Simple arrangement: to move forward you had to cross a narrow bridge over a fatal drop. In Greenstrider days I bet there were gun slits on the far side, ready to strafe unfriendlies if they tried to charge forward. Once you were on the bridge, you were bare-ass exposed… and the way across was only wide enough for attackers to dash up single file.
Cute little killing ground. If the defenders on the far side didn’t like you, either you got shot or you fell.
Or you turned back the instant you realized that going forward was utterly nuts.
"End of the line," I said, slipping back into the corridor. "If Maya’s holed up across the bridge, it’ll take an army to pry her out."
"Not so fast," Muscle told me. "First of all, we don’t know Maya’s here — she may be holed up in some other hiding place. Second, there’s not much chance the old Greenstrider defenses are still operational. Sure, this would have been a death trap three thousand years ago; but everything’s rusted, hasn’t it?"
"Not the prison that held Xe captive," Festina pointed out. "That was built by the Peacock, with self-repair mechanisms far beyond human capabilities. And this whole bunker belonged to the Peacock too. A lot of the equipment must have been standard Greenstrider stuff, but some had to be made by the Peacock himself. Those keypads, for example — not a speck of age on them. For all we know, the Peacock built automatic shrap-guns to cover this bridge; if we try to cross, we’ll be shredded."
"That’s a possibility," the Muscle admitted. "But I refuse to retreat without testing the theory." He gave Festina an ugly smile. "Tell me, Admiraclass="underline" what’s standard navy policy when you think something might be lethal but you can’t be sure?"
She stared back at him evenly. "Send in an Explorer."
The Muscle waved his gun toward the bridge. "You’re on."
I said, "Stop."
They both looked at me. "Are you volunteering to go instead?" Muscle asked.
"I’m serving as a member of the Vigil," I replied. "And our job is to prevent people from getting carried away with their own momentum." I turned to the Muscle. "What do you think you’ll accomplish, sending Festina across the bridge?"
"I’ll find out if any defense mechanisms are active."
"But why bother?" I asked. "Where’s the gain? Do you really think there’s anything down here that will help you?"
"You said there might be high-tech—"
I interrupted him. "I was leading you on, so you wouldn’t muck about with my brain. Buying time till you made a mistake."
"Still," he said, trying to look unflappable, "there might be useful things down here. You mentioned weapons—"
"Which are dick-useless, you know that. If you find a lethal weapon down here, or even plans for a lethal weapon, you can’t take it home to Admiralty headquarters. The League won’t let you carry killing devices across interstellar space. You knew that, but you ignored it, because you wanted to believe you could squeak out of the mess you were in. Grasping at straws, sacrificing your partner for some false hope…"
"I think," he said clamp-jawed, "you’re trying to make me angry. You want me to do something rash."
"You’ve already done something rash, you chump! The three times you came to kidnap me. Did it ever occur to you to work within the system? You could have flashed your credentials at our government, and said, Top admirals are interested in this case, we’d like to get in on it.’ Most politicians would be flattered. ‘Ooo, the Admiralty is interested in little old Demoth, let’s keep these guys in the loop.’ You would have been part of every investigation team; you’d get up-to-the-minute reports, invitations to planning sessions, tactical operations, the works. But no. You have some witless notion that acting like a lone wolf is more efficient or smart or sexy than playing with the team. What crap! What pathetic macho crap!" I took a deep breath. "Do you know the only high-tech artifact we’ve seen since we got here? A keypad that can last three thousand years. And you turned that to slag. Brilliant thinking, you mook."
He took an angry step toward me. I don’t know whether he intended to hit me, shoot me, or just scream in my face. It didn’t matter — he’d come into kicking range.
Festina snapped his knee, while I knocked the jelly gun out of his hand. After that, it was as easy as stamping grapes.
We freed our hands the same way we’d freed our feet: picked up the jelly gun, shot a blob against the wall, and warily dabbed our plastic wrist ties against the smallest drop of acid we could find. Both Festina and I managed the trick without burning ourselves — something of a miracle considering we were doing all this with hands behind our backs, and me half-shaky from pure relief.
As we stood around after, rubbing the pins-and-needles tingle out of our fingers, Festina said, "All right. We head back, smash the jamming machine, and call for help, right?"
"We may need to get closer to the surface," I told her. "My link-seed might not have enough radio power to transmit through all this rock."
"Closer to the surface is good." She scooped up the jelly gun and tucked it under her belt. "I’ll be delighted to put more distance between us and this death trap. If someone wants to know what’s on the other side of the bridge, maybe we can reprogram those androids from Lake Vascho. Let them lead the charge."
Festina bent to pick up the Muscle — he was unconscious with a broken jaw, but generally intact thanks to our ladylike restraint. I put my hand on her shoulder, and said, "This time let me carry the body."
"Oh sure, take my fun."
She unstrapped the torch-wand from Muscle’s arm and held it as I hefted the man up. Once more, I thanked Our Blessed Mother Mary for Demoth’s .78 gravity; the dipshit was heavy enough as it was. When I had him in a secure grip, I waddled with him down the corridor, Festina keeping pace beside me…
…till we reached a dead end. A blank wall of granite where there should have been a doorway to the next room.
"Oh shit," I whispered.
"Don’t say that!" Festina snapped.
"The nanite sludge… it flowed back into place."
"I can see that." Festina held the torch close to the wall, running it around the edges of the doorway to look for a gap. I couldn’t see the skimpiest irregularity — the door had neatly fused itself to the surrounding rock.
And Muscle had melted the control panel on the other side. Even if rescuers thought to search for us down here, they couldn’t break through with anything less than a laser cutter or high explosives.
"But this wall is made of nanites, right?" Festina said. "And in Mummichog, we could just push through."
"That was when Xe inhabited the world-soul," I told her. "Things are always easier if you have friends in high places."
"At least try."
I set down the Muscle and pressed my hands against the cold false granite. Not the tiniest budge — like pushing against a mountain.
"This isn’t…" I stopped. Something was humming somewhere. In my fingers? My brain? I planted my hands on the wall again and shoved with all my strength.
The wall shoved back. Starting to inch our way.
"Uh-oh," I said.
"Uh-oh what?"
"The Greenstrider defense system has another trick up its sleeve."
"Uh-oh."
"I already said that."
The wall kept advancing — up the corridor, forcing us back toward the bottomless pit. Nano-granite nudged against the Muscle where I’d set him down; in no great hurry, it started to push him along the stone floor, scraping him over the rock. I picked him up again, as if I cared whether he got raspberry rug burn from the rough surface. Lugging him along, we retreated as the wall plugged forward.