waste of time,' said one. 'He's gone. If I was him, I'd be gone.'
'What are we doing anyway, stuck here? The colonel wants more fight?'
'It's a deathwatch, man. He wants us to hold his hand while he rots. And the whole time we're feeding prisoners. I didn't see no grocery on the way in.'
'The best target's the one standing still. We're just beautiful, man. Sitting ducks.'
'My very thoughts.'
There was a pause. They were still feeling one another out.
'So what's the word?'
'Desperate times, man. Desperate measures. The colonel's eating our time. The civilians are eating our food. And the dying are dead. It's called limited resources.'
'Makes sense to me.'
'So who else is in?'
'You two make twelve. Plus the mope, Shoat. He won't let go of the code for his homing device.'
'Give me an hour with Shoat, I'll give you his code. And his mama's phone number.'
'You're wasting your time. He gives that up, he knows he's dead. We just have to wait until he activates the box. Then he's dog food.'
'When do we do it?'
'Pack your toothbrush. Soon, real soon.'
'Ow,' barked one. 'Fucking statues.'
'Be glad they ain't real.'
'Hang on, girls. What have we here?'
'Coins! Look at this.'
'These are handmade. See the cut edges? They're old.'
'Fuck old. This stuff's gold.'
'About time. And there's more this way.'
'And over here, too. About time we found some booty.'
The three separated, plucking coins from the ground with all the elegance of chickens in a yard. They worked farther and farther apart from one another.
Finally the one with a backward Raiders cap got down into a duckwalk with his rifle across his lap, which freed both hands to snatch at the treasure. 'Hey, guys,' he called,
'my pockets are full. Rent me some space in your rack.'
Another minute passed. 'Hey,' he yelled again, and froze. 'Guys?' His hands opened. The coins dropped. Slowly he reached for his rifle.
Too late, he heard the tinkling of jade.
The Chinese had a special word, ling-lung, to describe the musical jingling that jade jewelry made as aristocrats walked by. There was no telling what the hadals might have called it twenty eons earlier. But as the statue next to him came alive, the sound was identical.
The mercenary started to rise. The proto-Aztec war club met him on the downstroke. His head popped clear with surgical neatness. Obsidian really was sharper than modern scalpels. The statue shed its jade armor and became a man. Ike socketed the club back into its terra-cotta hands, and hefted the rifle. Fair exchange, he thought.
The mutineers carried the rafts down to the sea and loaded them with the expedition supplies. This was done in full view of their commander, whom they had bound into a wire cocoon and hung raving from the wall. 'Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the vengeance of God,' he shouted at them.
In their side room the prisoners could hear Walker. Love, not vengeance, thought Ali, lying on the floor. The colonel had it wrong. The quotation was Romans, and it had to do with the love of God, not His vengeance. A moot point.
Their guard left to help load the getaway vessels. He knew the civilians weren't going anywhere.
The time had come. Ike had given her all the advantage he could. She was going to have to improvise from here on.
Ali drew out the knife.
Troy lifted his head. She laid it against her wrist bonds and the blade was sharp. The rope practically disintegrated. She rolled to face Troy.
Spurrier heard them and looked over. 'What are you doing?' he hissed. 'Are you crazy?'
She flexed her wrists and shoulders and got to her knees to unravel the wire leashing her neck to the wall.
'If you make them mad, they won't take us with them,' Spurrier said. She frowned at him. 'They're not taking us with them.'
'Of course they are,' Spurrier said. But she had shattered his hope. 'Just wait.'
'They'll be back,' Ali said. 'And we don't want to be here.'
Troy had the knife, and went over to Chelsea and Pia and Spurrier.
'Get away from me,' Spurrier said.
Pia grabbed Ali's hands and pulled her close. She stared at Ali, eyes wild. Her breath smelled like something buried. Beside her, Spurrier said, 'We shouldn't make them mad, Pia.'
'Stay, then,' Ali said.
'What about her?' Troy was kneeling by the captive girl. Her eyes were on his, unwavering, watchful.
The girl might bolt for the entrance or start screaming or even turn on her liberators. On the other hand, leaving her was a death sentence. 'Bring her,' said Ali.
'Leave the tape on her mouth, though. And keep her hands tied. And the wire around her neck, too.'
Troy had the knife blade under her rope, ready to cut. He hesitated. The girl's eyes flickered to Ali. Tinged with jaundice, her eyes were catlike. 'You keep her tied, Troy. That's all I'll say.'
Spurrier refused to escape. 'Fools,' he hissed.
Pia started out the door, then turned back. 'I can't,' she said to Ali.
'You can't stay here,' said Ali.
'How can I leave him?'
Ali grasped Pia's arm to pull her, then let go.
'I'm sorry,'. Pia said. 'Be careful.' Ali kissed her forehead.
The fugitives stole from the room into the interior fortress. They had no lights, but the walls' luminescence fostered their progress.
'I know a place,' Ali told them. They followed her without question. She found the stairs Ike had shown her.
Chelsea was limping badly from whatever the mercenaries had done. Ali helped her, and Troy helped the girl. At the top of the stairs, Ali led them through Ike's secret entrance into the lighthouse room.
It was dark in the room, except for one tiny flame. Someone had pried open the floor vault and emptied it. And left a single clay lamp burning. Ali lowered herself into the vault, and helped Chelsea descend. Troy lowered the captive girl. Ali was surprised at how light she was.
'Ike's been here,' she said.
'It feels like a tomb,' said Chelsea. She had started shivering. 'I don't want to be here.'
'It was a storage vault with jars,' Ali said. 'They were filled with oil. Ike's taken them somewhere.'
'Where is he now?'
'Stay here,' she said. 'I'll find him.'
'I'll go with you,' said Troy, but reluctantly. He didn't want to leave the girl. He had developed some kind of obsession with her during the past few days. Ali looked at Chelsea: she was in terrible shape.
