Only now Rebo saw an opportunity not only to improve on the original plan, but to reassert control over his troops and regain the initiative all at the same time. “Stay in the cab,” he told the phibs, “and watch the prisoners. We’re going to need them.”
One of the commandos nodded grimly, and the other grinned. Satisfi?ed that the train would stay where it was, the runner ducked out of the locomotive’s cab and followed an iron walkway back toward the coal car.
Meanwhile, the soldiers who had been fortunate enough to survive the unexpected onslaught at the train station had recovered by then, reinforcements had been summoned, and Rebo could hear the steady bang, bang, bang of semiautomatic rifl?e fi?re as he made his way along the coal car. Bullets pinged as they shattered against the locomotive, produced a whapping sound when they hit wooden barrels, and whined as the runner successfully jumped across the gap and landed on the fl?atcar.
The phibs had emerged from their hiding places by then and were about to launch their assault on the warships when Rebo ordered them to stop. “You two,” he said, pointing at a likely-looking pair, “unhook the fl?atcar. I want everyone else on the coal carrier. Now!”
As the commandos moved to obey, a bullet spun one of them around, causing him to fall into the gap between the two cars. Another projectile hit a noncom from behind, exited through his chest, and still packed enough velocity to kill the private who stood facing him. Meanwhile, geysers of dirt shot up into the air, beginning their inexorable march toward the fl?atcar, as a machine gun began to chatter. But even as some of the phibs fell, dozens poured across the gap, and climbed up onto the coal car, where they turned to fi?re on their tormentors. Machinery began to clank, enormous puffs of smoke issued from the locomotive’s black stack, and steam shot forth from both sides of the behemoth as it got under way.
Rebo was beginning to wonder if the fl?atcar would ever be decoupled and was just about to go after it personally when he heard a phib yell, “She’s clear!” and felt the train jerk. Then came the mad scramble to jump the quickly widening gap, a moment of gut-wrenching fear as the runner felt himself begin to fall backward, and a profound feeling of relief as strong fi?ngers wrapped themselves around his wrist.
Then, having been pulled up onto the fi?lthy coal car, Rebo heard someone shout and turned to see that a single phib had been left on the fl?atcar. It was the scout who had spoken with him back in the bay, and judging from the blood that was pouring down the soldier’s right leg, the youngster had been hit. Now, with slugs whistling all around him the commando lit one of the incendiary fl?ares issued for use on the ironclads, raised his right hand by way of a salute, and let the fi?ery tube fall.
The result was even more effective than what Rebo had originally hoped for. There was a fl?ash of light, followed by a near-deafening boom, and a series of secondary explosions as ordnance already aboard the ironclads went off as well. Smoke boiled up to stain the early-morning sky, chunks of wood, iron, and fl?esh cartwheeled through the air, and the station’s telegraph began to chatter. News of the phib raid would arrive in Esperance within a matter of minutes, Arbuk’s wings would take to the air shortly thereafter, and troops would be sent to intercept the hijacked train. Rebo knew all of that, and knew he would eventually have to deal with it, but not for a few minutes yet. Because right then, as if burned onto his retinas by the force of the blast, he was still staring at the image of the scout, the fl?are, and the nameless boy’s fi?nal salute.
The city of Shimmer
The council of mayors had been reconvened, and at Norr’s request, was about to hear from a very distinguished guest. Ever since Norr brought a message through from Mayor Pontho’s disembodied aunt, the politician had been very deferential toward the sensitive. And now, as the other variant entered a trance, the phib looked on with an expression of awe as Norr’s chin touched her chest and a deeper voice was heard. “Greetings,” the disincarnate said, as the sensitive’s head came up. “My name is Lysander, Milos Lysander, but like the rest of you I have been known by other names as well. Once, during a lifetime as a man called Hios, I brought your people to Zeen, helped them establish their great underwater cities, and gave them the gift of tides.
“Back in those days we worked together to create the planet’s infrastructure, which had it not been for my many errors, would probably be intact today. But I was foolish, very foolish, and hope to make things right. Thanks to you, and your support, that process is already under way. In fact my spirit allies tell me that your commandos were successful, the ironclads were destroyed, and even as I speak your warriors are battling their way back to safety. That will be diffi?cult, however, since Lord Arbuk’s wings will attack them along the way, and ground troops will be sent against them as well.”
There was muttering, as all of the mayors tried to speak at once, and Pontho called for silence. Norr’s head nodded jerkily. “Yes,” Lysander said, “I understand your concern.
Fortunately, there is something we can do to help! But, by taking action, we will reveal the full extent of our powers and thereby elicit what is sure to be a desperate response.”
The politicians listened intently as Lysander outlined his plan. And when asked, Sogol, who had been silent up until then, agreed that the scheme was theoretically possible. Although the AI went on to point out that not only would the timing would be iffy, but the results would be unpredictable and possibly dangerous to the very people they were trying to save.
Then, having heard from a dead man and an artifi?cial intelligence, the politicians did what they were best at, which was to talk, and talk, and talk some more. Until Pontho became frustrated, insisted on a vote, and fi?nally got one. The plan was approved. But could the scheme be implemented quickly enough to save Rebo and his commandos? The clock was ticking.
FOURTEEN
Near the village of Prost, on the Planet ZeenLike the ripples generated when a pebble falls into a pond, asingle historical event can send waves of change out to touchthe far shores of human civilization, where the effects will befelt for many years to come.
—Artifi?cial Intelligence Borlon 4,
A History of My Creators
Once clear of Prost, the track followed the Otera river valley west. Thanks to the gun at the engineer’s head, plus the fi?reman’s frantic efforts to feed the hungry boiler, the locomotive was traveling at full speed by then. Thick black smoke poured out of the stack, the engine made a steady chugging sound, and the wheels clacked rhythmically as they passed over evenly spaced expansion joints. But Rebo took little pleasure in the train’s speed. He stood on the narrow walkway that ran along the side of the locomotive’s boiler and eyed the track ahead. Since Arbuk’s troops knew where the engine had to go, they would move to block it. The original plan, which involved a return trip down the Otero River, incorporated the same fl?aw—although the water route might have offered more protection from the wings. Had he been wrong to abandon the fi?rst plan? Would a real military offi?cer have chosen a third course? Rebo feared the answer might be yes.