"Head for the shuttle," Dragon ordered. "We've got to lift."
"Highroad, Whit. How goes the loading?"
"We just finished."
"Good! Prep for liftoff—we're on the way back. As soon as we dock, we want liftoff!"
"Got it, we're sealed already."
"Any signs of trouble?"
"Negative."
"Psycho, get back in position by the door," Dragon ordered. We may have to shoot our way in."
"We didn't know about this," Millina said suddenly. "There would be a very limited number of people who would be aware of it. Maybe only the bunch in those aircars. It could be that nobody in Mongera Port knows what it's all about. We might have no trouble at all."
I picked up an E with my one good hand. Tara was conscious. Priestess breathed heavily, her eyes blinking. I struggled to a sitting position, facing the door. Psycho and Merlin were all set. Dragon was in the cockpit, watching Whit and Redhawk. Valkyrie was checking the wounded, leaning over Scrapper.
"Scrapper's stable. You'll be all right, Scrapper."
"Sassin…how's Sassin?" Scrapper sounded as if she was already in Dreamland.
"Don't talk. Rest. I've given you a mag." Valkyrie turned to Priestess. "How are you doing, Priestess?"
"How are the others?" Priestess asked weakly. "Is Snow Leopard all right?"
"Try to rest. We'll be home soon."
I was ready for whatever happened, my E fixed on the door. I did not want to know about Snow Leopard. My mouth tasted like acid. No, I did not want to know.
###
The transmission came in as we were nearing the Port. "Millina, it's the First. Millina, respond. Is it wounded? Repeat, First to Millina, please respond."
Millina reached over between Whit and Redhawk and triggered the transmit tab of the comset. The laser spot of my E roamed over her back. "Excellency, Millina. What a surprise. We were not told of its presence here."
"Millina! It's wonderful to hear its voice! We were very worried. Has the mission succeeded? Those fools that attacked it thought it was a Legion raiding party. We only just found out about it—an unforgivable mess! Is it all right?"
"We're fine, thanks, Excellency."
"We're sorry about the foul-up. It was a stupid move and somebody will pay for it. Was the mission successful?"
"Yes, Excellency, fully successful."
"Good! Good! That's wonderful news! Well, carry on as planned. I'll notify everyone that it was successful. Sub cannot imagine how anxious we have been to hear this news. Congratulations, Millina! It's a brilliant coup, and we will insure that its designation is mentioned prominently in the official reports."
"Our thanks, Excellency."
"We hope the cooperating units were not upset about the attack. It realizes we could not inform anyone of its presence. We suppose it was a natural reaction by the DefCorps. We thought we could stop anything like that before it got started. But the situation here is extremely chaotic—we did not hear what was happening until it was too late!"
"We understand, Excellency."
"Please explain to them what happened. We are compiling a full report."
"We will do our best, Excellency."
"We know Sub will, Millina. And, again, congratulations! First out."
Millina cut the commo on the aircar's instrument panel.
She hunched over between Whit and Redhawk. Mongera Port came into view ahead, swarming with activity. A liner thundered up into the dark sky. "Burn in Hell, Excellency," she said quietly. "Burn in Hell. They must be out of assets. Otherwise, they wouldn't be talking." She had bought us a few more marks.
"Whit," Tara gasped. "Did it pick up those children? Forest Hill?"
"Affirmative, Commander. Squalling brats! They're all safe aboard the Highroad. Cit is getting soft in its old age! The bankers and lawyers would have paid us." Whit was twitching with exhaustion, but she obviously worshipped Tara.
And I thought she was right, about Tara—picking up doomed children, in the midst of this chaos. That was the Tara I had known.
"Highroad aircar, Mongera Port Customs. Please proceed to Inspection Bay Orange Five, as marked. We wish to examine its cargo."
"I knew it!" Dragon snarled. "Ignore them."
"Stinking bureaucrats!" Psycho exclaimed, "The world is ending and they want to fill out forms!"
"Whit…" Tara was conscious, still in Gildron's hairy arms. "Refuse, cite our agreement with the Government. Our terms, accepted by them…ah, para ten, our right to pick up any special case refugees, any location, to be determined by us, no inspection, free access to and from the shuttle and the ship."
"Commander, it is a genius!"
"We know." Tara closed her eyes. She looked truly weary. Whit repeated it, firmly, to Mongeran Customs.
"Hold one, Highroad aircar."
"Keep going," Dragon ordered. Someone was moaning. I was just barely conscious—it was a red haze. An aircar flashed past outside. Tara was pale and her eyes were closed. The humanoid was stunned, staring into space, holding on to Tara protectively. Priestess grimaced in pain, icy sweat all over her brow. Millina looked sick, still huddled between Whit and Redhawk in the cockpit. Whit was grim and tense. Redhawk was silent. Valkyrie and Merlin were watching over Snow Leopard, keeping him alive. Dragon and Psycho had their weapons pointed at both doors. Scrapper was feverish, talking to herself. And the others were all around us, I thought, a whole squad of A-suits. All my comrades are here—living and dead, we are all here, riding back from the mission. Ghost riders, I thought, still with us, the living. Everyone has come back except the two Systies, the soldier and the dip. And in view of what had happened, we would not miss them. I was still by the assault door behind my E, fighting to stay conscious in a gritty, throbbing wave of raw hot agony. I knew my left arm was gone, but I didn't even care. Priestess was on the deck beside me, her chest bubbling black blood. Her eyes were shut tight and she was trembling and I could read the despair in her face. I put the E down, and the armored fingers of my one good hand closed over hers.
"I'm here, Priestess." I whispered it. She answered with a faint moan, clutching my fingers tightly. And I vowed to love her forever, and never leave her. I didn't want to see the future anymore, I suddenly realized. I wanted to extinguish it. But even as I held Nine's hand, I prayed to Deadman for revenge, against all our enemies. I wanted blood. I wanted to see the corpses of our enemies floating in rivers of blood. My mind whirled with images—our holy dead were with us, riding home. We would burn them, under alien stars—I could see the death ceremony, hot green nuclear flames licking around my A-suit, I was on the pyre as someone chanted the death song: "Missing in action, we join you soon!" Perhaps we, the living, the immortals, were the real dead. The others were free, at last, but we would never be free.
Moontouch appeared before me in my agony, a hazy image, holding up our child, calling out to me over the light years. I was certain I would never see her again, and I would never hold my own son in my arms. I was shaking with rage. Someone was going to pay for this—I didn't know who, and I didn't know when, but someone was going to pay for Mongera—I would see to it if it was the last thing I ever did.
"Highroad aircar, Mongera Customs. You may proceed to the Highroad."
Whit did not even bother to answer.
Priestess squeezed my hand. We were both alive—who could possibly ask for more?
PART III:
FEVER DREAMS
Chapter 13:
Cold New Worlds
Rain. Warm heavy rain from dark skies, to wash away our sins. A muted roar, a faint tingling on my skin—a tropical downpour. It was wet season on Veda 6. The jungle was awash, shuddering behind heavy sheets of rain. I was thinking of her even then. Strange, that the rain should bring her back. I stood silently on the walkway gazing into the forest, protected by the overhanging bulk of the base. I was walking perimeter for Minos Station, an E at my chest, dressed in litesuit camfax, alone with my mind. There used to be entire squads walking perimeter here. But now there was only me.