leaves showed him that his blanket of smoke was even and thick. The tree rose smoothly; he felt a warming professional satisfaction — despite the situation.
He raised his head. The dozen trees of his flight were arrayed in a wide, leafy curve which matched the arc of the Raft a hundred yards above: they were just below the Platform, according to his charts of the underside. His trees rose as steadily as if attached by rods of iron; in a few minutes they would sweep over the Raft's horizon.
He could see the nearer pilots as they worked at their fires, their thin faces grim.
'Can't we speed it up?' Nead stood before him, his face stretched with anxiety and tension.
'Keep at your work, lad.'
'But can't you hear them?' The young man, blinking away tears, shook a fist toward the thin battle noise drifting down from the Platform.
'Of course I can.' Pallis willed the temper to subside from his scarred mask of a face. 'But if we go off half- cocked we'll get ourselves killed. Right? On the other hand, if we stick to our formation, our plan, we've a chance of beating the buggers. Think about it, Nead; you used to be a Scientist, didn't you?'
Nead wiped his eyes and nose with the palm of his hand. 'Only Third Class.'
'Nevertheless, you've been trained to use your brain. So come on, man; there's a job of work to be done here and I'm relying on you to do it. Now then, I think those bowls near the trunk need restocking…'
Nead returned to work; for a few moments Pallis watched him. Nead's frame was gaunt, his shoulder blades and elbows prominent; his Scientist's coverall had been patched so many times it was barely recognizable as a piece of cloth, let alone a uniform. When his eyes caught Pallis's they were black-ringed.
Nead was barely seventeen thousand shifts old. By the Bones, Pallis thought grimly, what are we doing to our young people?
If only he could believe in his own damn pep talks he might feel better.
The flight swept out of the shadow of the Raft, and leaves blazed golden-brown in the sudden starlight. Pallis could feel the tree's sap churn through its branches; its rotation increased like an eager skitter's and it seemed to leap up at the star which hung in the Raft's sky.
The Rim was mere yards above him now. He felt a growl building in his throat, dark and primeval. He raised a fist above his head; the other pilots waved their arms in silent salute.
…And the line of trees soared over the Platform.
A panorama of blood and flames unfolded before Pallis. People ran everywhere. The deck was crowded with blazing awnings and shelters; where the roofs had been blasted away Pallis could see papers burning in great heaps. The sudden down-wash from the trees' branches caused the fires to flicker and belch smoke.
Three mine craft — iron plates fitted with jets — hovered a dozen yards above the Platform. Their jets spat live steam; Pallis saw Raft men squirm, the flesh blistering away from incautious limbs. Miners, two or three to a craft, lay belly down on the plates, dropping bottles which bloomed fire like obscene flowers.
This was the worst assault yet. Previously the miners had targeted the sites of the supply machines — their main objective — and had largely been beaten off, with low casualties on either side. But this time they were striking at the heart of the Raft's government.
There was little sign of organized defense. Even Pallis's flight had been near the end of its patrol of the underside when the miners attacked; if not for a pilot's sharp eyes the Raft might have been unable to mount any real counter-thrust. But at least the Platform's occupants were fighting back. Spears and knives lanced up at the hovering plate craft, forcing the miners to cower behind their flying shields—
— until, as Pallis watched, one spear looped over a craft and made a lucky strike, driving through a miner's shoulder. The man stared at the bloody tip protruding from his muscle, grabbed it with his good hand, and began to scream.
The craft, undirected, tipped.
The other occupants of the craft called out and tried to reach the controls; but within seconds the plate, swaying, had fallen to within a few feet of the deck. Raft men braved live steam to force their way to the craft; a hundred hands grabbed its rim and the steam jets sputtered and died. The miners were hauled, screaming, from the plate, and were submerged by the flailing arms of the Raft men.
Now the tree flight was perhaps a dozen yards above the Rim and was noticed for the first time by the combatants. A ragged cheer spread through the chaotic ranks of the defenders; the miners turned their heads and their faces went slack. Pallis felt a crude pride as he imagined how this awesome dawn of wood and leaves must look to the simple Belt folk.
Pallis turned to Nead. 'Almost time,' he murmured. 'Are you ready?'
Nead stood by the trunk of the tree. He held a bottle of fuel; now he lit the wick with a crude match and held the burning lint before his face. His eyes were deep with hatred. 'Oh, I'm ready,' he said.
Shame surged through Pallis.
He turned to the battle. 'All right, lad,' he said briskly. 'On my count. Remember, if you can't hit a miner douse your flame; we're not here to bomb our own people.' The tree swept over the melee; he saw faces turn up to his shadow like scorched skitter flowers. The nearest plate ship was mere yards away. 'Three… two…'
'Pallis!'
Pallis turned sharply. One of the other pilots stood balancing on the trunk of his tree, his hands cupped to his mouth. He turned and pointed skywards. Two more mine craft flew above him, their ragged edges silhouetted against the sky. Squinting, Pallis could make out miners grinning down at him, the glint of glass in their hands; the miners were obviously trying to get above his trees.
'Shit.'
'What do we do, Pallis?'
'We've underestimated them. They've caught us out, ambushed us. Damn it. Come on, lad, don't just stand there. We've got to rise before they get above us. You work on the bowls near the rim, and I'll get to the trunk.'
Nead stared at the encroaching forms of the miners as if unable to accept this distraction from the simple verities of the battle below.
'Move!' Pallis snapped, thumping his shoulder.
Nead moved.
A floor of smoke spread beneath the trees, spilling over the battlefield. The great wheels lurched up and away from the deck… but the mine craft were smaller, faster and far more maneuverable. Effortlessly they moved into position above the flight.
Pallis felt his shoulders sag. He imagined a fire bomb hitting the dry branches of his tree. The foliage would burn like old paper; the structure would disintegrate and send blazing fragments raining over the deck—
Well, he wasn't dead yet. 'Scatter!' he yelled to his pilots. 'They can't take us all.'
The formation broke with what seemed ponderous slowness. The two mine craft split up, each making for a tree…
And one of them was Pallis's.
As the plate descended the tree-pilot's eyes met those of the miner above him. Nead came to stand close by the pilot. Pallis reached out, found Nead's shoulder, squeezed hard—
Then a cold breeze shook the tree and a shadow swept across his face, shocking and unexpected. A huge form sailed across the face of the star above the Raft.
'A whale…' Pallis felt his jaw drop. The great beast was no more than a hundred yards above the deck of the Raft; never in his life had he known a whale to come so close.
When the miners attacking Pallis saw the great, translucent ceiling mere yards above them they called out in panic and jerked at their controls. The plate wobbled, spun about, then shot away.
Bewildered, Pallis turned to survey the Platform battle. The whale's cloudy shadow swept across tiny, struggling humans. Men dropped their weapons and fled. The remaining miners' craft squirted into the air and sailed over the lip of the Raft.
Save for the dead and wounded, the Platform was soon deserted. Fires flickered desultorily from a dozen piles of wreckage.
Nead was sobbing. 'It's over, isn't it?'
'The invasion? Yes, lad; it's over. For now, at any rate… Thanks to that miracle.' He stared up at the whale,
