Maggie smiled. It was an uninhibited smile, ringed by tears. "Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
"Be careful," said Carson.
She strapped the lamp to her wrist and started back along the top of the wall. The night closed over her.
The smell of the sea was strong, and the woods below were full of the sound of insects. George's final cries echoed through her mind, and she was desperately afraid.
Her mind would have conjured up images of his last moments had she allowed it to. But she let the shock effect numb her imagination. She tried to concentrate only on what needed to be done, to push her fears and her loss aside.
She hurried back along the wall, watching the forest floor rise. Ahead, shrubbery blocked her view of the glade.
And she heard them. Directly ahead.
Below, the forest floor was quiet.
Bushes swayed in the wind. She held the lamp up, played its beam across the top of the wall. Everything looked clear. She passed into the screening bushes and emerged in the glade.
They were on the lower level.
She glared down at them.
They were pushing leaves and dirt toward the base of the wall. A chill worked its way up her spine.
Hutch picked up a rock and threw it at them. Incredibly, it missed. But the work stopped momentarily, and eye-stalks swung toward her. Several peeled off and moved into the underbrush on either side of the wall. The others began to back away, and withdrew beyond a distance that George would have recognized.
She opened a channel on her link. "Maggie."
"Here."
"They're out here at the end of the wall. Building a ramp."
She heard a sharp intake of breath. Heard Maggie relay the warning to Carson. "Maybe we should try going down the staircase," Maggie said.
"No," said Hutch. They would never make it. "You've got time yet. Just be ready to go when I get back."
"Okay. Hutch?"
"Yes?"
"I'm looking forward to that dinner."
"Me, too."
She retreated back through the shrubbery, and looked down. It was a healthy jump, about five meters. But she saw only one crab.
She sat down, swung round, and hung by her hands. The thing below began to move. She pushed away from the wall, and let go. The fall took an ungodly long time. While she dropped, she held the lamp away from her body, where it was less likely to get broken or cause injury. She was aware of the wind, and the smell of the woods, and of filtered moonlight.
She hit harder than she'd expected, rolled to her feet, and, without wasting time looking for the brachyid, took off.
The route they had blazed was to her right, uphill, but she thought it wise to stay off it for a while. She chose a parallel course, and resolved to cut over when she was safely away from the area. She had decided she would give the little bastards full credit for military capabilities.
There was no sound of pursuit.
"I'm clear, Maggie," she said into her commlink. "And on my way."
She did not run all out. Something had happened to Jake. Keep that in mind. But time pressed. She hurried on, and plunged through blinds and into vegetation that she might otherwise have avoided.
Gradually, she angled uphill, expecting to find the trail.
She didn't. She reached the top of the ridge without knowing where she was. Son of a bitch.
She'd missed it. Gone right past it.
Don't panic. She called the wall. Pause. Give her a chance to regroup. "Maggie?"
"Here. How's it going?"
"Still moving. I'm okay."
"Be careful."
"I will. How are you doing with the tree?"
"Slow. The range is a little long."
"Stay with it. I'll keep you posted."
Five minutes later, she stumbled across blackened shrubbery. Okay. This was the way they had come. But the trail barely existed, and her notion that she could sprint back to the shuttle vanished. She realized how little attention she'd paid coming out. And they'd made no effort to mark their passage. No one had considered the possibility of a problem getting back; after all, at worst, it would only be necessary to home in on Jake's signal.
She made several wrong turns. Each time, she retraced her steps and conducted a search. At one point, she came out of the woods and found herself looking across open, moonlit water. The collapsed bridge they'd seen from the air lay in the shallows like a sleeping dinosaur.
The tree did not fall.
Maggie had cut completely through the trunk, but it only leaned to one side, hopelessly tangled in the web of branches. Leaves and broken wood rained down on her, and some went over the side and took the long plunge to the forest floor.
But the canopy was as solid as ever.
"What now?" she asked Carson. She had exhausted her pulser. Only Hutch's weapon remained. She took it out of her belt.
Carson surveyed the trees. "Over there," he said. Cut that one. It was the same width, but about four meters farther out. At the extreme limit of the weapon's range. "Get that one, and they might both come down."
She looked at him unhappily.
"It's all we've got, Maggie."
She crept to the edge, and reached out. Get as close as possible. She pulled the trigger.
Hutch had no idea where she was. There were no stars to guide her. No landmarks. Nothing. She saw no sign of their previous passage, no hill or tree that stirred memory-She had triangulated on Maggie's link, which sent out a continuous signal. That told her where she was in relation to the wall, and allowed her to estimate generally where the shuttle should be. It was in this area somewhere. But where? She worried that she had already passed it, that it lay behind her.
"Look out."
The trunk tilted toward them. That shouldn't have happened: Maggie had angled the cut away so it would fall in the other direction. But instead it came down slowly in a cacophony of splintering wood. She scrambled back from the edge. Twigs and leaves and vines came with it. The trunk slammed into the wall, and the entire structure shuddered. The general tangle fell across Maggie, a vast leafy net, knocking her off her feet. Branches cracked and the trunk kept rolling until it slipped clear and started a long, slow descent into the abyss. And Maggie reali/ed with horror that she was going with it.
She was dragged relentlessly toward the edge of the wall. She tried to free herself. Find something to hold onto. But everything seemed to be going over the side.
The world was filled with broad flat leaves and a terrible grinding sound. She heard Carson calling her name. And it occurred to her that she was not going to find out about Oz. Not ever. Nor why the Quraquat had identified the Monument-Makers with death.
Made no sense.
The tangle paused, balanced high over the forest floor, allowing her a final glance at the sliver of moon. Mercifully, it was too dark to see how high she was.
Sorry, Hutch.
"Hutch." The voice was frantic.
"Go ahead, Frank."
"Maggie's dead."
The words hung on the night air. Her eyes slid shut. She had left the lake front, and was struggling through flowering plants and oversized ferns. Utterly lost.
"Hutch? Did you hear me?"
"Yes," she said. "How? What happened?" It did not seem possible. Maggie had been fine. Was too smart—
Carson told her. His voice was thick with sorrow. "I found her pulser," he added. "She dropped it."
"You're sure she couldn't have survived?"
"Hutch, she went over the side." Pause. "Did you get to the shuttle yet?"
"No, Frank. God help me, I have no idea where I am."
"Okay." Carson's voice was gentle. "Do what you can. We've got a hole now. You can get in when you get here."
In the dark, she stared straight ahead. "Out," she said quietly.