where the river entered the bay. The entire force slid beneath the waves at that point, formed two columns, and was subsequently guided upriver by a combination of low-frequency voice commands, homing beacons, and watchful scouts, one of whom was there to shepherd the runner through one of two holes in the net. The passage was anticlimactic in a way, since it had taken so much effort to prepare for the moment, yet nothing went awry.
Once upstream of the net and the guards, things began to change. The water was fresh, there was a strong current to contend with, and lots of obstacles. Having scraped a bridge support, and come close to colliding with a boulder, Rebo tucked in behind one of the more experienced phibs. Then, by following the noncom’s glowing ankle bracelets, the norm made his way up the fi?rst section of the river without further incident.
But it wasn’t long before the commandos encountered the fi?rst of what would prove to be a number of challenges. The face of the dam stood at least fi?fteen feet high, which meant the raiders would have to climb it and hoist their sleds up after them. Strong though the amphibians were, even they couldn’t swim twenty miles upstream and still have suffi?cient energy for what lay ahead.
Fortunately, there weren’t any guards other than the mill keeper’s dog, which barked twice, then collapsed with a sling-launched spear through its throat. The body was hidden, and guards were posted even as specially fabricated swing arms were deployed. It wasn’t long before the fi?rst sled was lifted onto the top of the dam and more followed. Eager for something to do, and cognizant of how important it was to set an example, Rebo took charge of the crew that was working to drop the newly arrived sleds into the lake that lay pent-up behind the dam. Then, as the fi?nal units were hoisted up and over, the moon began to rise. Except that the runner knew that the half-seen orb wasn’t a moon, at least not a natural one, which meant he was looking at Socket. Rebo wondered if Norr could see it but thought that was doubtful since the sensitive was in Shimmer. But there was no opportunity to pursue the thought, as the last sled went over the side, and the commandos made clean dives into the moonlight- streaked water below. The runner tried, but was responsible for a sizeable splash, much to the amusement of his water-dwelling subordinates. Then the journey continued, as commandos pushed their way up to the head of the long, narrow lake, where they were forced to portage around a hundred-foot-wide ledge where the Otero spilled into the water that was backed up behind the dam. That task consumed forty-fi?ve precious minutes and left Rebo wondering whether they would arrive at the objective on time or be caught by the rising sun—an almost certain disaster given the fact that the phibs would be many miles inland, open to attack from above, and vulnerable to Arbuk’s ground troops.
But it was too late to turn back, so all Rebo could do was push such thoughts away and keep on going. The next stretch of river was relatively benign. It consisted of a long series of gentle S-curves that acted to slow the current and make progress somewhat easier. Rebo couldn’t see the land to either side but imagined it to be fertile and bordered by neatly kept farms. The commandos made good progress through that stretch, thereby regaining some of the time lost earlier and raising the runner’s fl?agging spirits. Finally, having reached the railroad bridge that crossed the Otero just east of Prost, it was time to disable the sleds, sink them out in the middle of the river, and hike crosscountry. The artifi?cial moon had arced most of the way across the sky by then, and even though Rebo welcomed some light to see by, the off-worlder knew that it could betray his command as well. One by one the phibs shouldered their various loads, scrambled up the steep riverbank, to assemble on the tracks above. The rails gleamed with refl?ected moonlight and made a gradual turn toward the west. The runner gave a series of orders, waited to make sure they would be followed, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the phibs spread out along both sides of the line.
Navigation became relatively easy at that point, since all they had to do was follow the track to the village of Prost and the warships that waited there. The rest would be simple. Or that was the way it seemed until the runner heard the mournful sound of a steam whistle, knelt to place a hand on cold steel, and felt it start to vibrate. A train was on the way! But which one? A routine freight? Or the train.
Meaning the one that was supposed to haul the ironclads to Esperance.
The phibs nearest to the runner turned to him for orders, the whistle blew again, and Rebo struggled to decide. Should he attack the train? It could be loaded with troops?
Or allow it to pass? Only to face what could be even more opposition when he entered the village of Prost? The seconds ticked by, his heart beat faster, and a big round light loomed out of the darkness.
On the great sea
The sailboat’s bow dipped, broke through a foam-topped wave and threw a fi?ne mist back over the cabin and open cockpit. Shaz, who was standing just aft of the cabin, put out a hand to steady himself as he watched what he knew to be Socket drop below the western horizon. Hopefully, within a matter of days, he would set foot on the artifi?cial satellite and be present when Logos took control of it. At that point a number of choices would present themselves. If the opportunity arose, the combat variant could kill Tepho and claim the star gates for himself. Or he could continue in his present role, wait for the norm to make a mistake, and pick up the pieces. Fortunately, either strategy would deliver the results the variant wanted. But that was then, this was now, and Shaz had work to do. The plan, which had been conceived by Tepho and approved by Arbuk, was to sail the phib vessel to Buru. Once Shaz landed, he would present his credentials to the commandant and lead a party into the island’s interior, where he was supposed to locate and secure the star gate. That was the plan, anyway, but there were plenty of things that could go wrong, including the weather. A bank of clouds had been visible off to the southwest just before the moon set, the breeze had stiffened within the last few minutes, and Harluck’s crew was pulling the jib down. None of it boded well, but the off-worlder tried to take comfort from the fact that bad weather could provide the boat with some much-needed cover and help keep the phibs at bay. And that was the case, or seemed to be, until a dim, barely seen sun rose, and Harluck announced the bad news.
“There they are!” the pirate proclaimed, as he pointed to the west. “Phibs! Three of them! All trying to cut us off!”
It was bad news, but Harluck sounded triumphant, as if glad to be right even if the phibs were to sink his boat. The combat variant couldn’t see anything at fi?rst, but fi?nally, by squinting just so, Shaz was able to make out three tiny triangles of sail, all on a course to converge with Harluck’s tiny vessel. “All right,” the off-worlder said calmly,
“maintain the course you’re on.”
“But there’s three of them,” the pirate objected. “They’ll cut us to pieces!”
“No,” Shaz maintained stolidly. “They won’t. Not if you do what you’re told.”
Harluck was ready to put the helm over at that point and make a run for the mainland, but looked up to discover that Phan was aiming a pistol at him. It winked red as the bow collided with a wave, the deck lurched, and the targeting laser dipped. That left Harluck with no choice but to maintain the course he was on even if it meant that a violent confrontation was almost certain. The next few hours seemed to creep by, as all four of the boats continued to converge, and the low-lying island of Buru appeared in the distance. It was little more than a shadow at fi?rst but gradually took on additional substance, as mile after mile of ocean passed beneath the single-masted boat’s keel.
