This time Dane could see the nose lights, green as the glowing eyes of a night hunter. The machine dipped very low, pointing almost directly at Meshler and him. Then the craft went into descend, the drone of the motor louder. Dane looked at the one jack he could see from his position. The man was tense. He held the tangler so that the adhesive stream, which would congeal instantly on contact with flesh, would spurt into the small portion of ground anyone must cross to reach Dane and Meshler.
The Terran could not see beyond the lights. He did not doubt, however, that the rest of the enemy company was on the move, drawing in to be ready for attack when the flitter touched ground, but not until they were sure, he supposed, that all were out of the craft. Otherwise the pilot could lift, leaving them empty-handed.
What followed was almost as if his thoughts had been broadcast, picked up by esper. The forehatch opened before the tripoint of the landing gear touched the ground, and a figure leaped free from the flitter. He landed on his feet and ran, not straight for the two by the wreck, but in an evasion pattern, as if he knew of the ambush. At the same time, Dane dared to move. He rolled to one side, taking the jack by surprise—or perhaps the other was astounded that the flitter, having discharged only one, gave an upward bounce to go on hover over the wreck.
Dane fired, using his own body to partly screen his action. And though he had no time for a good aim, the near arm of the man with the tangler fell to his side. He lost his grip on the weapon and skidded forward trying to regain it. The Terran had not knocked out the enemy, but he had rendered him a one-armed warrior for several hours at least. The runner reached Meshler, sliding over the last bit of space between
them, squirming around to fire his own stunner. And he had better aim. Its beam struck the man still flopping after the lost tangler in the head, dropping him instantly.
Fluid lines spun by a tangler in the hands of the other ambusher spun out through the air. He fired on a net setting, and those fine threads would automatically seek the nearest human flesh to which they had been conditioned. Unfortunately for him, in order to reach the newcomer who had hunkered down beside Meshler, he had to edge a little into the open. And both Dane and the man from the flitter fired at the first inches of arm and shoulder he was forced to reveal for that shot.
The tangler still spun, its sticky output fountaining now straight up as it fell from his hand. A moment later those strands found a target, the man himself, spreading avidly about his head and shoulders.
“How bad is it?” Rip’s voice broke through Dane’s wonder at the shot, which might have been aimed by fortune herself.
“A knock on the head. But they’re ready to send their monsters at us. And there’re the settlers in the stones—”
“I think they will have other things to occupy them,” Shannon answered. “As for worrying about their monsters—” He pulled from the front of his thermo jacket one-handedly, keeping the stunner on ready in the other, a box. Pushing in a plunger at its top, he said, “Where are the monsters?”
“That direction the last I saw—” Dane leaned away from the wreckage. The world still had a tendency toward a sideslip, but he fought that off.
“Good enough.” Rip got to his feet before Dane could protest against so exposing himself. He drew back his arm for such a throw as sped a sleep-gas bomb and sent the box flying out into the dark. Dane felt a strange crawling sensation along his skin, and the pain behind his eyes awoke to a new agony.
“Sonics,” Rip explained briefly. “That is tuned to the antline’s frequency. Let’s hope it picks up everything else they’ve turned loose from their misbegotten menagerie.”
A moment later he dropped between Dane and the ranger as a tracer of blaster fire cut along the wreckage at what had been the level of his head and shoulders. The sear breath of that fire was a wave over all three of them. But, while Dane tried not to expect that another beam would crisp them, a second lance did not flash. Instead, there was confusion out in the night—cries, more tracers of fire, none however aimed in their direction.
“That does it,” Dane heard Rip say close to his ear as they sprawled shoulder to shoulder on the ground. “They’ll have plenty to think about beside us—”
“What—?” Rip did not let him finish the question. He was quick with an answer, as if he believed reassurance would be a good restorative.
“We didn’t come straight in, you know. Landed some Patrolmen, two rangers, and a couple of port guards by grav-jump belts. We then provided the distraction while they went into position behind. That’s their force moving in now. The sonics will set the monsters on the run away from here—”
“That box from the Queen—they said it had drawn the monsters north—” Dane cut in.
“Just as well. They can be picked off then as they trail in that direction. Now, what about you?” Rip levered away the piece of wreckage that had been left to cover Meshler. Once his tangle bonds were revealed, it was easy enough to dissolve them. The ranger, groaning as he swung cramped and stiffened arms and legs, crawled out.
The flitter, which had hovered over them, was setting down again, not too far away. But this time there was no bounce to send it aloft, instead, the hatch opened, and a couple more men dropped out.
“Captain Jellico!” Dane recognized the first. The second wore the uniform of the Patrol, but it was modified on the collar by the winged, star-studded staff of the medic service, and the stranger carried an aid kit in one hand.
“What have you been doing to and for yourself, Thorson?” The captain went down on one knee and drew Dane up a little.
“Watch out, sir!” Dane caught at Jellico’s sleeve and tried to pull him farther down. “They’ve blasters.”
“And they’ve plenty of use for them elsewhere,” the captain returned. “Let’s have a look at you—”
In spite of Dane’s protests, he found himself lying under the competent hands of the medic, who reported a little later, as he gave Dane a restorative shot, “Skull intact, but you took a bad knock. And this”—he threw away a handful of metal scraps—“gave you some cuts. Now, sniff this.”
He broke an ampul under Dane’s nose. A sharp scent stung the Terran’s nostrils, clearing his head, and the pain became only a faraway suggestion of ache. He lay resting, the medic having gone to the stones and whomever there might need him. But though the captain vanished during the time his hurts were being assessed, Rip was still near.
“Where did the captain come from?”
“Long story,” Shannon answered. ‘Too long to tell now. But Cartl got his message through. And we were already on the move south. We heard enough of the second call from here to know it was probably a trap. So the Old Man was prepared.”
“Cartl said the news came through that the crew was in prison, charged with sabotage.”
“It began that way, until there were too many things to add up for even the thick-headed port police. Then they began to listen to us, a lot of questions were asked, and there were several answers to each one. The Patrol took a couple of local councilors into custody and had them probed. That was a serious step to take—might have lost the officers in charge their jackets and space rights if their suspicions hadn’t been verified.
“But it isn’t only a cleanup here—the thing’s bigger than just Trewsworld. And if the Patrol hadn’t been already nosing around, perhaps we wouldn’t have had our hearing so promptly. It all goes back to the Trosti foundations—”
“Thorson”—he was interrupted by Jellico as the captain came into the light—“how many men did you see here?”
“Six, seven, most of Terran or settler stock, I think. But their leader was an alien. They needed a flitter badly—had to get back to their camp. They were planning a withdrawal off-world—”