At least, that’s what I hoped.
There was another burst of light down below.
“That wasn’t us,” Oscin said. “But it was close.”
“You have any ideas?”
“Lots. But we need better ones. This is just a clumsy old transport. We don’t have the weapons or the maneuverability to win a dogfight, and our enemy doesn’t seem to place much stock in playing fair.” Whatever he said next was drowned out by a loud roar. “—wounded.”
Another tug from up above. I bobbed a few centimeters, thrashed, saw the Brachiators huddle as they conferred over what to do next.
I tapped my throat mike and murmured the code I had for Lastogne. It took all of five seconds for him to answer: five seconds inhabited by the terrible suspicion that something had befallen all the people in the hangar. Then I heard a clutter, a muttered curse, and a voice thick with sleep. “Unngh. Counselor? Aren’t you back yet?”
“No,” I said, “and we’re not going to be back at all unless we get a rescue mission out here, right away.”
A pause. I heard another voice in the background, female, asking Lastogne a sleepy question. He relayed it. “Are you still in the habitat?”
“That’s affirmative. We’re under attack and we need a pickup.”
He didn’t ask me who was attacking. “You have a location? A grid number?”
“I didn’t even know you used grid numbers!”
“Can you ask the Porrinyards?”
“They’re busy! Just track my signal!”
“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get Mo Lassiter.”
I felt another sharp tug on my line, lifting me a few centimeters. This time it wasn’t followed by an equivalent drop. When I looked up, I understood why. The Brachiators were working out a plan to retrieve me. Even as I watched, the gray-haired one had cupped one of his hands around a length of cord and was lumbering away from its anchoring point, turning himself into a pulley that would draw me up the farther he traveled. Other Brachiators were stepping in to take the slack.
Retrieving me could take hours, but the Brachiators had plenty of time. It was all they did have. I wasn’t sure I had any. “Damn you, Peyrin! This is getting serious!”
He came back on. “We’re working on it, Counselor. Still looking for Mo.”
“Does it matter who you get? We’re in trouble here!”
“I recognize that, Counselor. I want her because she knows the Uppergrowth better than just about anybody, and she’s most equipped to find you based on your signal. But we’re not waiting for her. We’ll have a party outfitted and ready to go in just under two minutes, with or without her.”
I felt another tug, and began to wonder if I even had two minutes.
A point of light emerged from the clouds, became an arc, then headed back in. I couldn’t tell whether that was the Porrinyards or their pursuer. Oscin’s signal broke into mine: “I’m having a rough time, Andrea. I’ve had to descend a little farther than I wanted to, into a storm, and it’s going to take me a few minutes to pull out. Don’t overreact if I’m out of touch for a while.”
I was still wondering what overreaction was supposed to entail in this situation when Lastogne returned, all out of breath: “Found Mo. She’s getting ready. What’s happening?”
Another tug, yanking me upward.
“Counselor?”
The Brachiators were now acting in concert, the cord strung through several sets of hands as everyone involved in my retrieval followed the gray-hair’s lead. Several were drawing up their own slack, increasing the speed of my ascent. A few seconds ago I had considered the sluggishness of the species a near guarantee that they wouldn’t have me back within reach for hours. Now I figured I had minutes.
At that point I’d have nothing but words to save me from what had happened to Cynthia Warmuth.
Lastogne prodded me. “Counselor?”
“Tell Lassiter I’m hanging from a safety line and under assault from Brachiators. Tell her I think I have five minutes or less. Tell her the Porrinyards are in a skimmer, under attack by someone airborne.” A thought occurred to me. “Contact the AIsource too.”
“They must know what’s happening already.”
“I’ve no doubt of that. But they may not refuse a direct request for help.”
The Brachiators had a rhythm going. The stop-start-stop-start I’d endured up to this point had given way to constant effort. When I looked up I saw that the number of Brachs working on the project had increased to half a dozen.
I thrashed, arced my back to provide myself access to the line, and pulled myself upward, climbing hand over hand until I could wrap my arms and legs around the hanging cord. It robbed me of some distance, but at least it allowed me to face them.
The Porrinyards came back online, speaking together. “Are you all right, Andrea?”
“I should be asking you that question.”
“It’s been a rough few minutes,” they said, “but I’m clear enough, right now, to tell you what I’m dealing with. Peyrin? Are you getting this?”
Lastogne broke in. “I’ve got you.”
“We’re under attack by what seems to be a human being, or other humanoid, inside some kind of heavily fortified flying armor. It’s demonstrated offensive capabilities including light explosives and motion-seeking projectiles, both of which might have put me down long ago were the pilot not more interested in forcing me down into the clouds. I seem to be outside its reach right now, but every time I’ve tried to rise above the storms I’ve been…” A rumble of static. “…chastised. I’m trying to manuever around a bit, and find some way to ascend, but that effort’s taking me farther and farther away from Counselor Cort.”
Another tug drew me upward. I said, “This isn’t about attacking you. It’s about keeping you too busy to retrieve me.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too,” the Porrinyards said.
“Then get yourselves to safety. I’ll wait for Lassiter to show up.”
“I’m sorry,” the Porrinyards said. “I didn’t quite get that.”
“I said, save yourselves. Let me fend for myself for once.”
“Nope,” the Porrinyards said. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear that, either.”
I called them just about every horrid name I knew and several others I had to make up. Just a few arm- lengths above me, the Brachiators continued working with an efficiency I never would have expected of them, as they drew me closer and closer to clawing distance. I saw slack in the line hanging in loops from a dozen Brachiator hands. I heard reverent discussion of Life and Half-Ghosts rolling from a dozen Brachiator mouths. This was a religious experience for them, one the members of this tribe would no doubt pass along to their children and grandchildren long after my name ceased being even a footnote in human history.
I pulled myself up a little farther, hating having to get closer to them but needing the extra slack so I could stand in the makeshift stirrup the cord formed as it looped under my feet. It turned the line into a kind of elevator, which I rode as they pulled me toward them.
The broad furry back of the nearest Brachiator was now a little more than a single arm’s length out of reach.
Lastogne broke in. “Counselor? You there?”
I blinked sweat from my eyes. “I hope you have a smarter question than that.”
“We’re going to need you to hold on for a while. The AIsource have closed the Habitat.”
I heard another long, rumbling explosion: either real thunder or the Porrinyards being punished for making another attempt to rescue me. I hadn’t noticed any flash of light, so I couldn’t tell where it had come from, except down below. My brain immediately conjured an image of the skimmer breaking in half and the Porrinyards sharing a scream as they toppled head-over-heels into toxic murk. I didn’t much appreciate the way my stomach clenched at the image. I didn’t want to live through this if the Porrinyards got killed.
Lastogne continued: “They wouldn’t let us in. They called current conditions in there too hazardous to allow
