Naroin kept counting estimates of the reaver ship's approach. The ketch was under a thousand meters from the raft. Then eight hundred, and closing.
The situation on the raft grew more desperate. One agitated figure began pushing boxes of provisions off the deck, as if to lighten the load. They bobbed along behind the raft, very little distance growing between them.
"Six hundred meters," Naroin told them.
"Shouldn't we get closer now?" Brod asked. He seemed oddly relaxed. Not exactly eager, but remarkably cool, considering his earlier confessions to Maia. In fact, Brod had insisted on coming along.
"Lysos never said males can't ever fight," he had argued passionately, last night. "We're taught that all men are reserve militia members, liable for call-up in case of really big trouble. I'd say that describes these bandits!"
Maia had never heard reasoning like that before. Was it true? Naroin, a policewoman, ought to know. The former bosun had blinked twice at Brod's assertion, and finally nodded. "There are . . . precedents. Also, they won't be expecting a male. There's an element of surprise."
In the end, despite gallant protests by some of the others, he was allowed to come along. Anyway, Brod would be safer here than on the raft.
"Be patient an' clam up," Naroin told the boy, as they fought choppy currents. "Four hundred meters. I want to see how the bitchies plan on doin' it. … Three hundred meters."
Brod took the rebuke mildly. Looking at him a second time, Maia saw another reason for his relative quiet. Brod's complexion seemed greenish. He was clamping down on nausea. If the youth was trying to show his guts, Maia hoped he wouldn't do so literally.
It was getting near decision time. Plan A called for battle. But if that looked hopeless, those on the skiff were to try fleeing downwind, keeping the bulk of the island between them and the raiders. Only in that way might those sacrificing themselves on the raft get revenge. But, given the enemy's possession of radar, Maia knew the unlikeliness of a clean getaway. For all its flaws, the ambush scheme still seemed the best chance they had.
"Three hundred meters," Naroin said. "Two hundred an'eight. . . . Bleedin' jorts!"
Her fist set the rail vibrating. This sound was followed almost instantly by a roll of pealing thunder, anomalous beneath clear skies.
"What is it?" Maia asked, turning in time to glimpse, on the viewer screen, a sudden spout of rising water that just missed the little raft, splashing its frantic crew.
"Cannon. They're usin' a cannon!" Naroin shouted. "The Lyso-dammed, lugar-faced, man-headed jorts. We never figured on this."
Guilt-panged because the plan had been her idea, Maia craned to watch, fascinated as Naroin switched camera views of the approaching reaver boat. At its prow, a flash erupted through smoke lingering from the first shot. Another tower of seawater almost swamped the wallowing raft. "They've got 'em straddled," Naroin snarled, then snapped at Maia. "What're you lookin' at? Mind yer oars! I'll tell what's happenin'."
Maia swiveled just as a tidal surge washed their tiny craft toward a jutting rock. "Pull!" Brod cried, rowing hard. Heaving with all their might, they managed to stop short of the jagged, menacing spire. Then, as quickly as it came, the bulging sea-crest ran back out again, dragging them along. "Naroin! Turn!" Maia cried. But the preoccupied bosun was cursing at what she saw in the screen, taking notice only when a mesh of fiber cables suddenly stitched across the water, stretched to their utter limit, and abruptly snatched the electronic display out of her hands. The spy device flew some distance, then met the waves and sank from sight.
The policewoman stood up and shouted colorfully, setting the boat rocking, then quickly and forcibly calmed herself as more echoes of discrete thunder rounded the cliffs. Naroin sat down, resting hand and arm on the tiller once more. "No matter, it won't be long now," she said.
"We can't just sit here!" Tress cried. "Lullin and the others will be blown to bits!"
"They knew it'd be rough. Showin' up now would just get us killed, too."
"Should we try running away, then?" Charl asked.
"They'd spot us soon as they circuit the island. That boat's faster, an' a cannon makes any head start useless." Naroin shook her head. "Besides, I want to get even. We'll get closer, but wait till the last shot before settin' sail."
Now that they were away from the rock face, the swells were smoother. Maia and the others let the current carry them northward. More booms shook the thick air, louder and louder. Maia felt concussions in her ears and across her face. As they approached, an accompanying sound chilled her heart, the faint, shrill screaming of desperate women.
"We've got to—"
"Shut up!" Naroin snapped at Tress.
