"I see."
"I hope you do," she said. "For one thing, we've got one narrow tunnel out of here. The Regans, blasted the others during their retreat. For another, we can't take the time to guard all of your people and carry out a fast evacuation. If fighting breaks out…. Well, consider it. Are you willing to cooperate… or should we all die?"
"We'll cooperate." Hell, I didn't even have to think about that, lady!
"Good," she stated flatly. "Please inform your comanders. "
M "Just a minute." Mac raised a hand, stopping her. "How bad are our chances?"
She lifted one of her broad shoulders expressively, face tight. "Ask Sinklar Fist. From what Staffa says, there is no real hope. The orbital bombardment will no doubt encompass this entire area. How far and how fast can all these people go on foot in mountainous terrain?"
Mac filled his lungs and nodded. "We won't have to die in the dark. That's something, at least."
A shuffling began at the front of the line, men and women moving forward, eyes flickering this way and that, aware escape lay just ahead.
What a fragile thought. Who am I kidding? I know what those ships up there can do.
A ripple moved through the crowd as a big man dressed in stained gray combat armor — now charred and hardened — pushed through. Mac recognized the brownish stains. Spattered blood. The big man had been in the thick of it.
The man's long black hair had been gathered over his left shoulder in a ponytail. He had a curiously handsome face, brow high, nose long and straight over tight bloodless lips. Piercing gray eyes pinned Mac's as the big man approached. But when the gray warrior looked at Kaylla, regret welled, dulling the sharpness.
Then those gray eyes were pricking at Mac's soul again. The voice carried a tenor of command. "You're MacRuder? Do you have a portable battle comm?"
"We do. Or did. We left it back in the hole," Mac heard himself responding automatically. This guy might have even more charisma than Sinklar, Mac admitted to himself. Then the voice clicked in his memory: Staffa!
"Get it. If we open a line to Fist, we may be able to stall, gain time so some of us can make it away."
"It'll take two people. The thing's heavy."
Staffa turned. "Kaylla, see to getting everyone out. Don't leave anyone behind. If nothing else, the gravitational pulse will be merciful. and quick."
The Lord Commander pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully back toward the caverns. Mac followed, issuing orders to his sergeants along the way.
He cringed at the thought of going back into that stygian blackness. In the darkness overhead, stone shifted and grit trickled to patter on the rock flooring.
"Sink," he prayed under his breath. "Don't cut loose yet. Just a little longer, Sink. Kill us outside! Please? Just a little longer!"
Rysta looked up from the targeting comm. as Sinklar Fist walked onto the bridge. Indeed, what a different man he
was. His incredible magnetism drew every eye on the bridge. From the perspective of years, Rysta studied him, noting the haggard tightness of those odd gray and yellow eyes, the set of exhaustion in his face. A glittering desperation possessed him now. He was a man driven and hounded — a dangerous man.
Every time she saw him, he became someone different. Rysta shivered, feeling
a chill play along her spine. A barely throttled pain gleamed in his eyes. His glance fell on her, bringing a tightness to her chest — the feeling of a stiletto poised over her heart.
"We are clear Commander." There was a note of finality in his curious voice.
"I want you to know, First, that I dislike hitting our people as much as you do. The orders came straight from Tybalt."
The corners of his mouth quivered as his back arched slightly. Tension rippled across the busy bridge, tangible, menacing.
He replied in a barely audible whisper that reminded her of a threat. "I know."
Rysta didn't remember putting her hand on the worn service blaster at her belt. She did it instinctively, and the smooth butt of the weapo comforted her. Once before, in the eyes of an Etarian sand leopard, she'd seen that same look.
His awkward, high-pitched voice startled her as he added, "You have your orders. Go ahead. Condemn my people. Kill them." He swallowed, mouth twitching, before he turned and walked stify from the bridge.
Someone muttered behind her.
Rysta took a deep breath and blew it out. "Power up. Targeting is locked on. Let's melt that rock and be on our way."
The Weapons First called, "Main bombardment batteries are powering up."
"Commander?" The Comm First called, "We've got people on the surface down there. They blew out a section of ountain."
"Weapons First, you may fire when ready," Rysta ordered.
"And if I get comm from the surface?" The Comm First
asked.
Rysta hesitated, looked back at the hatch Fist had just
left through, and said, "Ignore it. Damn it, we've got our:t
orders. Just kill them all."
"Powered up!" Weapons First noted. "Batteries locked."j
Rysta's breath hissed through her worn teeth. "Farewell,(
Lord Commander."
Chapter 33
Muscles pumping, Staff a struggled up the long slanting tunnel. He could sense MacRuder's strength sagging under the heavy battle comm they labored to carry to the surface. Distant light beckoned escape at the end of the square adit. Mac tripped and staggered, almost dropping the load.
"Hold it a minute." Staffa settled the heavy piece of machinery to the cut stone as MacRuder slumped. The Regan hung his head, gasping pants torn from a strained throat.
"Outta steam," MacRuder wheezed. "Sorry, didn't know I—"
"Go on," Staffa added gently. "I can carry it from here."
"But that's. " MacRuder clamped his mouth shut as Staffa heaved, lifting the burden, arms barely spanning to either handle.
"Go," Staffa grunted, pushing forward.
MacRuder nodded, plodding ahead, keeping out of the way.
Daylight stabbed blindingly even though the sun lay on the purple mountain rim of the western horizon. The crystal air soothed, a balm of freshness that carried no stink of death and combat, no metallic odor of blood or acrid sharpness of punctured intestines.
Staffa fought for breath as he stumbled out of the shaft and settled the heavy equipment onto a mat of flowers, bruising the soft carpet of greenery.
Practiced fingers flipped on switches, checking power, and folding out the antenna. He clutched the mike, adjusting the dish to send over 360.°
"Rysta!" he called, eyes searching the heavens. "For God's sake, don't fire! This is the Lord Commander! We've got most of your Division here. We're outside. You hear?
Don't fire!" His jaw muscles rippled as he waited for a response.
Silence. "Rysta! Damn you, you can have me! You hear? I know what Tybalt's orders are! By the Blessed Gods, what's the purpose of all these people dying for me?" His heart stuttered in his chest.
"Listen, Rysta, why kill the better part of an entire Division? It's not worth it! I give you my word, I surrender! No tricks! Spare these people!"
Frantically, he looked around, seeing the thick knot around him-mostly armored Regans. They watched him, hope shining on every face. Some held hands; some hugged each other. Others stood somberly, heads down, awaiting the inevitable. Here and there, people sat, fingers laced into plants and soil. Others, wounded, lay gasping, some beyond caring.
"Rysta? Gods Rot you, answer me!"
Across from him MacRuder panted, worry bright in his blue eyes. Kaylla chewed her lip, brow furrowed. Bruen held his face in his hands.
"Rysta!" Staffa bellowed into the comm. "Answer!" MacRuder bent over the transmitter, studying the readouts. "It's sending. No doubt of that."