As if addicted, he glanced continually at his chronometer. The agonizing crawl of minutes acted on his soul like some sadistic torture. Angrily he shook his head and cursed. Desperation tugged at the corners of his control. Mac's going to die. and I can't do a damned thing to stop it!
"Section First Mayz, report!" he gritted to the comm, aware his voice was cracking from the strain. Inexorably, minutes ticked by on the chronometer.
"We've stepped up assaults First," Mayz's voice barked tensely over the sounds of combat. "We've punched through with a mining machine. They were waiting for us. We can't force it. The casualties are—"
Damn (Sinklar thundered, something snapping in his mind. "We're out of time! They'll die in there!"
"Sink!" Mayz cried desperately, "We're already dying in here! We can't take that corridor without exposing ourselves to explosives and Seddi fire! Morale is dropping! I can't order my—"
His veins stood out rom the side of his neck. "You will order your people in there! You will get Mac out of that trap! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
"And I said we can't Mayz cried. "We love Mac, too, you know! Damn it Sink, we're just as desperate as you— but how much of our blood would Mac and the others want?
Sinklar's throat choked on silent sobs. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. His fists knotted as his muscles strained impo tently. In a hoarse voice, he ordered, "Pull out, Mayz. Get our people out of there."
He cut the connection. Through the shimmer of tears, he could see Mhitshul looking at the floor, face ashen as he turned to leave.
The comm flickered to life, filling with Rysta's craggy dark features. "Fist?"
"What do you want?" Jaw thrust forward he glared, fits clenched at his sides.
Rysta didn't hesitate. "You have one hour to evacuate your troops before I follow the Emperor's orders." The screen went dead.
He pulled his blaster from his belt and blew the comm apart. Desperation and impotence lent him fury and spurred him to wreck the portable office.
Dazed, he grew aware of the charred wreckage around him. Physically exhausted, he pulled himself up, drained, devoid of emotion, and staggered out into the blazing midday sun. On legs gone leaden he forced himsef to cross the rocky soil to the LC ramp. There he leaned against one of the hydraulic tubes and gazed emptily at Makarta Mountain.
"Mac? I… I have to go."
Head hanging, he turned and made his way into the LC. He ducked through nto the cockpit and stared down at his thin-boned hands. Mhitshul and the pilot sat in the command chairs, heads bowed, silent, nervous.
His voice cracked. "Mhitshul? I. "
He tried to swallow, to overcome the knot in his throat. "Order. Order a general evacuation. Get our peope out and get us into orbit." Strength gone, he leaned against the bulkhead, body sagging under its own weight.
The hidden warrens of Makarta trembled. Taut threads of violet ripped and crackled as sections of rock disintegrated behind Staffa. Pulse fire prickled within inches of his scalp. He felt the raw tingle of a UV burn where a close miss had passed his cheek.
The air was heavy, charged by the energy rippling through it. Death crouched in the dark corners, leering over the bleeding corpses strewn through the
dimly lit tunnels.
Huddled low in a reading carrel, Staffa settled his blaster, waiting. The Regan shifted position in the narrow rocky nook to take another shot. Staffa's bolt hit home with a solid pulpy sound, catching the corner of the man's shoulder where it protruded. Staffa's follow-up shot blew the man in two as he fell screaming. Across the tunnel, Wilm's blaster fired as he saw a target.
A concussion echoed hollowly in the darkness from somewhere behind the Regan position as another remote fragmentation bomb exploded. Someone screamed horribly. The racket of combat was deafening in the close confines of the tunnels.
The dead lay awkwardly sprawled, sightless eyes staring among exploded body parts and bits of sodden red meat. They called to Staffa like the ghouls in his dreams, promising the horror to come.
He blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the image.
Two more Regan assault troops sprinted into Staffa's sights, tumbling into the knot of bodies as seeking threads of violet blew them apart. A woman kicked gruesomely— head missing above the neck — and went still.
Veils of smoke choked the corridor, vying with the smell of bued human meat. Blood pooled slickly across the polished stone floor.
"Pull back!" someone bellowed from the pungent darkness. "All Groups, pull back! Evacuate! Now! Double time."
Firing began to break into isolated rips and detonations. Staffa caught a glimpse of a Regan dashing madly for the rear. Sporadic shots and pulse hums died to be replaced by the patter of running armored feet as they left the tunnels to the silent and the dead.
"Now what?" Wilm wondered from his position across the hall.
Staffa grunted, pulling himself up. He peered hesitantly around the corner, finding nothing but the fragmented corpses. From somewhere in the pile of bodies, a casualty moaned faintly.
"Fist is cutting it awfully close," Staffa decided, glancing down at his chronometer. "Blow the renegade tunnel to the surface. Maybe Rysta isn't as punctual as I remember her to be. Let's see if we can't get a couple of people out of here. Go! Hurry!"
Wilm's broad-boned dark face reflected his hopelessness. "Hope you were right about MacRuder's Regans." He left at a run.
"They ought to be docile," Staffa decided, taking a flying leap to safety behind a pockmarked pillar of stone. He turned, sprinting down the passage until he found a functioning comm unit. Punching in, he waited.
Kaylla's face formed, soot-streaked, haggard. "The fighting stopped. Why?"
"They're ready to use the heavy stuff from space." Staffa raised an eyebrow. "And MacRuder's people?"
Hard tan eyes met his. "They're coming out, one at a time. So far, no cheats. They seem willing to take their chances on getting out of here."
"Wilm is blowing the renegade tunnel. Maybe some of us can get clear in time. Even so, the grav-effect will be severe-probably lethal, no matter what."
She nodded. "What about Bruen?"
"Wilm is seeing to him. He'll be taken out after the scouting party determines how safe the escape tunnel is. I'm on my way."
"Staffa," she asked tensely, "there isn't much chance, is there?"
"There's always a …… Seeing the glint in her eye, he sighed. "No, there is very little chance. You've seen orbital capabilities firsthand. Rysta will be thorough."
MacRuder hurried along the line of waiting men and women, surprised that the Seddi ignored them for the most part. Grim faces met his glance everywhere. What a blessing it was to squint in the bright lights, to breathe air that put
zip back in the lungs-even if it carried the pungent sting of death and blaster ozone. His head began to ache wretchedly.
Moving along the ranks, Mac winked at a grim face, patted a sagging back, cheered a forlorn expression as he worked forward. Then the tan-eyed woman in brown robes caught his eye. A blaster poked his way, slung level at the
hip by a shoulder strap. She noted his shoulder insignia, eyes narrowing.
"You're MacRuder?" she asked in a knowing contralto, eyes coldly hostile.
"I am." He straightened, studying her. In any other place and time, she'd have made any man look twice.
"Kaylla Dawn." Her voice was clipped. "We've sent a party to blow the escape tunnel. Might I have a word with you?"
MacRuder nodded and followed her to one side.
She appraised him, searching his face as if to read his soul. "I'll be honest, MacRuder. The chances are not good. Fist's Divisions have withdrawn. We don't know how long we have left, but from Staffa's estimation, not long enough."