Marooned in Realtime

'Good. If you can be sensible, perhaps the rest can.' He looked up. 'You will deliver system control to me now. And then I'll —'

Della laughed and stood up. 'I think not, Director. The rest may be domesticated animals, but not me. And I outgun you.' Her smile, even her stance, seemed disconnected from the situation. She might have been discussing some parlor game. In its way, her manner was scarier than Gerrault's sadism; it stopped even the Director for a second.

Then he recovered. 'I know you; you're the gutless traitor who betrayed the Peace in 2048. You're the sort who bluffs and blusters but is basically spineless. You must also know me. I don't bluff about death. If you oppose me, I'll take my zygotes and med equipment, and leave you all to rot; if you pursue and destroy me, I'll make sure the zygotes die too.' His voice was flat, determined.

Della shrugged, still smiling. 'No need to puff and spit, Christian dear. You don't understand quite what you're up against. You see, I believe every word you say. But I just don't care. I'm going to kill you anyway.' She walked away from them. 'And the first step is to get myself some maneuvering room.

Gerrault's mouth hung open. He looked at the others. 'I'll do it, I really will! It will be the end of the human race.' It was almost as if he were seeking their moral support. He had been outmonstered.

Yelen shouted, her voice scarcely recognizable, 'Please, Della, I beg! Come back!'

But Della Lu had disappeared over the crest of the amphitheater. Gerrault stared after her for only a second. Once she got out of the way, suppressor fields and tremendous firepower would be brought to bear on the theater. Everyone here could be killed — and Della had convincingly demonstrated that that wouldn't bother her. Gerrault sprinted for the floor-level exit. 'But I'm not bluffing. I'm not!' He stopped for an instant at the door. 'If I survive, I'll return with the zygotes. It is your duty to wait for me.' Then he was gone, too.

Wil held his breath through the next seconds, praying for anticlimax. Dark shapes shot skywards, leaving thunder behind. But there was no flash of energy beams, no nukes. There was no shifting of sun in sky as might happen if they were bobbled; the combatants had moved their battle away from the amphitheater.

For the moment they lived. The low-techs huddled in clumps; someone was weeping.

Yelen's head was buried in her arms. Juan's eyes were closed, his lower lip caught between his teeth. The other high-techs were caught in less extreme poses... but they were all watching action beyond human eyes.

Wil looked at his display flat. It was counting down the last ninety seconds. The western sky flashed incandescent, two closely spaced pulses. Tunc said, 'They both nuked out... they're over the Indian Ocean now.' His voice was distant, only a small part of his attention devoted to reporting the action to those who could not see. 'Phil's got his force massed there. He has a local advantage.' There was a ripple of brightness, barely perceptible, like lightning beyond mountains. 'Firefight. Phil is trying to punch through Della's near-Earth cordon.... He made it.' There was a scattered and uncertain cheer from the low-techs. 'They're outward bound, under heavy nuke drive. Just boosted past three thousand klicks per second. They'll go through the trailing Lagrange zone.' Christian Gerrault had some important baggage to pick up on his way out.

And Wil's display read 00:00:00. He looked at Juan Chanson. The man's eyes were still closed, his face a picture of concentration. A second passed. Two. Suddenly he was grinning and giving a thumbs-up sign. Christian's baggage was no longer available for pickup.

For a moment Wil and Juan grinned stupidly at each other. There was no one else to notice. 'Five thousand kps.... Strange. Phil has stopped boosting. Della will be on top of him in... We've got another firefight. She's chewing him up.

.. He's broken off. He's running again, pulling away from her.

Wil spoke across the monologue. 'Tell 'em, Juan.'

Chanson nodded, still smiling. Suddenly Tunc stopped talking. A second passed. Then he swore and started laughing. The low-techs stared at Blumenthal; all the high-techs were looking at Chanson.

'Are you sure, Juan?' Yelen's voice was unsteady.

'Yes, yes, yes! It worked perfectly. We're rid of both of them now. See. They've shifted to long-term tactics. However their fight ends, it will be thousands of years, dozens of parsecs from here.' Brierson had a sudden, terrible vision of Della pursuing Gerrault into the depths forever.

Fraley's voice cut across Chanson's. 'What in hell are you talking about? Gerrault has the med equipment and the zygotes. If he's gone, they're gone — and we're dead!'

'No! It's all right. We, I —' He was dancing from one foot to the other, frustrated by the slowness of spoken language. 'Wil! Explain what we did.'

Brierson pulled his imagination back to Earth and looked across the low-techs. 'Juan managed to separate the medequipment from Gerrault,' he said quietly. 'It's sitting up there in the trailing Lagrange zone, waiting to be picked up.' He glanced at Chanson. 'You've transferred control to Yelen?'

'Yes. I really don't have much space capability left.'

Wil felt his shoulders slowly relax; relief was beginning to percolate through him. 'I've suspected 'Genet' almost from the beginning; he knew it, and he didn't care. But during our war, all the high-tech systems were taken over to fight Della. Juan — or any of