Janet had slept through the disaster. Carson looked at her. She seemed unchanged, and her pulse was steady. He sat beside her, grief-stricken. Her eyes fluttered and she touched his wrist. He smiled. "We're doing fine," he said to her unspoken question.
"Can I help?" He had to lean close to hear.
"Not now. Later, maybe." She drifted back to sleep.
Carson buried his head in his hands.
Truscott was listening to several of her passengers outline the future assignments they were expecting when they got home, when Harvey, wearing an irritated frown, asked if he could speak with her in private.
"We've lost contact with the landing party," he said.
That should be no cause for concern. Commlinks failed. "How long?"
"Last check was due forty minutes ago."
She thought about it. "It's a little early to push the button. What do you think? Equipment failure?"
"Unlikely. They would have to be aware of it, though. And the shuttle has several communications methods available. Morris is worried."
"Last status was—?"
"Still on the ground. Carson and the Academy team went off somewhere to look at ruins. They left Jake with the shuttle."
"When were they expected back?"
"Before sunset. It's been dark there for over an hour."
She leaned against the bulkhead. "What options do we have?"
He looked at her. "I hoped you might be able to think of something."
Hutch was back out on the shoreline, looking at the downed bridge. Here, at least, she had a decent idea which way she wanted to go. But once in the woods, there was no guide. No way to check her course. And she could pass within ten meters of the shuttle and fail to find it.
West. It was toward the west.
She started off, striving to remain within sight of the water.
Earlier, nothing had seemed familiar. Now, she felt as if she'd been everywhere. She moved with frustrated abandon. The brachyids she had feared so much at the beginning of the odyssey had drifted to the back of her mind. Where was the shuttle?
Carson's voice broke through the stillness. "Any luck, Hutch?"
"No," she said. "I'm in the neighborhood—"
"Okay. I think we're out of time up here. I can hear them coming."
She did not know what to say.
"I'm going to take Janet down the stairway."
The stairway. It wouldn't work. Probably wouldn't even support their weight. "Don't do it, Frank," she said.
"I'm open to suggestions. We've got maybe ten minutes. At best."
Her lungs heaved. The forest went on forever, trunks and underbrush and roots pushing up through the soil and deep grass and rocks and cane plants.
"Frank."
"Yes?"
"Say something to me. Loud."
"What do you mean?"
"Talk to me."
"Hello."
"Louder."
"Hello."
"Shout it, damn it."
"HELLO!"
"It might work." Jake could not have been attacked unless something got into the shuttle, or he went for a walk. In either case, a hatch, at least, had to be open. Most likely, the cockpit canopy. "Frank, switch to the shuttle's channel, and make as much noise as you can."
She broke contact and listened.
Nothing.
But it was somewhere up ahead. Had to be.
Frank Carson understood that once he left the wall they were dead. Even if he made it down that impossible stairway, they would have no chance. Hutch would not be able to get to them with the shuttle.
Consequently, he bellowed into the commlink. Sometimes he called her name. Sometimes, "SHUTTLE, ONE TWO THREE." Sometimes, "GODDAM, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"
He had stationed himself ten meters in front of Janet. There was still life in the pulser, so they could put up a fight. Ahead, he heard the sound of crustacean claws on rock.
"What's going on?" Janet's voice. She didn't try to move.
Carson explained, in as few words as he could.
"No way off?" she asked.
"No."
"Where's Maggie?"
There was no way to soften it. "Dead," he said. He described how it had happened.
He listened to her breathe. "Little bastards," she said. "Do we have another pulser?"
"No."
She struggled to her feet. Fresh blood welled out of the packing on her ankle. She sorted among broken branches, and picked up one that she could handle.
Carson began talking to the shuttle again. "WE COULD REALLY USE HELP, HUTCH."
Janet stationed herself directly below the opening in the overhang. "If they get here before she does," she said, "I'm going to follow Maggie."
Hutch was fording a stream when she heard it. A whisper, far off, carried away on the wind. It sounded like: " — Bitch." She broke into a run.
Carson understood the simple ferocity of a beast looking for its dinner. But there was something else at work here. They had expended too much to get him. He wondered at their singlemindedness. Almost as if they perceived the humans as a threat. Was it possible they had dim recollections of the city's former inhabitants, and had made some sort of connection?
Whatever this was about, he was pleased to discover that they hesitated when he showed himself. And there was another piece of good fortune: the brachyids were no quicker on this battered surface than he was. He watched them come, climbing over broken concrete, sliding helplessly into cracks and crevices. One fell off the wall.
He stood adjacent to the stairway. Parts of a handrail had survived. He heard wings, and a large dark-green bird settled on it. The handrail trembled. The bird watched the crabs with interest. Its head bobbed, in the manner of terrestrial avians. It had the wingspread of an eagle, and it leaned forward, made several threatening starts, and suddenly plunged among the creatures. It seized one in outstretched claws, holding it at an angle that prevented the scalpel-claw from doing any damage. The brachyid shrieked, and the bird cackled and rose into the night.
"Where are your relatives?" asked Janet.
Moments later they heard a sharp meaty crack from below.
Last hope of retreat down the stairway was about to go by the boards. Janet looked at him. "You sure we want to let ourselves get cut off?"
He didn't reply.
"We could go sit on it. Climb to the upper level. They couldn't follow us up there."
"The damned thing would collapse. Let's give Hutch more time."
They waited. And eventually the crabs came.
Carson stood with legs braced, the pain in his left ankle pushed into a corner of his mind. They covered the ground before him, a dark horde he could not hope to stop. Nevertheless, they slowed, hesitated, somehow knowing what was coming. When the leading edge had drawn to within a meter, he pointed the weapon at them. They stopped.
He watched.
The moment drew itself out. And finally, as if a signal had been given, scalpels came erect and they swept forward.
The pulser's warning lamp blinked on. He pulled the trigger and played the beam across them, knowing he could not take time to kill them individually. Hurt large numbers, he thought, hoping that would be enough to drive them back. They squealed and blackened and crashed together, like tiny vehicles.
They fell back, and the weapon died.
Janet moved close to the edge of the wall. "Okay," she said.
"Hey." Hutch's voice.
"Go ahead."
"I need more noise. I can hear you. The shuttle's right here somewhere."
Carson grunted. "It's a little late, Hutch."
"Talk to me," she raged. "Come on, Carson."
He roared her name to the stars. "It's too late," he cried. "It's too goddam late."
"That's good," said Hutch. "Keep at it."
Carson stayed where he was, hoping to intimidate the creatures. He followed Janet's example, and found a branch. He broke off the smaller limbs, and hefted it. When he was satisfied, he joined her. They stood close together.