time, though, that’s what the engineer was thinking, when he looked up to discover that the man had disappeared.
Then, before the engineer and his fi?reman had time to absorb that, a pair of heavily armed phibs entered the cab, one from each side. They put strange-looking pistols to the men’s heads, ordered the engineer to increase speed, and watched to make sure that he actually did so. Meanwhile, behind the locomotive, and the half-full coal car, the rest of the commandos had clambered up onto a single fl?atcar. Rather than the troops that Rebo feared, it was loaded with kegs of what purported to be black powder, which was probably intended for the ironclads. A rather volatile load should Arbuk’s troops decide to shoot at it, which was why the runner detailed two phibs to study the coupling and fi?gure out how to release it. But time was passing, and the outskirts of Prost had already appeared by then, which meant that the train was only a minute or two from the yard and the steamships that waited there. Lights could be seen up ahead, lots of them, which made sense if Arbuk’s forces were assembled and waiting. The sun had begun to rise as well, sending rays of rosy pink light up over the eastern horizon, as if to herald its own coming. And now, for the fi?rst time since he had put the plan forward, Rebo felt genuinely frightened. Because events had started to overtake him, and he had no military training to fall back on.
But there was no time to consider such things as the train pulled into Prost, a reedy cheer went up from the soldiers gathered along both sides of the track, and a civilian fi?red a hunting rifl?e into the air. The phibs on the fl?atcar were hidden in amongst the explosives. And even though they had been given orders not to fi?re unless fi?red upon, they were understandably nervous, and once the rifl?e went off a dozen fi?ngers mashed down on a dozen fi?ring studs. Rebo shouted “No!” as the fi?rst energy beam lashed out, but it was too late as blue death stuttered out to cut the troopers down. Their weapons weren’t loaded, and they threw up their hands in a vain attempt to block the blue bolts. But it didn’t work, and by the time the train rolled past the station, a heap of brown-clad bodies lay sprawled on the scorched platform. There wasn’t much return fi?re since the survivors were still in the process of loading their weapons, but what few shots there were missed both the phibs and the kegs of black powder stacked on the fl?atcar. The slaughter made Rebo sick to his stomach, but it was already too late to stop it, as a blunt stern appeared up ahead. The ship it belonged to was sitting on a siding, as were two additional vessels, as the train pulled up alongside them. A phib ordered the engineer to stop the locomotive next to the ironclads so a squad of commandos could hop off the fl?atcar and burn the warships.