“Engine failure,” said Belle. “Warning: I am almost out of range.”
I saw open space away from the river and made for that. It was about a kilometer from the buildings. We had no power, of course, and not much glide capability. “Hang on,” I told Alex.
We came down, brushed some treetops, and hit the ground. Then I think the treads tangled us and flipped the vehicle. We rolled, bounced, and slammed into something. I got thrown against the harness, then against the back of the chair. I heard Alex getting tossed around.
“Fuel has ignited, Chase,” said Belle. “Get out as quickly as you can.”
The control panel flared. The lights went off, and smoke poured out of the air vents. “Shut it down, Belle,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
I called Alex, but got no reply there either.
I was hanging upside down. I asked Belle to release the harness and, when nothing happened, reached back to do it myself. But the release didn’t work. The cabin began to fill with smoke. I was breathing burning plastene and God knew what else. “Alex?” I said.
Still no response.
I tried again. Yanked at the restraints. Pulled.
I tugged on the shoulder strap, drew it forward, leaned to one side, and put it behind me. That freed up some space in the lap belt. I pushed the seat back to get some room, lifted the lap belt, and slid out under it. It wasn’t dignified, but it worked.
Just as I got clear, something banged on the outer hatch.
I ignored it. Alex first. He was breathing, but he wasn’t conscious. I lifted his head. “Alex, come on, lover. I need you.”
He coughed. But I got nothing else.
And again, I heard the banging on the hatch. And someone yelling, though I couldn’t understand any of it. I snatched up the scrambler and shoved it into my belt.
The control panel began to burn.
I had to get Alex out of there. But I couldn’t have lifted him in ordinary gravity, let alone what passed for normal gravity in that hellish place.
The smoke was making my eyes tear. I needed some air, then I could come back and try again to move him. I got to the airlock. The outer hatch was, of course, closed, but the hole Alex had cut into it was still there. Since the lander was upside down, the opening was now at about knee level. I got down and looked out. An eye was on the other side, looking in.
I remember thinking how it might have been worse. It could have been a gun barrel.
I hesitated, but not being able to breathe has a way of cutting indecision short. I hit the panel, and the hatch opened.
THIRTY-SEVEN
When the hour is desperate and the need great, we do not care who brings help. Everyone is a potential friend.
—Maryam Case, Liturgies of the Heart
The world was moving in slow motion. The hatch slid open while I coughed and tried to suck in air. I saw a pair of light brown oversized sandals and thick yellow trousers. A heavy and soiled white shirt hung down to the knees. Two large gray hands dangled from sleeves rolled back onto hairy forearms. Then a face appeared, bearded, lined, with thick lips muttering something. He was bending down, looking at me, looking past me, straightening as the hatch opened. He immediately took my arm and tried to pull me forward. Come on. Get out. I looked back toward Alex. The man’s forehead creased. He motioned frantically. Out. He grabbed my arm, literally lifted me out, and pointed at the ground. Then he pushed past me into the airlock.
The lander was belching black smoke. Alex’s restraints had given way, or he’d gotten out of his seat on his own. In any case, he was crumpled in the rear of the cabin against the storage unit. The man went to him and threw an arm around him. I followed him back in. He did not exactly look like a tower of strength. But he lifted Alex and began dragging him toward the airlock. I tried to help, but I wasn’t able to do much more than get in the way. He got him through the hatch and lowered him to the ground. Alex’s left leg was bent in an awkward fashion. Not good.
We paused at the foot of the ladder, and he asked me something. It had to be whether anyone else was inside. He looked ready to go back in. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. “No. Nobody else.” Then I pointed at the vehicle. “Boom.” Accent on the vowels. He got the message, and we hauled Alex and ourselves off to a safe distance and got behind a hill.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded. Smiled. Asked another question. The language, or at least this guy’s pronunciation, was rhythmic. Almost lyrical, with a tendency to draw out the vowels. I replied with a smile. “I’m okay.”
He was about my height, with sallow skin and unkempt gray hair. His lips were thick, and his nose looked as if it had been broken. And he could have used some dental work. But he raised a hand in greeting, and those thick lips parted in a broad smile. “Faloon,” he said.
It was either his name or hello, so I said it back, stretching the o’s as he had. Then I was kneeling over a reviving Alex. “How you doing, boss?”
His eyes opened, and his mouth twisted with pain. “I’ve been better.” He just lay there breathing for a minute or two. Then: “What happened?”
“We lost the lander.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” As if we’d go down to the store and pick up a new one in the morning. Then he was gone again.
The guy took a long look at me. Rubbed his cheeks. Put a hand on Alex’s forehead. Then he said something in a soft, reassuring tone.
At that moment, the lander blew. Alex’s eyes came open again. “I hope,” he said, “there’s nothing in it that we need.”
Our rescuer pointed at the ground and said something. I shook my head. Don’t understand a word. He nodded. Held up his right hand in a kind of wave. Wait. Then he hurried off into the trees.
I tried contacting the Belle-Marie. But the ship was out of range. “Alex,” I said, “how you doing?”
He moved. Nodded. I’m okay.
“Alex—”
“I’m all right. What happened?”
“We crashed. How’s your leg?”
“I think it’s broken.”
“Let me look.” He was right; but at least there was no bone sticking out anywhere. “Don’t move,” I said. “We’ll need a splint.”
“How about you, Chase?”
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s the lander?”
I pointed at a cloud of smoke drifting past.
“That’s us?”
“Yes.”
“We got anything left?”
I walked out where I could see. There was a blackened hull, and pieces of wreckage scattered around. “It isn’t going to fly again.”
“Okay. We’ll manage. How’d you get me out here?”
“We had some help. One of the locals.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t try to shoot us?”
“No. Fortunately not.”
He was quiet for a minute. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning plastene. “Where’d he go?”
“For help, I think.”
“I hope so.” Alex shook his head. Then he remembered something. “Chase—?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me we didn’t forget the scramblers? That we didn’t leave them in the lander?”
I ran my hands along my belt. No weapon. I didn’t customarily wear it while on board, but I recalled grabbing it when our visitor began pounding on the hatch. I had no idea where Alex’s scrambler was, but I could see he wasn’t wearing it, either, although he still had the holster. “Wait,” I said.