“And don’t trip over the city crew,” Lyssa added. “They’ll show up in a moment. I’m lowering the ramp.”
We all headed for the freight bay. As the inner door of the bay opened for us, I drew in a startled breath as heated air rushed in.
“Summer,” Fiori sighed, lifting her chin and closing her eyes.
“It’s hot,” I pointed out.
“Yes!”
“I hate weather,” I replied. Irritated, I crossed the bay toward the ramp. It wasn’t just hot. The light beyond the freight bay was dazzling.
When I stepped off the ramp onto the rough, stained surface of the platform, I had to raise my hand against the glare of the light, overhead. I shot a quick glance at the source of the heat and light. Running the length of the cylinder, and down the center of it, was a cable of articulated mirrors which brought Plinio’s light into the cylinder. The mirrors could clearly be turned in and off, or out and on, and I guessed there would be an outer shield that could control the amount of light, too, if they arranged their own seasons in here. When Plinio sank behind the planet, night would drop in here, too.
I was already looking forward to that. The heat gathered around me like an invisible coat, smothering me with thick air. I was already sweating, something I normally only did when I was exerting myself.
City crew people were already moving around the Lythion. Just like in normal landing bays, they were hauling umbilicals and hoses to attach to the ship, or pads and meters to inspect the ship. They moved around each other in an intricate, well practiced weaving dance.
Beyond the platform, and not all that far away, was a bunch of tall buildings with multiple floors and glittering windows. Not all the windows were closed, that I could see. Some of the floors, even the higher ones, were open to the air. The Wynchesterites were enjoying their summer.
I shuddered.
Marlow nudged me. “There’s the car.” He nodded to the left.
The road I had spotted leading up to the platform was there. Just coming into view at the top of the slope was a car which looked similar to the four man one that had paced alongside us, only the dome over the top of it was opaque. It rolled onto the platform and along the front of it, staying on the other side of a thick line painted on the surface.
Another car followed it.
I blinked as a third car appeared and all three moved along the edge of the platform. All three had domes which hid their occupants.
“What the hell?” Dalton breathed.
“Stay here a bit,” I told everyone, for I didn’t like the anonymous cars and what they might hide. I lifted my voice. “Lyssa, can you hear me?” There was a general pick up at the front of the landing bay for just such occasions.
“Barely,” her voice whispered back.
“Ask Lyth if this is him at the ship, and what does he think he’s doing?”
Before she could answer, the front and end cars opened up, the covers folding back into them and doors opening on either side. Eight people emerged and spread around the edges of the platform, skirting the ground crew, all gazing about with sharp eyes and expressions I recognized.
Dalton rolled his eyes. “Guards.” He recognized them for what they were, too. None of them appeared armed, but I didn’t think it would matter if they were armed or not.
Jai turned to me, with a small frown. “I know he was having trouble with the Humanists, but I didn’t think it was this severe.”
“I didn’t, either,” I admitted, troubled all over again.
Then the center car opened up and folded back on itself, and Lyth stepped out, wearing a large, warm smile as he gazed at us.
A shout rang out, guards surged and shriver bolts sizzled across the platform, all tracking toward Lyth.
“Take cover!” I screamed at everyone around me, then ran for Lyth.
—16—
I was once called the Imperial Hammer. I had been a blunt instrument wielded in the name of the Emperor, Ramaker. I’d spent fifty years in active service for the Imperial Rangers, and another unofficial thirty years serving the Emperor himself, although I hadn’t known I was still his instrument until much later. I learned a lot about surviving a crisis in those eighty years.
I guess the instincts never really wither, especially when you have no time to think.
I belted across the platform toward the center car. I think I intended to cover Lyth or get him out of the way. Something like that.
I didn’t move nearly fast enough. Lyth took off even faster than me, running toward his guards, who were converging on the direction where the shriver bolts were still firing from.
I cursed at my slowness and at Lyth, too. I didn’t have time to articulate it in my mind, but a general what the fuck is he doing? rippled through my brain as I changed directions and chased after him.
I ducked and wove automatically, using every little bit of cover to make my way forward, for multiple bolts were sizzling across the platform. Lyth was doing the same thing.
Most of the ground crew were hugging the ground, arms over their heads, or cringed behind trolleys of equipment that wouldn’t stop a shriver bolt anyway. But the assailants weren’t aiming for them.
The guards closest to the attackers surged out from behind their cover as the bolts paused for a moment. Whoever the attackers were, they were also amateurs. If there were two of you, you always timed your shooting so one had a charge on their shriver and could cover while the other loaded a fresh charge box.
At the same time the guards rushed the attackers, a pure white parawolf streaked past me, stretched out at maximum speed, her lips pulled back to bare her rows of teeth.
“Hero, stop!” I shouted. But she wasn’t my parawolf.
She shot passed Lyth,
