“Ye maun press it whan I press this ain. On three.”
“Ae. Twa. Three”
The Attendant cried out as they stabbed the emergency buttons, and the Proctor reached out with his arms to pull them away. “Please to be desisting, sahbs,” it said. “That is a violation of Ship’s Regulations. Assault against helpless sleeper.”
The Proctor’s three-dimensional shell flickered and broke up under Donovan’s dazer, and the torso emitted a high-pitched whine. Behind him, he heard the pod door hiss as it unsealed.
The Proctor’s arm knocked Méarana to the catwalk and pushed Donovan’s gun aside. The image of the policeman recohered. “Assault on a Proctor is a termination offense. This is your first warning. Sahb, what are you thinking? Attendant, please restore the disturbed sleeper to her proper status.”
Peacharoo tried to get past Donovan, but the Brute braced his back against the pod bank and shoved with both feet. Peacharoo skidded. He shifted his feet to the Attendant’s superstructure—and his boots seemed to sink into the hologram’s chest. The automaton tilted, her right wheels lifted from the catwalk.
Billy fired at the Proctor, and its image again broke up. Paulie swung his sword and clipped off the top of the projection core—and snapped his blade in two.
Donovan sidestepped as the pod door swung open behind him. The Proctor’s arm let go and black smoke emerged from its casing. The Attendant toppled, wheels spinning. Somewhere, a klaxon began to hoot and a voice cried out in the Tantamiž: “The Pod Bay is under assault. The Pod Bay is under assault.”
Something shuddered deep within the ship. A dim, distant, low-pitched clank could be heard. And the catwalks shivered. The echoes reverberated into silence.
Paulie said in the silence, “That can’t be…”
“Shut up,” Donovan growled. He activated his comm. and called, “Franq, are you there? Speak to me.” He heard nothing. “Hallahan? This is Donovan. Speak to me.”
“There were no live systems in the engineering section,” Méarana said nervously.
“Franq! Hallahan! Blankets and Beads! Anyone on the trade ship? This is urgent.”
A rumble began in the depths of the Pod Bay, as of something massive rolling. There was a distant hiss.
Méarana said, “We should make our way back to where we left the shuttle.”
“Right,” said Sofwari. “Where was that…” The wallah’s face was layered in despair. The Pod Bay looked the same in every direction. How far had they come? Which turns had they made? The Pedant remembered the way, but the Sleuth pointed out that they could not run as fast as Peacharoo had carried them. It might take hours to return to the entrance. And I don’t believe we have hours.
“B-and-B, speak to me. We need guidance out of here. Lock onto our beacons and talk us to the nearest airlock or hangar deck. Speak.”
A voice crackled through static. “Donovan, this is Franq. We got troubles. Almost at shuttle. Get outside. Anywhere. We’ll locate you.”
Donovan glanced at the now-dark Attendant. “Sorry, Peacharoo.”
“How long was I asleep?”
Each of them jerked a bit at the new voice, though Donovan was startled least of all. A part of him—the Brute, he thought—had been aware of motion behind him. Méarana pushed past him, crying, “Mother! Oh, Mother!” Sofwari grinned. Billy looked at Paulie.
“I said, how long was I asleep?” She seemed remarkably alert for someone who had been but lately in a coma. By long tradition, the first words of such a one ought to be “Where am I?” But Bridget ban knew quite well where she was. She was still wearing the skinsuit in which she had been captured.
“About a year,” Méarana said, “maybe a little longer.” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, suddenly looking years younger, crying, “We found you! I always knew it! I never gave up!”
Bridget ban said, “A year! What kept you?” Then she looked past her daughter, and the sardonic half-smile faded from her lips, and she said, “You!”
Donovan started to say, yeah, me; but as swift as a black mamba striking, Bridget ban had pulled a needier from a coverall pocket and fired.
Donovan ducked and the beam went wide.
Or it did not. Billy Chins snarled as the arm holding the dazer went numb. He ducked around the corner of the pod block. “Do it, Paulie!” he said as he disappeared. Paulie pulled his pellet gun and fired off four rapid shots.
He was a good shot, and four bullets would ordinarily have been sufficient to his purpose. But Debly Jean Sofwari had seen the hand move and had thrown himself in front of Méarana, and so the four bullets found one target.
The impact threw him backward onto his three companions. Donovan and Bridget ban leapt to either side, vaulting on the pod doors to the top of the stacks. Méarana jerked her arm forward and her knife flew from her sleeve and embedded itself in Paulie’s throat.
The Wildman clawed at the knife, lost consciousness as the blood gushed out, and fell to the catwalk. His legs kicked twice, and then he was still.
Méarana knelt beside the science-wallah and bestowed the long-sought kiss on Debly’s lips. His eyes stared at nothing. She thought she would miss the awkward little man with the strange enthusiasms.
Then she sprinted to where Paulie lay, pulled the knife from his throat without breaking stride, and clambered atop the pod rack, where she lay still.
She listened. She watched. Nothing moved. She might be alone in this vast abandoned ship.
“I see you’ve been keeping up your practice,” Bridget ban said in a low voice beside her.
Méarana did not flinch. “I was coming to look for you.”
“You…didn’t have to come yourself.”
“Who did you expect?”
“Little Hugh, to tell you the truth.”
“Why him?”
“You liked him, back when he used to visit. I thought you would go to him for help. Not the old drunk.”
“Did I guess right? I used to think it was Hugh; but it was Donovan, wasn’t it?”
“Do you want it to have been him?” She peered down the aisle where Billy Chins had disappeared. “He better show himself soon.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you hear the rumbling down below? I hope you don’t think one of those Attendants could stuff me in a tank.”
Donovan was a little disappointed in Billy Chins, and more than a little angry with himself.
“Why didn’t you see this coming?”
«I did,» said Inner Child.
I never did trust him.
“Not quite four to two…,” the Fudir muttered.
Three to one. Our baby took out Paulie all by herself, but Sofwari took four in the chest.
“Two and a half to one,” said Donovan. “Méarana doesn’t have a chance against Billy.”
Donovan didn’t know if he had a chance, either. An old man, long out of practice. And a Hound just out of cold sleep. Separated so that they could not coordinate their moves. Billy might have the advantage.
“Brute,” said Donovan, “you watch down that way with the left eye. Child, take the right eye. Sleuth, you and Pedant try to work out his strategy. Silky, you listen for anyone else coming up on top of these pods with us.
“What about me?” said the Fudir.
“Work with Sleuth. When they figure out what Billy is up to, figure out how to handle him.”
“By the time the subcommittee reports are in, Bridget ban will have taken him out, packed up the harper, and abandoned us here.”
“Check our chronometer, Fudir. It took us less than a beat to get ourselves organized.”
“You know, yours is the persona that once worked as a Confederate courier. I was the masque, like that poor woman out at the Iron Cones.”