The final morning on Tintera was a fine day. We and the horses were in
a rock-enclosed aerie where we had dodged the day before for shelter.
In the aerie were grass and a small rock spring, and this day, the
final day, was bright with blue and piled clouds riding high.
From where we sat, looking from the top of the rock wall, we could see
over miles of expanse. Lower hills and curving valleys all covered
with a rolling carpet of trees, a carpet of varying shades of gray
and green. There were some natural upland meadows, and clearings in
the valleys, and far away a line drawn in the trees that might be the
path of a river. Down there, under that carpet, were all sorts of
things--wild Losels, men hunting us, and--perhaps--some of the others
from the Ship. We had seen the Losels and they had seen us; they had
gone their way and we had gone ours. The men hunting us for blowing up
their scoutship we hadn't seen for four days, and even then they hadn't
seen us. As for the others, we hadn't seen them at all. But they might
be there, under the anonymous carpet.
Jimmy got up from the ground and brushed himself off. He brought the
signal over to me and said, "Should I, or do you want to?"
"Go ahead," I said.
He triggered it.
George Fuhonin was piloting and we were the sixth and seventh aboard.
The other five crowded around and helped us put our gear away. Jimmy
went on inside and I went upstairs to talk to George.
I was up there by the time we were airborne. "Hello, Halfpint," George
said.
"Hi, Georgie-Worgie," I said, dealing blow for blow. "Have you had any
trouble picking us up?"
"No trouble yet. You trying to wish me problems?"
"No," I said. "This is a real nasty planet. They had Jimmy D. locked up
in jail. They hate everybody from the Ships."
"Oh." George raised his eyebrows. "Well, that might explain the
board." He pointed to the board of lights above and to his left.
Twenty-nine were marked for the twenty-nine of us. Of the twenty-nine,
only twelve were lit. "The last light came on two hours ago. If there
aren't any more, this will be the most fatal Trial Group I've ever
picked up."
I stayed upstairs through two more pickups. Joe Fernandez-Fragoso,
and then another double of which Venie Morlock was one half. I went
downstairs to say hello to her.
* * * * *
We were just settling down when George set off the alarm. He was
speaking in the elder brother tone that I can't stand.
"All right, kids--shut up and listen. One of our people is down there.
I didn't get close enough to see who. Whoever it is is surrounded by
some of the local peasantry and we've got to bust him out. I'm going
to buzz down and try to land on some of them. Then I want all of you
outside and laying down a covering fire. Got that? I'm starting on down
now."
Some of the kids had their weapons with them, but Jimmy and I didn't.
We hopped for the gear racks and got out our pistols. There were ten of
us and four ramps to the outside. Jimmy and I had No. 3 to ourselves.
George is a hotrodder, as I've said, and after he gave us a long moment
to get in place, he started down, a stomach-heaving swoop. Then he
touched down light as a feather and dropped the ramps.
Jimmy and I dived down the ramp and I went left and he went right. We
were on a slight slope facing down and my momentum and the slant put me
right where I wanted to be--flat on my face. I rolled behind a tree and
looked over to see Jimmy almost hidden in a bush.
Here, hundreds of miles from where we had been picked up, it was
misting under a familiar rolled gray sky. In my ears was the sound of
gunfire from the other side of the ship and from below us. Our boy
was pinned fifty yards down the slope behind some rocks that barely
protected him. He was fighting back. I could see the sighting beam of
his sonic pistol slapping out. About thirty feet away from him toward
us was the body of his horse. I recognized him then--a meatball named
Riggy Allen.
I took all this in in seconds, and then I raised my pistol and fired,
aiming at his attackers. They were dug in behind trees and rocks, at
least partly hidden from Riggy as he was hidden from them. From where
we were, though, above and looking down, they could be picked out. The
distance was too great for my shot and it plowed up earth ten feet
short, but the man I aimed at ducked back behind cover.
There was a certain satisfaction in one of these guns. Where a sonic
pistol is silent, these made enough noise that you knew you were doing
something. And when you missed with a sonic pistol, all you could
expect at most was a shriveled branch or a sere and yellow leaf, but a
miss with this gun could send up a gout of earth or drive a hole in a
tree big enough to scare the steadiest man you can find.
I aimed higher and started to loft my shots in. Jimmy was doing the
same thing, and the net effect was to keep their heads down. Riggy
finally got the idea after a long moment. He stood up and started
racing up the hill. Then my gun clicked empty, and a second later the
firing to my right stopped. I started to fumble for another clip.
As our fire stopped, those heads popped back up again and took in the
situation. They began to fire again and our boy Riggy took a long step
and then dived over the body of his horse and went flat.
* * * * *
In a moment I was firing again, and then Jimmy was, too, and Riggy was
up and running again. Then I started thinking clearly and held my fire
while Jimmy emptied his clip. The instant he stopped, I started again,
a regular squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. As I finished, Jimmy opened with
his new clip and then Riggy was past us and up the ramp. He went flat
in the doorway there and started firing his sonic pistol; its range was
greater than our peashooters and he hosed the whole area down while
Jimmy and I sprinted for the ramp.
As we hit the inside of the ship, I yelled, "Raise No. 3!" George had
either been watching or listening, because it lifted smoothly up and
locked in place.
Shots were still coming from the other sides of the ship, so I yelled
at Jimmy to go left. Riggy just stood there for a moment fuzzy-headed,
but Jimmy gave him a shove to the right and he finally got the idea.
I cut through the middle. In the doorway of No. 1, I skidded flat on
my face again and looked for targets. I dropped all my clips in front
of me and began to fire. When the clip was empty, in two quick motions
I pulled out the old one and slapped in the new and fired again. The
three I was covering for used their heads and slipped in one at a time.
As the second one came aboard, I heard Jimmy's voice call to raise No.
2 from my left. My third was Venie Morlock and as she ran aboard, I
couldn't resist tripping her flat. I yelled to George to raise No. 1.
Venie glared at me and demanded, "What was that for?" as the ramp swung
up.
"Just making sure you didn't get shot," I said, lying.
A second later, Riggy yelled that his side was okay and the last ramp
was raised. My last view of Tintera was of a rainsoaked hillside and
men doing their best to kill us, which all seems appropriate somehow.
As the last ramp locked in place, George lifted the ship again and
headed for the next pickup.
I went over to say hello to Riggy. He'd been completely unhurt by the
barrage, but he had a great gash on his arm that was just starting to
heal. He _said_ that he was minding his own business in the woods one
day when a Losel jumped out from behind a bush and slashed him. That
may sound reasonable to you, but you don't know Riggy. I do. My opinion
is that it was probably the other way around--the Losel was walking
along in the woods one day, minding his own business, when _Riggy_
jumped out from a bush and scared him. That is the sort of thing Riggy
is inclined to do.
Riggy had been sneaking a look at my gun, and now he said, "Where did
you get that neat pistol? Let me see it."