Dyami tapped on the door; it opened. He hurried toward the group outside, then knelt. “I heard,” the woman with the wrist-comm said. “They're coming.”
“Sigurd says I'm to have a wand.”
The woman gave him hers. Dyami squinted into the darkness; now he could see five guards moving toward the opposite bank. The dim light would keep the guards from recognizing them until they were closer; it would be better not to fire at them until they were across the small bridge. He'd been lucky so far; a wand was easier to use than he had expected. He wondered if Suleiman and his group would make it to the bay. If they were seen, and those on duty in that dome guessed at their intentions, the guards might seize the bay themselves and hold it until reinforcements could reach them from outside. A lot of things could go wrong. He considered the possibility dispassionately. His heart beat faster; he felt oddly elated.
Two of the guards were crossing the bridge; a third began to follow. As the fourth moved toward the bridge, the woman behind her halted. “Steven?” she called out. No one answered. The two in front left the bridge and began to move up the small rise toward the waiting prisoners. “Steven?” Dyami tensed as the two came closer. The third guard moved toward the rise; the fourth was on the bridge.
“Something's wrong!” the female guard on the bank suddenly shouted. “Get back!”
“Fire,” Dyami said. Beams cut through the dark; the three guards nearest them fell. The woman on the bridge spun around and was caught by another beam. The other female guard was fleeing now; Dyami saw her raise her arm as she ran. He could not hear what she was saying into her wrist-comm but knew she would be calling for help. He aimed, fired, and missed; the woman was quickly out of sight.
“Shit,” one man muttered. “We'll have all of them out here now.”
“Get their weapons,” Dyami said. People were already leaving the dormitory behind him; Sigurd hastened to his side as the fallen guards were dragged up the rise. “One got away,” he murmured to Sigurd. “We'll have to fight them here, and we've only got ten wands. I hope none of them guesses we've sent anyone into the other dome, but they may alert the people there anyway.”
“We still have a chance,” Sigurd said, “if we can hold them until Luinne and Amina get here.” He looked around. “All of you, get whatever weapons you can—rocks and sticks and anything else you can find. We've got to make a stand here.”
“Why not make for the forest?” Orban Szekely asked. “We'd be hidden there when it's light, and—”
“They'd hunt us down,” Dyami said. “They could surround the woods and starve us out. We have to stick together. If any of you start backing down now, we're lost.”
“We're lost anyway,” another man said.
“Not yet,” Sigurd said. “You're forgetting the crawlers. Start looking for possible weapons. Some of you—get those other guards into the dorm.”
Dyami followed one group down to the bank; he had a wand, but a few rocks might come in handy. This was the end of their carefully contrived plan—his plan, he thought bitterly, the plan that Sigurd had helped him to contrive. There would be no advance on the patrol from the north and east behind the crawlers, no chance to fire on any of the patrol as they fled from their residences, no chance to acquire more wands, and force the guards to surrender. Jonah was probably already alerting the people on duty in the south dome. He bent over in dismay, searching for rocks.
* * * *
They did not have to wait long before hearing the approach of the patrol. Two carts moved along the opposite side of the creek, shielding the people behind them. The carts rolled to a stop above the bridge. Dyami flattened himself against the ground, keeping his wand ready; other prisoners lay in the grass or were sheltered behind a few shrubs and the trees near the dormitory. The dome light was already beginning to brighten; before long it would be light enough for the prisoners to be easy targets. Dyami clenched his teeth; where were Luinne and Amina? They might be having problems managing the crawlers; they might never get here at all. Even if they did, the sight of the massed guards might make them lose heart.
“Penitents!” That was Jonah's voice. Dyami could not see him; the patrol members were staying behind the carts. “You had better give up now. You will suffer much less than if you continue to resist. We have more weapons than you, and you cannot escape.”
No one replied.
“I know you sent someone into the other dome. I've already alerted my people there, and yours will not succeed in reaching the bay. I must assume that is why they were sent there. We found the bodies of the guards they killed.” Dyami swallowed; so Suleiman had decided to take no chances with them. “There will be no mercy for murderers, but there might be some for you if you give up now. You cannot win. I have already sent two of my people for the crawlers—I think you know what that means. We can dig a great many graves with them.”
“How can we trust you?” Sigurd shouted. “You won't show us any mercy if we do surrender.”
“The Spirit will forgive,” Jonah answered, “if you repent of your deeds. That is your choice—to be brought to repentance now or to die forever condemned. You had better consider your choice carefully.”
“We have,” Sigurd said. “Even death is better than the life we've had in this place.”
“Ah, Administrator,” Jonah said mockingly. “That is you speaking, isn't it? Then death is what you will have, and it won't be an easy death. Now!”
People were suddenly screaming to Dyami's left. He rolled and stumbled to his feet as a few prisoners fell under beams. Several guards were already on this side of the creek; Jonah had outflanked them, sending guards to sneak up on them from this side. Dyami fired into the crowd, bringing down two sashed figures, then dropped to the grass as another beam shot past him. Guards were rushing down the bank from the carts; he fired at one as the man climbed up from the creek. Other prisoners with wands were firing; he saw one fall.
Then, above the shouting, he heard another sound—the soft, low hum of a motor. A crawler, looking like a tank with jaws, was bearing down on Jonah's people, with another vehicle just behind it. Beams stabbed toward the cabins of the crawlers and were deflected; other guards began to flee along the opposite bank. The two crawlers kept moving; guards shrieked as they fell under the treads. He looked away quickly as one man disappeared into a crawler's jaws.
Rocks flew through the air toward the guards storming the rise. People rushed past Dyami; an arm struck his, making him lose his grip on his wand. He slapped the ground, trying to find it, and was abruptly dragged to his feet.
It was now light enough for him to make out the cruel, handsome features of Maxim Paz. Dyami realized the other man was also unarmed just as Maxim's fist darted toward his face. He ducked and punched the guard in the belly, then pulled a large rock from his pocket and struck him on the side of the head. Maxim crumpled to the ground. Dyami fell to his knees, feeling the other man's skull give way as he continued to pound at him. A light suddenly blinded him; his body jerked convulsively as everything went black.
* * * *
Dyami opened his eyes. The dome was light; someone was wailing. His head throbbed painfully; he managed to sit up. A few bodies lay on this side of the creek; above the opposite bank, he saw more bodies, their limbs and arms twisted. A few were so crushed that they hardly seemed human.
A beam must have stunned him. He leaned over and retched, then stared at the body next to him. Maxim's head and face were a raw mass of blood, torn flesh, and shattered bone. A sharp-edged rock near the body was covered with blood and matted blond hair.
A shadow fell across the body. Dyami groaned, then looked up at Willis Soran. “What—” he started to say.
“We won,” Willis said. “We lost a few people. They lost more—we counted about thirty so far, and a few others probably won't recover. Those crawlers really did a job on them. We have the rest over by their dormitory—they're being watched.”
“What about the bay?”
“Suleiman got there. He and the others made it as far as the plant when he saw some guards running out of the refinery toward the bay. He said it looked as if they'd just panicked. He brought them down. They're dead, too—he didn't say how. The pilots gave up after that, and the ones in external operations.” Willis stared at Maxim's body, then averted his eyes.
A woman was still wailing. A few people stepped around the bodies. Dyami looked for the wailer, then found her. Fatima Snow, one of Sigurd's former aides, was sitting next to one body; she lifted her head, wailed again, then covered her face with her loose pale hair.
Willis helped Dyami up. They walked toward Fatima. Tasida hurried to the woman's side, carrying her physician's bag. Dyami looked down at the body. Sigurd's eyes were closed, his pale face composed; he might have been sleeping.
Tasida knelt, scanned the body quickly, then thrust the portable med-scanner into her bag. “It seems his heart gave out,” she whispered. “It must have been the wands—I think I saw at least three beams hit him. He wasn't strong enough to take it.”
Fatima's shoulders shook; Tasida put her arm around the other woman. “Are you recovering?” Willis asked Dyami, who nodded. “Tasida'll take care of the injured. We've got to get the bodies into those carts.”
He looked around numbly at some of those who had paid for their freedom. Helmut Renas-Korbs was lying near the bridge, his head lolling at a peculiar angle. The body of a guard had fallen across his legs. Willis tugged at his arm; Dyami allowed himself to be led away from Sigurd's side.
* * * *
On their first day of freedom, they buried their dead comrades. The bodies of the guards had been conveyed to the refinery and fed to the recycler, but the former prisoners decided to bury their dead friends in a grave near the tunnel. One of the crawlers dug the grave and covered the bodies with dirt. Fifteen comrades had died with Sigurd, some from heart failure under the onslaught of multiple beams, others by violence at the hands of the guards.
On the second day, the two dormitories and the houses the patrol had used were searched, and possessions confiscated, before the surviving guards were herded inside one of the dorms. They would be fed and given water once a day, half of them in the morning, outside and under guard, the others just before last light. People would be posted by the dormitory at all times, and the patrol would remain inside except when eating their meals.
This was Dyami's suggestion; he wanted as little effort as possible expended in watching the guards. He had also decided that the pilots would be kept with the patrol. The pilots had protested; he remained deaf to their pleas. They whined that they were not guilty of any violence toward the prisoners; he replied that they had allowed it to continue or had pretended that it did not exist.
He did not know why his comrades were turning to him, why they waited for his suggestions or looked to him for some leadership. Perhaps it was because Fatima and the other former Linkers who had come there with Sigurd seemed stunned and dazed by his death. Maybe the others were expecting him to negotiate some sort of agreement with his sister. Perhaps it was only because they sensed that his mind was unaffected by any of the feelings of rage, grief, triumphant joy, and horror at the cost of their victory, emotions that seemed to sweep over them while leaving bewilderment and shock in their wake. He felt almost as if he had died during the battle and that his body and the intelligence enclosed inside his skull had not yet realized he was dead.
He offered more directives on the third day of their freedom. The refinery and the ceramics plant would cease operations for now. Shifts of people would watch the bay and see that no ships were allowed to land there. Others would monitor external operations at all times and see that their life support was maintained. They would all take turns in the greenhouse, in the kitchen, and in guarding the patrol. During what little free time they had, they could view any messages from the outside that the guards had not erased, as it seemed many had been.
No one was to contact anyone outside. This was a temporary prohibition until they could think of what to say, but it had brought a chorus of protests. Their families would want to know they were safe; others would have to be told their loved ones were gone. Dyami had calmly pointed out what none of them had considered—that their families could also be used as hostages against them, once recent events in Turing became known. Soon, of course, they would have to contact someone, but he wanted to learn if he would be pleading a cause that would win widespread sympathy or if the settlers had come to believe any lies Ishtar might have spread about the people in Turing.
Oddly enough, he had not noticed that any calls or messages were coming in for the patrol. Jonah had apparently not alerted anyone outside before moving against his rebellious prisoners, perhaps in an effort to protect his position; he would have had a reprimand at best for not being able to keep control. He had not retreated and asked for help from outside. Jonah had paid with his life for that decision.
A call or message would come in eventually, however, and it would have to be answered. If they needed to buy time, one of their captives might be compelled to respond; Dyami would have to study any message before making a decision.
He had viewed a few of the messages waiting for him, gazing at the images abstractedly on a confiscated pocket screen in the room where he now lived. He had chosen a room in the other dormitory next to the one where the patrol and pilots were being held. Suleiman had suggested that they share one of the houses, but Dyami had refused. He could not enter a house without thinking of Maxim Paz; he could not ponder Suleiman's tentative advances without remembering what his tormentor had done to him.
The messages he viewed evoked no love or longing for the people who had sent them. There was Risa, murmuring of events in Oberg while hinting darkly of conspiracies and plots. Here was Sef, shielding his fear and concern with heartiness and false cheer. Irina told him of her friends in ibn-Qurrah who were curious or worried about events in Turing; Patrick asked why Dyami had not responded to his last message. Teo, who had made his compromises but still mimicked his old recklessness, related the latest jokes about the Guide and hinted at his recent sexual exploits. They were only images, imitating people he had once known. All of the messages were old; it seemed that the guards had erased more recent ones.
His world had shrunk still more. Now it was no more than a node of consciousness embedded in a mind that could no longer feel.
* * * *
Dyami looked around at the others who had remained in the dining hall. Some were watching him; others stared at the large screen they had placed near one wall. They had brought the screen there three days earlier, but it had remained blank since then.
A message had come in two days ago; another had been sent that morning. The people who had seemed so anxious to contact the outside before were now afraid of what the messages might mean.
“Well?” Dyami said. “It's been ten days since anyone outside's heard anything from Turing. We'd better see what's on their minds. Are you all ready?” Those not in the hall would be watching on other screens at their posts.
“Go ahead,” Fatima Snow replied, sounding more forceful than she had in a while. “It'll be better than imagining the worst.”
Dyami went to the screen, sat down by the console, and called up the first message. An image of Matthew Innes appeared; several people caught their breath.
“Jonah?” Matthew said. “Haven't heard anything from you.” The blond man's face was covered with stubble; his thick blond hair looked uncombed. “I couldn't get through to you before, but I assume you've looked at the public channels and know what's going on. We've got mobs against us, thanks to that speech of Chimene's. Most of the Council and our friends on the patrol are under detention, and because of that cursed Eva, we've got the Habbers to worry about now. Two of their ships are on the way here, and they've apparently sent a message to Mukhtar Kaseko. A source on Island Two tells me that they've threatened to disable Anwara if one of their ships isn't allowed
to dock there. We may still have a little time—just a little.”
Someone screamed behind Matthew. A man holding a wand leaned over Matthew, whispered to him, then disappeared.
“A few of us managed to hide in one house,” Matthew went on, “and then we made it to this school. The teachers were keeping the youngest children here until things quieted down. They're our way out, and you've got one, too, if you're ready to use it. Just listen. We've told them that unless we're allowed to get to the Platform and onto a shuttle for Anwara, the children are finished. It's our only chance. I'll risk the justice of the Mukhtar before I give myself up to those people outside.”
The blond man panted for breath. “You've got hostages, too, ones the Habbers might still care about. You'd better get a message out to Anwara about what will happen to them if you aren't allowed to follow me. It isn't much of a chance, but it's all you've got. You can't come back here. The pilots are holding most of the bays. There's still some fighting going on in Lyata and Galileo, but I think we're losing there. I don't know where Boaz is—probably being held. Get a message ready and put it out on a public channel. If you don't get a response in a couple of days, show what you're willing to do. Maybe you can begin with that brother of Chimene's—that'd pay her back. Let me know—” His image faded.
“What's going on?” Fatima asked.
Dyami called up the next message. Matthew reappeared, looking even more haggard than before. “Why haven't I heard anything from you? They're going to let us out. They'll take us to the bay, and we'll keep a few kids with us. Listen, don't think you can wait this out—we've even got patrol volunteers against us. Get your message out, and make an example if you have to—we just did, with a teacher here. I—”
Dyami heard shouts, and then the screen suddenly went blank. People were crowding around him. “We'd better bring in a public channel,” Fatima said.
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