Putting the hydrofoil on autopilot and entering evasive orders, he took his pistol from its charging socket near the pilot wheel and headed for the stern. Lyra met him halfway through the cabin.
“Who’s driving?” she asked curtly.
“Multiple K.”
“Not good enough. Too many boats.” She eyed the weapon in his right hand. “I came down so I wouldn’t have to do that.”
“It’s to burn that net, not Irquit.”
“What net?”
“You’ll see when you take over.” He pushed past her, slipping the safety off the asynaptic pistol.
He was halfway to the foredeck when something buzzed him like an apoplectic wasp. The fast-moving, elegantly agile hydrofoil made it difficult for the Mai marksmen to aim but occasionally an arrow or spear would spang against the hull or whistle past overhead. Despite their inaccuracy, the sheer volume of primitive projectiles made moving around out on deck dangerous.
Dropping flat and utilizing the slight inward curve of the metal gunwale for protection, he crawled toward the bow. Once alongside the cockpit bubble he rose and carefully began burning away the net that covered the plastalloy.
The bow section was aerodynamic so there were few projections for the nets to catch onto, and he had half of the net cleared away before a sudden burning made him glance down at his left arm. A small stream of blood dripped from where a passing arrow had dug. Etienne made a mental note to ask Homat if the Upriver inhabitants ever used poisoned barbs in their fishing. He turned back to the work at hand.
Lyra appeared to be fully occupied with the task of steering them through their assailants while causing as little damage as possible. She was darting rapidly from side to side, working with unexpected animation. He frowned, leaned close to the bubble. Yes, she was very active, and so was the second figure she was grappling with.
The hydrofoil lurched abruptly to starboard and nearly threw him overboard. Only his grasp on the remaining Mai net kept him from a fatal dunking. As he struggled to his feet he identified the second figure in the cockpit: Irquit.
But that was impossible. Because of Homat’s warning they made doubly sure to lock the cabin door every time either of them entered or left. Irquit should have been stuck outside, on the stern deck where she slept with Homat.
Lyra was heavier than the Mai and probably a good deal stronger, but if Homat was to be believed Irquit was a trained killer. Lyra’s experience ran to more genteel pursuits. From what he could see, his wife was having a hard time fending off a wicked-looking blade. He shouted at her, aware as he did so how useless his words were.
Without Lyra at the instruments and with the autopilot turned off, the hydrofoil was beginning to slow. That was a safety override, designed to keep a boat with a disabled crew from running into the shore. As the whine of the jet faded, Etienne saw shapes begin to close in on them. They’d run past most of the Changrit armada, but were still near enough to be overtaken by determined oarsmen. He could hear them chanting in the dark as they strained to overhaul the spirit boat.
If they were allowed on board, asynapts wouldn’t be enough to cope with the sheer weight of numbers. His first thought was to get back inside. He could lock any boarders out, and with their primitive weapons they couldn’t break in, but they could certainly disable the engine or clog the water scoops.
Bowmen were close now and suddenly found themselves presented with a relatively stable target. They kept him pinned down by the fishing dome, unable to move through the shower of arrows.
Suddenly he saw a third shape inside the cockpit. For a moment he despaired. If Homat had lied to them, if he’d been a willing ally of Irquit’s and of the Zanur all along—he screamed Lyra’s name.
But if that were the case, then why the trembling expiation last night up on the telescope platform? As Etienne watched he saw Homat edge carefully around the pinwheeling combatants, climb up into the pilot’s seat, put both six-fingered hands on the wheel and nudge the accelerator.
Again he found himself thrown to the deck, only this time it was due to the hydrofoil’s sudden leap forward. Shouts of dismay and anger reached him from the two fishing boats that were almost within boarding range. Two Mai actually made the jump and landed aboard.
The asynapt flashed twice in the darkness. There was a brief bright blue flash where each charge struck flesh, the smell of ozone in the air, and a single splash as the first victim tumbled overboard. The second fell near Etienne’s sweaty face, curved knife locked in a stilled grip.
Etienne scrambled erect and ran to the nearest entryway. When Irquit saw the other human enter the cabin she broke free and rushed astern, trailing curses in her wake. He just missed her in the main corridor, collided with Lyra instead. It was a timely collision, since his impact knocked her aside and clear of the knife that whistled past them.
He fired wildly and seared a section of ceiling, as a funny, high moan sounded from the direction of the cockpit. Homat fell away from the wheel as Lyra moved to help him.
Another pair of fishing nets clung to the boat, and Etienne pushed a few tangles aside as he cautiously emerged on deck. Irquit was unarmed, however, except for her mouth. She snarled something that Etienne translated crudely as “Death to the Faceless One!” Whether the curse was aimed at Homat or himself he had no way of knowing and likely never would know, because their former guide and cook threw herself over the side and instantly vanished astern. No doubt her Changritite allies would fish her out of the river and send her on her way Downriver toward Po Rabi.
Etienne was gratified that they’d put their trust in Homat. Certainly he had burned his bridges behind him. There was no way the Mai could ever show his face in Po Rabi again.
If he didn’t live, though, it wouldn’t make any difference. Etienne remembered that surprised moan as Irquit’s knife sailed past his ear. With the Changrit flotilla rapidly falling astern, he turned and hurried back into the cool interior of the hydrofoil.
The pilot’s seat was unoccupied and he slid behind the wheel, made a fast check of the instruments. The scanner showed only a few small logs floating to starboard, in contrast to the thick cluster of shiplike shapes behind them. In a minute or two those distant threats would slip off the screen altogether.
Homat was lying on the floor moaning. Lyra had pulled the knife out and was working to stanch the bleeding. The weapon lay near her right leg, a very large blade to have struck so small a humanoid. A couple of centimeters to the left, and they’d have found themselves continuing their journey without either of their guides. Lyra had removed her halter and bound it over the hole. The halter’s air-conditioning system was still operating full blast, and he thought to ask why when it occurred to him that the cold would promote coagulation. On rare occasions it struck him that he’d married a woman of more than average intelligence.
With the flow of blood slowed she disappeared astern, to return a moment later with a handful of vials and spray cans.
“I don’t know how well this is going to work on you, Homat. It wasn’t designed to be used on a Mai, but it’s all we have and I don’t know what else to try. Can you understand me?”
He nodded slowly, his small sharp teeth grinding together in pain.
“You’re fully mammalian and from what I’ve been able to learn your physiology’s close enough to ours so that—”
“Screw the biology lecture, Lyra!” her husband snapped.
She glanced sharply up at him, but this time only nodded. Her unvoiced admission of his rightness gave him no pleasure. He was too worried about Homat.
The freeze spray on top of the effect produced by her halter’s cooler stopped the rest of bleeding. Homat gasped at the chill and tried not to look at the intimidating alien machines they were using on his body. Then she took a small curved device that cupped the curve of her palm, adjusted it carefully, and held it over the wound as she removed the bloodied halter. As she passed the device over his shoulder and upper chest it hissed softly. A faint bright yellow light poured from its underside.
Homat writhed in pain, but when she pulled her hand away and snapped off the surgiseal he could see that the cut had been closed completely, and sterilized in the bargain. There would be a permanent scar, but Lyra was no surgeon and there hadn’t been time to consult the computer.
“Any poison?”
“No, de-Lyra,” Homat whispered at her, staring at his chest in amazement. “A clean knife for a clean death.” Etienne received this information with relief. His arm had ceased bleeding and now he could stop worrying about his own wound.
“You’ll be all right now,” Lyra assured their guide. “Just take it easy for a few days and try not to use that arm too much.” He was shivering steadily and it occurred to her it wasn’t from shock.
“He’ll freeze in here, Etienne.” The cabin thermometer registered a temperature of eighty degrees. “We’ve got to get him back out on deck.”
