A long silence ensued, after which the woman's voice said, "Good fortune to you then, fool. None of my ships will approach in your struggles." Brim smiled. He hoped he never had the chance to continue that short conversation.
Other voices questioned him for a considerable time and the authentication key chimed incessantly.
But all gradually faded in the distance as Brim wobbled toward his target—which by now almost filled the Hyperscreens ahead. Soon, it was amply clear he'd brought his ragtag scout crew safely through Typro's blockade! He hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a one-way trip. Dark's authentication key had little time remaining to run!
CHAPTER 8
In less than a metacycle, features of the arid surface began to define themselves—ragged mountains, dry riverbeds, the dim flicker of occasional cities. As the scout staggered deeper into the thin atmosphere, wisps of glowing plasma began to lick at the corners of the Hyperscreens, then spread rapidly to the hundred and one protrusions on the hull until they trailed a long, glowing corkscrew of ions like the meteor they had become. Gradually, Brim reduced his course perturbations, flying more and more in a controlled manner until finally, no more than ten thousand irals from the surface, he leveled off and flew a straight and level heading. "Universe!" he laughed, wiping mock perspiration from his brow, "with all that 'damage' to the steering gear, I didn't think I could bring her in at all."
Aft, Amherst slumped in a recliner, head lolling from side to side. "He's only passed out, Lieutenant," Barbousse reported.
"We're entering zone 5," Theada said presently, pointing below through the Hyperscreens. "It's sort of delineated by the mountains and that scar somebody once called a river."
"Very well," Brim replied as he cranked the ship in a wide circle. "Do you suppose that's Cable Route 981 running along the edge of the scarp?"
"Only one I can see," Ursis said. "Of course, who could tell in this desert?"
Brim's eyes followed the ground scar where the cable had been laid. About a third of the way to the mountains, two dust plumes crawled along the endless wastes. The second plume was considerably behind the first, but from its size, it was either a much larger vehicle or it was moving faster—or both. "If that first one's our spy," he said, pointing through the Hyperscreens, "he's going to have company very soon. Anybody see anything else moving?" he asked, easing the scout into a wide circle.
"None," Theada said as the ship returned to its original course.
"Just those two," Ursis agreed.
"All right," Brim said, "we'll go down for a closer look." He rolled the scout on its back, then nosed over into a steep dive that brought them above the second vehicle in a matter of ticks. "Ugh," he grunted aloud. Below was a typical Leaguer tank with three turrets, the kind that ambushed his little convoy back on A'zurn—only this one looked bigger, even from the air. "Let's check on the other one," he said, opening the power gates slightly. The distance evaporated.
"Open lorry," Ursis observed.
"With yellow canisters," Theada added.
"And an '8' on the roof of the cab," Brim finished. "It's our man, I'll bet. Send 'Which way is Avalon?'" he called back to Barbousse.
Only a few ticks later, his display flashed, "VOOT'S BEARD! YOUR SCOUT FOOLED ME. THOUGHT I WAS CAUGHT SURE. ALREADY GOT A TANK ON MY TAIL."
Only moments later, a huge column of dirt and flame shot up to the lorry's right as the tank began to pull in range. The scout bounced when the second blast followed on its heels—aimed this time at them.
"CAREFUL," the BURST display spelled out. "POWERFUL TANK."
"So much for our cover," Brim muttered, hauling the scout around into a vertical bank toward the tank and pulling off the lift vector. They fell like a stone toward the desert floor with both cannon blasting wildly at the squat, ugly shape in the distance. Only a few irals from the ground, he whipped the little ship level and jammed on the power. All three Leaguer turrets were firing now. The scout bucked and bounced through the blasts; debris smashed off the Hyperscreens and rattled along the decks.
Suddenly, a huge ball of fire from Barbousse's 9l-mmi erupted in front of the tank, sending a shower of rocks and debris hundreds of irals in the air. The big machine reared and skidded sideways in a cloud of dust, then resumed its progress at a somewhat reduced rate of speed, wobbling violently.
"Got his cable follower!" Barbousse yelled exultantly as they flashed overhead. But the tank's turrets were clearly unaffected and the firing continued almost unabated. Brim snapped the scout around and set up another low-level firing rim. This time, Barbousse found his target much earlier, and the whole area near the enemy vehicle exploded in a welter of powerful blasts...
Suddenly, a thundering detonation sent the scout skidding wildly off course with loose articles whistling about like shrapnel and the cabin acrid in swirling black smoke. A monstrous grinding shrieked through the starframe as the left outrigger touched down and skidded across the plain in a cloud of dust and debris. Brim struggled with the controls, helplessly watching the scout slide into a ground loop, then the hull ricocheted from a flat outcropping of desert rock and somehow wobbled level, trailing a long column of dirty black smoke that thinned and disappeared as Ursis calmly manipulated the N-ray mains and extinguished the fires.
"Ninety-one's gone, Lieutenant," Barbousse yelled above the din. "Blew the whole ventral turret away, he did."
Brim continued to fight the controls, achieving first an even keel, then an immediate turn away from the tank with a maximum acceleration dash toward a run of low, rocky hills, the generators bellowing angrily in overload.
"What are we going to do now?" Theada yelled in frustration as they pulled into the lee of the palisades and set up a low holding pattern. "Our little 60-mmi won't even dent that armored cockroach—and the spy's still out there with nothing but a good head start."
Brim bit his lip, concentrated. Quickly. Quickly. "The mines!" he shouted. "Of course! Even a near miss ought to be enough to take a tank out for good. Right, Barbousse?"
Barbousse grinned. "One star mine coming up, Lieutenant," he said.
"Wait a cycle!" Ursis interrupted suddenly. "The spy—is he far enough from the blast zone? We don't want to take him out, too."
"Easily far enough by now, Nik," Theada answered. "Especially in this thin atmosphere. Remember, he was almost beyond the range of that tank—and those big hummers shoot a long way."
"Very well," Brim said through clenched teeth. "Here we go." Wind roared across the great rent in the bottom of their hull as he banked gently to let the speed build up. Then he cranked the little ship over into a dizzying vertical turn that barely cleared the barren hillside. Jagged rocks whizzed by only irals from their starboard generator. By the time the tank was back in sight, they were accelerating wildly and blending into the background. They took the big machine completely by surprise—in the last ticks, Brim pictured its crew huddled over the traction controls in an attempt to drive with no cable followers.
"Star mine's...free!" Barbousse yelled. Brim heard the hum of the repulsion rings, then the scout flashed over the tank—still accelerating. Two more near misses sent rock and debris over their stern before the whole world turned a blinding white—no shadows, no details, only white. The Hyperscreens dimmed, flashed on again.
And then the shock wave... Incredible noise. Perhaps no noise—maybe all noise. The impact became an entire existence. One moment, they were speeding across the desert floor, the next, a giant hand smashed the little ship sideways like an insect. Brim struggled with the controls, easing the hull this way and that—instinct alone guiding his hands and feet as he fought to soften the shocks to the starframe. Then they were tumbling mindlessly through a gigantic storm of pure flame. Outside on the deck, only hullmetal survived—covers, attachment points, cables, all their accessories either burned or melted in long runnels along the deck. In the back of the control cabin, someone was screaming over the suit channel in the gagging, fright-choked voice of a wild animal. Brim glanced over his shoulder. It was Amherst, tears streaming from his cheeks, faceplate sprayed with spittle. Nothing he could do. He tried to ignore it.