manhandling a portable disrupter cannon into position at the far end of the street. The plan was clear enough. Once the cannon was ready, all they had to do was call back their own troops and open fire. The cannon would blow away the barricade and everyone near it with one blast. The defenders wouldn't stand a chance.
Cat was off and running across the steeply slanted roofs the moment he realized what was happening. As a deaf mute he couldn't shout a warning to the defenders below, and by the time he'd made the people on the roof understand him, it would be too late. Which meant it was all up to him. He moved silently into position over the troops as they finished assembling the portable cannon, and brought its computers on line. They were almost ready to fire, and Cat didn't have a single idea how to stop them. Throwing things would only distract them, and if they had hand disrupters, they'd soon blast him off the roof. If he jumped them, the element of surprise might let him take out one or two of the troopers, but the rest would be sure to get him.
Cat looked frantically round the roof for inspiration, and his eyes lit on a crooked chimney stack, not far from the edge of the roof. A passing energy beam had neatly clipped away one corner, so that it was leaning toward the street. It looked like one good push would send it over. Cat checked the position of the cannon and its crew again. Right under the chimney stack. Perfect. Cat grinned, and put his shoulder to the brick chimney. He pushed with all his strength, and it didn't budge an inch. He tried again, slamming his shoulder against the brickwork, his feet sliding on the slippery slates as he tried to dig them in. Thick black smoke suddenly swirled around him as the wind changed direction. Cat sank to his knees, coughing harshly, fighting for breath. There were hot cinders in the smoke, too, and he pulled up his suit's hood to keep them out of his hair. Down below, the cannon had to be almost ready by now.
Raging silently, Cat put his back against the chimney stack, braced his boots against the most secure tiles, and strained with all his strength. The brickwork shifted reluctantly beneath him. His face twisted into a pained grimace as he pushed with everything he had in his back and legs. The pain grew, and still the bricks wouldn't give. Cat strained desperately, his heart thumping madly in his chest, sweat running down his face, and the chimney stack broke away from the roof. It happened as quickly as that. One moment nothing, and then there was a sharp crack of rending bricks and mortar, and the whole damned stack went over the side of the roof, taking Cat with it.
He twisted automatically as he fell, already grabbing for handholds. He had a brief glimpse of shocked upturned faces from the disrupter gun crew, and then they disappeared as the great mass of brickwork slammed down on them like a hammer. Cat's flailing hand caught a wooden shutter as he fell past it, and he took a firm hold. For a moment his whole weight was hanging by that one hand, but then the momentum of his fall swung him around and it was the easiest thing in the world to fly through the open window and into the room beyond. He hit the floor rolling, and finally crashed up against the far wall, where he stayed for a while, till he got his breath back. As his heart finally slowed back to something that could pass for normal. Cat decided it was very definitely time he was getting back to the Blackthorn, and safety. He didn't want Cyder getting worried about him.
Out in the streets of Mistport, old hatreds and divisions were forgotten as the rebels came together to fight a common enemy. Old and bitter foes fought side by side, and sworn enemies guarded each other's backs. It seemed everyone who could walk and wield a weapon was out in the streets now, fighting to defend a city whose importance they hadn't realized till it looked to be taken from them. Even Owen's foes from the old Deathstalker network had turned out to do their bit. They were businessmen, not warriors, but they hadn't got where they were without guts and determination. And perhaps, deep inside, they remembered the idealistic young men they had once been, and old beliefs and convictions stirred in them again.
Neeson the banker and Robbins the landlord fought side by side, swords flashing as old skills came back to them. Stacey the lawyer had an elegant rapier, and Connelly and McGowan of the docks cut a bloody path through the enemy with an ax in each hand. They all fought bravely and well, and were surprisingly effective for middle-aged men who'd grown soft in comfortable positions.
'Damn, this feels good,' Neeson said to Robbins during a lull in the fighting. 'Takes me back to our young days, when we were going to change the world and overthrow the Empire. And all before lunch.'
Robbins laughed. 'Happy days. Simpler days, anyway. I was getting bored with being a businessman anyway.'
The Blackthorn Inn was a blazing wreck, its upper floor an inferno, its roof gone, swept away by the fire and smoke belching up into the night sky. Three gravity barges hovered overhead, disrupter beams hammering down. Flames licked along the outer walls, and great cracks appeared in the brickwork. Inside, there was smoke and chaos and panic. Jenny Psycho stood in the center of the room, arms outstretched like a crucifix, her mental energies the only thing holding off the deadly disrupter beams. Blood trickled steadily from her nose and ears and mouth. Under the blood her face was deathly pale and her wild eyes were fixed on something far away. She was dying, and everyone knew it. She was the only thing protecting the Blackthorn, and it was killing her inch by inch.
Donald Royal had organized people into groups with buckets of water and blankets, ready to stamp out any fires that started in the barroom. The old man had been revitalized by the emergency, and was bustling around like a man half his age. Councillor McVey had gathered Chance's children into a small group, away from the walls. Madelaine Skye, Royal's partner, stood in the doorway with a disrupter in her hand. Empire troops had already blown the door off its hinges, and tried throwing grenades through the gap. Skye had seen the first one, thrown it straight back out, and taken up her position by the door to discourage anyone else with the same idea. Outside, on the other side of the street, a large group of Imperial marines were patiently watching the doorway, ready to deal with anyone who came out of it. No one was interested in taking any prisoners from the Blackthorn.
Behind the bar, Cyder was getting very drunk. Her tavern was a wreck, she was trapped in a burning building, and Cat was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he was somewhere safe, but doubted it. He should have been back long ago. Probably got involved in the fighting. She'd told him and told him, never get involved… She poured herself another drink.
'Don't you think you've had enough?' said Donald Royal.
'Hell no,' said Cyder. 'I can still think.'
'If we end up having to make a run for it, you'll be no use drunk.'
'Make a run for it? Where would we go? The inn's surrounded by men with guns. The moment we leave this place we're dead. Of course, if we stay, we're dead, too. If the flames don't get us, the smoke will. Or that Psycho woman will finally fall apart and the gravity barges will blow the whole place into kindling. Have I missed anything?'
'There's always the chance something will happen,' said Royal. 'Some lucky break, or opportunity. We have to be ready to grab it.'
Cyder shook her head. 'It's too late, Donald. We're not going anywhere.' She broke off, and frowned. 'Can you hear someone singing?'
And that was when one wall of the tavern suddenly collapsed. The bricks just fell apart, revealing the outside street and a hell of a lot of dead troopers. Flames swept toward the gap, but were somehow thwarted and held back by some unseen force. And there, right outside, singing, were Investigator Topaz and the woman who used to be known as Typhoid Mary. The two most powerful Sirens in the Empire, or out of it.
'Told you so,' said Donald to Cyder, grinning. 'All right, people; we are leaving! Grab anything you absolutely have to have, and head for the hole in the wall. Madelaine, help me with Jenny Psycho. Cyder, put that bottle down and run or I'll kick your ass up around your ears.'
There were flames everywhere now. The air itself was hot enough to burn. Sudden stabs of energy smashed down through the ceiling as Jenny's shield splintered. Donald grabbed her by the arm and hustled her toward the hole in the wall. Blood was spilling thickly down her face now, and spraying from her mouth in time to her agonized breathing. Her skin was an unhealthy blue-white, and her hand in Royal's was cold and clammy. She looked like death warmed up and allowed to congeal, but somehow she was still maintaining her psionic shield, protecting the rebels as they fled from the burning inn. Her legs were stiff and unsteady, and Donald kept her moving by brute force, for she was beyond cooperating with him or anyone else now, even to save her own life. Her whole world had shrunk down to the simple need to maintain her shield, even though it was killing her. Donald got her to the hole in the wall, and all but threw her out into the cold night beyond. He clambered out after her, his chest heaving as he tried to cough up the smoke that had got into his lungs. He felt old and tired and his head was swimming, but he wouldn't let himself fall. Not yet.
McVey helped Chance get his charges on their feet again, and between them they herded the half-mad
