“Erotopia has found us.” Or maybe it was the Aymads, looking for him. By now they had burned both their employers.
He hunkered down, watching the SuperCats come on, hoping they did not have the scent yet. No such luck. They were converging on the thorn tree, crossbows at the ready. Tiffany whispered, “Don’t worry.”
“Why not?”
“We’ll deal with them.”
“You will?” He turned to see Tiffany putting lipstick on Jem. Then freshening up her own.
“SuperCats don’t kiss.” Saberteeth made liplocks awkward. Smiling, Tiffany slipped a hypo-ring on Jem’s finger, showing the Red girl how to use it. That was more useful. Unless you were facing a dozen armed bio-engineered killers. “Just lie low,” Tiffany advised, squeezing his hand. “You have been wonderful. This is my problem, not yours.” Too true. Leave it to the Peace Corps.
“Sorry, I cannot kiss you good-bye,” Tiffany added.
He understood.
Taking Jem’s hand, Tiffany strolled out to meet the advancing SuperCats. Warily the cat circle closed on them.
SinBad tensed, worried for Tiffany. Jem too. He had been putty in their hands, taking insane risks for their sake, but these were hunting cats, bred to be better than humans. Three hypersonic missiles streaked silently down from orbit, exploding in a triangular pattern just above the SuperCats. Osiris orbit-to-surface missiles, armed with sleep gas. SinBad recognized the white puffs of anesthetic, followed by triple sonic booms, arriving well after the missiles hit. Silence settled over the pre-dawn plain. Thuria shone down on Tiffany and Jem, lying amid sleeping SuperCats. SinBad cowered under the thorn tree, peering through the short grass. Presently a silver ship fell out of the sky, a stripped down Fornax Skylark, with strap-on antimatter boosters. Someone’s fancy gravity yacht that now fairly screamed “Slaver.” As soon as she set down, men in gas masks emerged, stepping over the SuperCats, then scooping up Jem and Tiffany, taking them back to the ship.
Slavers overpowered anyone. So pretty women, young girls, and graceful boys hid from Thuria. Blame it on the Greenies, who forced Barsoom to make do with homemade weapons, like bows, slings, and hand-forged rapiers.
He watched the Skylark seal herself and take off, with both his air hostesses aboard. Easy come, easy go.
Leaving some sleeping SuperCats, who would soon be awake and angry, at him. He had to go, but where? Away from Hastor and some very mad Aymads, that was for sure. By now, his sand sail was even further off. That left Exhume.
SinBad climbed to the top of the thorn tree, no easy feat. Going out on a prickly limb, he leaped off, flapping his solar wings. Stored power lifted him into the air, where he found a thermal, rising off a bare patch in the plain. Spiraling upward, he gained a couple of haads in height, then headed north, aiming at the base of Exhume beanstalk.
He almost made it. Landing several haads short of Exhume, he limped the rest of the way. Exhume beanstalk stretched up into orbit, providing free transport to a geosynch point, connecting Barsoom to the cosmos. SinBad dragged himself up the Avenue of Offworlders, past swank hotels, cheap bars, curio shops, Outback brothels, and airship docks, offering service to Erotopia and the Heliums.
Having neither the time or credit for offplanet pleasures, he staggered straight to the lift shaft, entering the negative-g zone, rising up alongside hungover tourists and hopeful emigrants, headed offplanet. SinBad got off at a platform ten haads up, where the view was terrific and the air was okay, thin but breathable. SinBad spread his wings and dived off the beanstalk, soaring from thermal to thermal, using long ridgelines, prevailing winds, and hot dark patches of red-orange sward, headed for his sand sail, thousands of haads to the southwest.
Fifty haads out, he spotted a flier following him, lower down, half a haad back, sporting pink and black primaries. Erotopia colors. So long as he had height advantage, SinBad was not much worried. When night came, he would shake this pursuer, then find somewhere to roost and rest. His pursuers did not wait for dark. Soon he spied a silver airship coming up behind him, closing fast. Eros was written on its nose. More pink and black fliers emerged from the forward gondola. Dumping air, SinBad dove into a stoop, folding his wings back, sacrificing height for speed. His one hope was to go to ground. Somewhere down there, he would find a place to hide. But he never got the chance. Suddenly a big silver shape came between him and safety. It was the Slaver ship, returning for him. What in Issus for? He was not that attractive. SinBad backed off, feathers spread, flaps down, braking franticly. An airlock opened on the silver ship. Jem stood at the lock door, wearing what was left of her air hostess costume, waving at him.
She did not have to ask twice. Pulling in his flaps, SinBad beat hard with his primaries, propelling himself into the lock. He landed in a heap, piled against the inner hatch. Jem shut the lock and the ship took off, headed for orbit. Struggling out of bent wings, he wiggled to his feet, feeling the here-we-go sensation given off by gravity drive. Barsoom fell away beneath them. Cycling the inner hatch, Jem stepped onto the ship’s control deck. Tiffany lay on the command couch, giving him her sweetest air hostess smile. “Welcome to the Draco…” Slavers named their ships for dragons, to better prey on other vessels.
“...formally the Fornax Star. Missing more than a century.” A twice stolen antique that Tiffany flew easily. There was no end to her talents. He stepped through the inner hatch. “Where’s the crew?”
“Asleep.”
Figures. Waking up in a Navy brig was a hazard of slaving. “Where are we headed?” Tiffany engaged the antimatter boosters. “Away from Thuria.” How like a man, he had forgotten the nearer moon was up. SinBad checked the aft screens. Thuria loomed big and round behind them. Slavers had seen the whole rescue, and knew they had lost a ship. Two dots separated from the nearer moon’s cratered surface, headed their way, swiftly closing the gap.
“Who’s that?”
“Hiryu and Salamander, two high-g Slaver starships, based on Thuria.”
“Can they catch us?”
“With ease.” Tiffany did not seem worried. She never did. Peace Corps training. No wonder folks hated her. Personally, SinBad found pretty, fearless women endearing—if somewhat unnerving. Tiffany Panic had dragged him halfway across Barsoom, and now totally offplanet, to face new and different dangers. Alarms blared, “RADAR LOCK, HELLHOUNDS ENGAGED.”
Salamander got ready to fire anti-ship missiles, while Hiryu hung back, covering the attack. Forward screens showed Tiffany was shaping straight for Cluros, Thuria’s stogy consort. A last bit of Barsoom. Beyond Cluros lay hundreds of millions of haads of vacuum. Jasoom, the main Greenie world, was on the far side of the system. Not that Greenies were much good in ship-to-ship actions. Photo sapiens lacked the killer edge that made humans the most fearsome species in this part of the spiral arm.
At the rate the Slavers were closing, Draco would not even make Cluros, much less Jasoom. Tiffany calmly ignored commands to throttle back and be boarded. “They want this ship intact, and us alive. Hellhound locks are just a bluff.”
“HELLHOUNDS AWAY.”
Some bluff. Gravity drive missiles streaked toward them, at ten times Draco’s acceleration. Salamander signaled, “DISENGAGE BOOSTERS. PREPARE TO BE BOARDED.” Tiffany ignored the Slaver commands, saying, “I am blonde, but not that blonde. We have an old family motto for just this situation.”
“What is that?”
“Don’t panic, Panic.”
“HELLHOUNDS CLOSING FAST.”
He could see that. Be boarded, or be blown apart. SinBad left it to Tiffany. Slavers would kill him either way.