"So how you doing up there?" Brim asked into the helmet microphone of his battlesuit. Aram had been aloft for nearly a metacycle, now, and from the rush of the wind, the storm was about to break.
"It's a little bumpy up here," Aram answered, "but I'm fine aside from that." He chuckled. "You're the poor sods who have to carry backpacks. How's it going with you?"
"If it weren't for the honor of the thing, I'd rather be in a starship myself," Brim quipped.
"Yeah," Aram agreed. "I know what you mean."
"Where are you, anyway?" Brim asked.
"About two c'lenyts from you—over the Leaguer base."
"Anything going on there?"
Aram laughed. "Until the rain started, it looked like an anthill somebody poked with a stick," he said. "Now, they're pretty much settling down."
"Probably waiting till morning to come looking for us," Brim suggested.
"That's my take," Aram assented. "And... wait a moment," he said. " Here's something interesting."
"What?" Brim demanded.
"Hang on..." the A'zurnian said.
A much longer, louder rolling sort of thunder came from the direction of the base: clearly the sound of a starship landing on a Becton tube. The first drops were filtering through the trees and the wind smelled strong with rain. Nearly a quarter metacycle passed before Aram came back on the line.
"One of those little Gorn-Hoff 219s just landed," he reported excitedly. "You know, the executive starships their High Command uses for the VIPs."
"Yeah," Brim said. "Two Helmsmen, twin spin-gravs on pylons aft, eight or so passenger seats.
Plush."
"You've got it."
"And...?"
" Big brass," Aram replied as lightning flooded the forest with momentary brilliance. Rain was now falling steadily, and the wind had become a constant moaning in the treetops. "The base people sent a limousine skimmer to meet it. Soon as the 219 rolled to a hover, a couple of black-suited Controllers got out, and the ship moved back out to the ready area at the launch end of the Becton tube. It's sitting there right now with the hatches open and the crew loafing around outside."
"So?" Onrad asked. "What do you have in mind?"
"So that 219 would sure be a sporty way to get back to Avalon," Aram said. "I'll bet it's even ready to take off."
"You mean steal it?" Onrad demanded.
"Absolutely," Aram replied.
"Damn," Onrad chuckled thoughtfully. "A Leaguer executive transport. Now that appeals to my sense of comfort. And, oh, wouldn't it just provoke the miserable bastards!"
"Maybe it's a trap," Beyazh suggested cautiously.
"I doubt it," Onrad said after a pause. "They don't even know we're alive, much less anywhere near their base. Aram. How far away are we from the ship?"
"The 219?" Aram asked.
"No, the thraggling Benwell," Onrad snapped.
"Er... sorry," Aram said in an embarrassed voice. "You're less than half a c'lenyt away."
"Good," the Emperor said. "Brim, do you think you could get that bucket of bolts started? I know you read Vertrucht."
"It's damn well worth a try," Brim answered. "I'd rather take my chances with that Gorn-Hoff than a village full of frightened Effer'wyckeans."
"Yeah. Me, too," Beyazh said. "But it's really up to you, Your Majesty. You're the one most at risk tonight."
"I say, let's go for it," Onrad said without a pause. "I'll damn well spend the night in Avalon if I have my choice.1'
"Next stop, then, Avalon," Aram declared. "Turn approximately one hundred points to your right and start moving as fast as you possibly can."
"Got you," Onrad said, looking up through the drenching rain. Without another word, he started through the sodden undergrowth with Beyazh and Brim in his wake.
After nearly half a metacycle of rough going, the A'zurnian ordered them to halt in a clearing.
"What's up?" Brim asked.
"I'm coming in for my battlesuit and a knapsack with some of those grenades," Aram said. "It's the next part of my plan." Moments later, he appeared overhead., "I'll also need the flashlight again to get all the way down."
"You've got it," Brim said, opening his visor and slitting his eyes against the rain as he looked up to blip the light.
Presently, the A'zurnian splashed to the ground. "You're no more than five hundred irals from the field boundary," he explained a little breathlessly.
"You getting tired?" Brim asked, handing him the battlesuit.
"No more than from a long, fast walk for you," Aram said, "against the wind. Don't forget, at home, this is my normal mode of getting around." He struggled into the battlesuit as best he could in the heavy rain. "Now," he continued, "here're my thoughts. First, there's a mesh barrier about sixteen irals high surrounding the base. I couldn't see it from the HSTS, but it's there and the support posts carry powerful lights. I assume the mesh itself is lethal."
"Good assumption," Beyazh interrupted. "I've seen those fences before. They'll kill at about two irals' distance."
"No surprise there," Aram said. "I'll get back to that in a moment. Right now, I need to tell you about my plan. First, I'll want everyone at a point just short of the cleared area surrounding the fence—directly opposite the 219 we're going to, er, 'borrow.' Got that?"
"So far, so good," Brim said.
"All right. I'll take some of these proton grenades and fly to the opposite end of the base where they have a lot of temporary buildings and hangars. They took the bigwigs there in the limousine skimmer.
My guess is there're stored flammables in some of those shacks—stuff that grenades could set to burning in short order."
"That'll get their attention," Onrad said.
"Right you are, Your Majesty," the A'zurnian continued. "At least that's what I hope for. That'll give you three the opportunity to cut an opening in the fence with your blast pikes, then make a run for the 219."
"And take care of the crew," Onrad said.
"And get it running," Brim added, knowing whose job that would be.
"While you're off doing the easy stuff," Aram quipped, "I'll continue to drop grenades here and there to keep the Leaguers occupied."
"And once we've got it ready to take off, you'll fly back and the four of us will take off. Is that it?" Onrad asked.
"That's my plan," Aram said, placing his helmet back on his head. "But we'll all have to hustle.
It's getting tough to fly up there, and the battlesuit's going to make it worse."
"How many of these grenades can you carry?" Brim asked, handing over one of the fist-sized ovals.
Aram bounced it a few times in his hand while thunder split the night like a disrupter salvo. "With the battlesuit and the knapsack, probably a dozen or so," he said presently. "Zaxt— maybe one more for good fortune, too."
"You sure?" Onrad asked. "You've been up there a long time."
"Thirteen," Aram repeated firmly.
"Thirteen it is," Brim said, testing the grenades carefully, then placing them in an empty knapsack.
When he was finished, he handed it to Aram who clutched it by one of its straps in his left hand. "See you in the 219, my friend," he said.
Aram gripped Brim's shoulder. "You get that Leaguer bucket of bolts started, Wilf. I'll be there—count on it." Then, with a drumming of wings, he was gone, crabbing almost sideways as the wind carried him along.