Calmly, or as calmly as one could expect anyway, the pilot brought the airship in closer and closer to shore. About a thousand feet out, he flicked a switch to dump the fuel. A sudden slight ballooning upward told him that had worked. He'd not been sure that it would, with all the damage the ship had taken.
He killed the main forward rotors, causing the ship to slow considerably. What little fuel remained in the system would go to the vertical thrusters.
Slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly the shore edged closer. The nose touched and began to crumple. There was still a lot of mass in the airship, and a lot of inertia. It was enough to half crush it. That mass drove the ship inexorably forward to ruin. At the last second, the pilot threw Ling's arms over her face.
And that was the last thing he remembered for quite some time.
af-Fridhav, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
Over the little tourist boats Hamilton stood with a set of bolt cutters in one hand. The boats were lit by the flames on the other side of the lake. The flames suggested to Hamilton that his worst fears were realized: The ship had crashed and burned, the people— including the freed children—were lost, and the virus somewhere at the bottom of the lake.
"Does that mean . . . ?" Petra asked.
"I'm afraid it might."
Her shoulders slumped and she seemed on the verge of tears. "To have come so far . . . "
Hamilton put his unencumbered arm around her and said, "But we're still alive. And we have to get away."
"Damned right you do, asshole!" sounded in Hamilton's ear, startling him.
"Bernie?" he asked. "You're alive?"
"No, I'm speaking to you from the great beyond,
"But the fire?"
"The pilot dumped fuel to gain some altitude and reduce the chance of fire. I don't know what touched the fuel off, a tracer, maybe. Then again, there's been enough shit flying that it could have been anything. Now get your ass over here. There are Swiss medics and rescue personnel taking care of us, and a helluva fight in the air and on the lake. In the confusion . . . "
While Hamilton was talking, Petra looked at him as if he'd gone slightly mad.
"Oh, and Caruthers is here. He says move your ass."
Hamilton looked down at Petra and laughed. "They're
The boat's electric motor was virtually silent. At first, and for just under an hour, Hamilton followed the northern shore. The lights of the fight on the water and in the air receded. When he judged it was safe enough to do so, he cut the wheel hard port and set off into the lake.
His eyes scanned nervously about, as did Petra's. He kept his weapon leaning against the steering column. Hers she kept in her hands. She knew, intellectually, that it would be little defense against a patrol boat. That didn't matter. The comfort of the weapon was not in its ability to defend her. It was in its ability to make her a target to be shot rather than a victim to be taken, tried, and crucified.
"Get ready," Hamilton whispered. "There's something up ahead, a patrol boat, I think."
What he saw in his goggles she didn't know. That he moved the submachine gun resting on the steering column to a position across his legs frightened her. She grasped her own weapon all the more tightly.
"Ah shit," he said. "They've seen us."
Petra pulled the submachine gun to her shoulder. She couldn't see anything yet, not having goggles. No matter; when the enemy appeared, she would be ready.
"That won't be much use, you know," Hamilton said.
"Depends on the purpose," Petra answered. He understood completely.
The boat had four life jackets draped over the back. Hamilton pointed to them and told her, "Dump the burka and put one on. The water's cold but we might still make it if we swim for it."
"Or they might take us alive from the water," she answered. "No thanks."
He nodded that he understood that, too.
"If this were faster I'd try to ram them," he said. "As is, I doubt they'd feel the nudge."
